Memories

20

Unknown Person

They say the best plans are the ones that no one can trace back to you. For weeks, I believed I had crafted one of those perfect, foolproof ideas. The accident was supposed to seal everything in my favour — clean, quick, irreversible.

But fate has a cruel sense of humour.

Instead of silencing Karthik forever, my plan left him alive... breathing, walking, talking. The only consolation? He couldn't remember who he was. His mind, his greatest weapon, his legacy — erased. That, I admit, was a stroke of luck I hadn't accounted for, but I'll take credit for it anyway. Because even failures, when looked at properly, can be turned into opportunities.

Now, Karthik Varma is a shell of the man he once was. No memories, no claim to his own life, no awareness of the empire he was destined to inherit. Which means... the Varma business, the empire built on sweat and power, is within my reach. The position that should have been mine all along is now waiting for me to step into. And this time, no one will stop me.

I leaned back in my chair, savouring the thought as I twirled the heavy glass of whiskey in my hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light of my study — a study lined with leather-bound books and family portraits, the kind of room that whispered of legacy and power. Legacy that Karthik was born into, but power that I intend to claim.

"Dev," I called, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

"Yes, sir?" My most trusted aide — or rather, my most obedient dog — appeared instantly, head bowed, waiting for my command.

"Transfer the promised amount to the lorry driver and his apprentice. They did their job well enough, even if it wasn't perfect."

Dev shifted uneasily. "Yes, sir. But... they haven't been answering my calls."

I stilled. "What do you mean, not answering your calls?"

"I've tried several times since last night. Both phones are unreachable."

I snorted. "Typical. They must be lying drunk in some godforsaken hole. The poor are always like that — reckless after a single payday."

Dev hesitated, but nodded. "Should I keep trying?"

"Yes. But don't be obvious. We don't want them drawing attention. Just... remind them to stay hidden until the police stop sniffing around."

"Understood."

As Dev left, I pressed my fingers together, leaning forward, elbows on the desk. My reflection stared back at me from the polished wood — sharp eyes, sharper ambition.

Karthik's accident should have been the end of the road for him, but now it is simply... the beginning of mine.

I remember the day the plan was born. Sitting in the Varma mansion, watching Karthik laugh with his father, watching the proud old man dote on his favourite son — it was unbearable. Every decision, every glance, every word... it was always Karthik this, Karthik that.

Did they ever look at me that way? No.

For them, I was invisible — a shadow standing at the edge of the grand Varma legacy. An outsider in my own family. The shameful irony of it all is that I worked harder than anyone else. I studied, I strategized, I planned. Karthik simply... existed. He breathed, and the world fell at his feet.

So yes, I had to take matters into my own hands.

The accident was my masterpiece. Anonymous, untraceable, and effective. Or at least, it should have been. A simple phone call, a transfer of money, two desperate men willing to do anything for a price. The lorry driver never even knew whose life he was trying to take. That's the beauty of it. No names, no questions, just a target and a job.

And yet... somehow, Karthik survived.

I clenched my fists, the whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. Survived, but broken. And that, I reminded myself, was still a win.

Without his memory, Karthik is nothing more than a puppet. He doesn't even know what's his, doesn't even realize the power slipping from his grasp. And while he stumbles through confusion, I will make my moves. Quietly. Carefully. One step at a time, until the empire is mine to command.

Still, there are risks.

Rahul. That boy has always been too sharp for his own good. He watches; he listens. I've noticed the way he shields Karthik, the way he whispers in corners. He may suspect something.

And then there's Shivani.

Ah, Shivani. Sweet, stubborn, irritating Shivani. Karthik's shadow, his anchor, his... weakness. I underestimated her once. I won't make that mistake again. If Karthik regains even a fraction of his old self, it will be because of her. She must be handled — gently, discreetly. A direct move against her would be too risky right now. But make no mistake... if she becomes a threat, I won't hesitate.

I stood and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights stretching endlessly across the horizon. Hyderabad — a city built on ambition, greed, and betrayal. A city where only the ruthless survive.

A smirk tugged at my lips.

"I was born for this," I whispered to myself. "The business, the power, the legacy — it's mine. It always should have been mine. And soon, it will be."

Behind me, the old grandfather clock chimed midnight. The sound echoed in the stillness of the room, a reminder that time is everything.

Time is what Karthik has lost.
Time is what I still have.
And time, when wielded by the right hands, can destroy everything.

For now, I will wait. Let the police chase shadows. Let Karthik stumble in ignorance. Let Shivani play nursemaid, and Rahul exhaust himself with suspicion. None of it matters.

Because when the moment comes, when the empire is ripe for the taking, I will strike again.

And this time... there will be no mistakes.

I drained the last of the whiskey, the burn of it steadying my resolve.

"Dev!" I called again.

He appeared in seconds. "Yes, sir?"

"Prepare the documents. Tomorrow, we start moving assets under my control. Slowly. Quietly. No one notices a drop of water, but enough drops can flood the house."

His eyes widened, but he nodded. "As you wish."

I smiled, the kind of smile that never reached my eyes.

The accident may have been a flop, but I am not done. Far from it.

This is only Act One of a much larger play. And in the end, when the curtains fall, the world will remember one name.

Not Karthik's.
Never Karthik's.

Mine.