Memories

25

Karthik

The mansion had transformed into a different beast entirely. Two weeks to the wedding and chaos had taken over — decorators fussing over drapes, caterers sampling sweets in the kitchen, wedding planners fluttering through rooms with clipboards like nervous birds. Relatives I hadn't seen in years had reappeared as if summoned by the sound of trumpets. Laughter and arguments blended into one continuous background noise that made my head ache.

In the middle of it all, I felt useless.

Shivani had become a ghost—present, moving, indispensable, but somehow always out of reach. She was Anjali's rock; naturally, she had been pulled into bridal plans, vendor calls and fittings. Every time I tried to catch her for a private word, she'd be swept away by some tasks or another, her face polite but guarded, her eyes hovering past me as if afraid of the look she might find there. It tore at me. I needed to tell her things, to make sure she was careful, to see whether the spark from that night in the garden still lived in her gaze. But between Sonu's hovering and the household's constant bustle, finding a single private minute felt impossible.

And then my phone screamed across the table.

"Bharat," I answered before the second ring had a chance. His voice came in clipped, urgent. "Karthik, come to my office. Bring Rahul. Now. I've got something."

Ten minutes later Rahul and I pulled up outside the station-house, the city moving in a lazy blur around us. Bharat met us at the door, his face drawn tight.

"We found him," he said without preamble. "Name's Dev. He handled the transaction that paid the lorry driver. Money traced from his account."

The words hit me harder than I expected. Dev — the man who'd smiled and laughed when he realized I hadn't died; the man who'd spoken like a gambler who had simply missed a bet. We didn't have time to waste.

Bharat led us down a corridor to the interrogation room. The fluorescent light buzzed above as if anxious, too. Through the window I could see Dev sitting with his hands folded, a swagger that hadn't yet been turned entirely to fear. When he looked up and saw me, a careless smile surfaced.

"Oh, you're here," he said, voice oily. "Sad to see you alive, Karthik. Figured I did the job proper." He laughed at his own audacity. "Lucky, aren't you?"

The room smelled of stale coffee and bleach. My jaw tightened.

"Cut the act," Rahul snapped. "Tell us why you tried to kill him. Who hired you?"

Dev's grin widened. "Two questions," he said. "Who? Not telling. Why? That I can do. You're the heir, right? Varma property, Varma companies. All of it will go to you. Rahul's a lawyer, adopted — doesn't touch the business. Think about it. Who benefits if you're gone?"

It was like someone punched me in the gut. I felt anger spike — hot and immediate — but also something colder: recognition. The pattern Dev painted was ugly and simple: remove the heir, clear the path.

"You're getting on my nerves," I said, the words flat. "Tell us who wanted me dead. Now."

He leaned back, savouring the moment of my rage. "I can say this: it's someone close. Closer than you think. Family, maybe. Or someone who wants the inside of the company. Think, Karthik. Who would gain by your death?"

The room blurred around the edges. Dev's sleazy confidence was a mirror reflecting a truth I had been unwilling to look at. As soon as the thought surfaced, I could feel it forming in my bones. The sudden presence in our house since the accident. The way Sona pressed herself into our lives, claiming comforts and rights she had no blood to demand. Mohan's over-familiarity, his insistence that Sonu and I "pair up" as if a marriage would stabilize more than family ties — as if it would secure something he wanted.