The Shadow of Retribution: A tale of vengeance and the price of justice.

Chapter 1.

1st June 2025
Delhi India

The Present

"My name is Spencer Verghese. Or, more accurately, the alias I've adopted for my latest endeavor. This isn't a date; it's a calculated act of retribution.
He's dressed to impress, oblivious to the chaos he's wrought. My stomach churns with a mix of disgust and anticipation. I long to expose his true nature, to watch him crumble under the weight of his own deception.
For two and a half years, I've been observing his every move, carefully crafting a plan to ensnare him. I've lured him into a false sense of security, a carefully constructed illusion of affection. Now, as he's fallen deeply in love, I'll watch him descend into despair, a victim of his own arrogance."

On August 13th, 2022, he and three of his friends tore my soul apart when they decided to murder my fiancé, simply because he intervened to save a girl they were molesting. So much for kindness in a world like this. He destroyed my "happily ever after." He’ll get what’s coming to him—and much more.

"Hi," he said. "You look beautiful, I could marry you right this minute." He smiled.

Of course I looked beautiful—this whole thing is a charade for you, Sourab Singh, my so-called boyfriend. That is, until I paint the walls of my house red with your blood.

I gave him my best fake smile and replied, "I’d be lucky to be your wife, after all, you’re such a sweetheart." God, I hate my life.

Thankfully, I convinced him to keep our relationship quiet. He hasn't told any of his friends or introduced me to them, though I know every one of them—they’re all on my hit list. He won’t tell them until I say so, and that’s never going to happen. I’ll take them down one by one.

The justice system failed me—failed us—failed the love of my life. I’ll do whatever it takes to get justice for him, even if it means I end up spending my life on death row.

I was supposed to wear a red saree. We had
chosen the venue, the clothes, the designers
But instead, Sourab and his friends made me
wear white. l'Il never forget the day 1 heard
about Jared's death. I was in Kathmandu, he
was in Delhi, miles apart on a cold night
when my world collapsed. It felt like the walls
were closing in; I could barely breathe. The
emotional and mental agony, the physical
pain I inflicted on myself- slit wrists,
cigarette burns, even thoughts of ending it
all-none of it compares to what they'l feel.
All five of them, including his driver, will
experience every ounce of that pain. But l'm
saving the best for last: Vikrant Thakur
I'm coming for all of you.