𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆- 𝑾𝒂𝒓 𝑶𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆

𝟒𝟏. 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐖

Author's Pov

For the next week, Moscow became nothing less than a battleground for Mrityunjay's mind.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked through dark alleys and empty streets, following leads that dissolved into smoke. He raided basements, interrogated informants, and scanned CCTV footage until his eyes stung red from exhaustion.

Every whisper of Ayansh's name, every blurred image, every shadow in the corner-he chased it.

But each trail ended the same way: silence.

One night, standing on a frozen bridge overlooking the Moskva River, his breath came out in misty clouds. His phone buzzed with Randhir's message: "Another dead end."

He gritted his teeth, knuckles whitening around the railing. Ayansh was here-he could feel it in the city's air-but Moscow was swallowing him whole, hiding him in its endless sprawl.

"Where are you, Ayansh?" he muttered, the city lights reflecting like fire in his eyes.

For Mrityunjay, every second wasted meant danger creeping closer to the people he had left behind.

On the other side, Vidya was drowning in chaos of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Reporters lined up outside her office every day, hungry for a single word about the storm around her husband-but all they ever got was silence.

Today was no different. Surrounded by her bodyguards, she walked swiftly toward her car when a voice cut through the noise like a blade.

"There Vidya Rathore goes again, ignoring the truth. Or should I say-killer's wife?"

Vidya froze. Her fists clenched, her chest heaving with the sudden burn of rage.

"Enough," she muttered under her breath.

The guards tried to hold her back, urging her to get inside the car, but she shoved their hands aside and strode straight toward the man. The crowd hushed as she grabbed the reporter by his collar, yanking him close.

"Do you have proof?" she demanded, her eyes blazing.

He blinked in shock. "W-what?"

Her voice thundered, low but dangerous. "Do you have a single piece of evidence to call my husband a killer?"

"I... I don't," he stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. "But... but that minister was last seen at your palace."

Her grip tightened, her glare sharper than steel.

Her grip didn't loosen. Instead, she pulled him even closer, her voice a venomous whisper loud enough for every microphone to catch.

"Last seen? Last seen?" She let out a bitter laugh. "So that's your evidence? Rumors?"

The reporter's lips trembled, unable to answer.

Vidya's eyes swept over the crowd of cameras and hungry faces. "Listen carefully, all of you. My husband may be many things, but he is not a coward hiding behind lies. If you want to accuse him-bring proof. Real proof. Until then..." she shoved the reporter back, "don't you dare utter the word killer again."

The silence was deafening. Even the clicking cameras hesitated, as if frozen under the weight of her fury.

Vidya turned on her heel, her guards scrambling to shield her as she strode to the car. Before stepping inside, she paused, throwing one last look at the stunned crowd.

"Remember this-every baseless word you spit is not just an insult to my husband, it's an insult to truth. And truth has its way of burning liars to ash."