The gate clicked open with a familiar clang, the sound echoing softly into the quiet dusk. Kavya paused at the threshold, staring at the place that once meant everything — the Singhaniya Estate. The elegant bungalow stood proud as ever, but under the golden light, bearing silent witness to everything that had happened… and everything that had been lost.
She took a step forward.
The cobbled path leading up to the main door was littered with dry leaves, and the quaint little garden her mother used to tend every morning had been reduced to a tangled mess of weeds and wild overgrowth. The roses were gone. The marigolds, too. Only remnants of what once bloomed proudly remained like ghosts refusing to leave.
Kavya stepped forward, her shoes crunching lightly on gravel, heart thudding in quiet rebellion. Her hand trembled as it hovered near the doorknob. The lock clicked open.
She entered.
A rush of scent — aged air, faint traces of sandalwood from the old diffuser in the corner, and a whisper of dust — welcomed her. The walls, still adorned with faded family photos, stood in stubborn silence. Furniture was draped in thin sheets; not filthy, just dulled with time. A thin layer of dust coated the glass-topped coffee table. The curtains hung still, their colour a little muted, no longer vibrant.
It looked like a house that had been paused — not abandoned, not destroyed — just waiting for life to return.
And that's when it hit her.
The memories didn't creep — they crashed.
The swing on the balcony, the one she and her brother had fought over, had pushed each other off, had giggled until their sides ached.
Her brother — trembling —
His lifeless eyes — staring.
Her father chasing them, yelling playful threats as her mother called out from the kitchen, smiling and shaking her head.
Her mother's scream —
Ragged. Helpless.
The hospital hallway, fluorescent and cold, her mother's frail figure under the too-white sheets.
The fridge stocked and overflowing, and still, her father returning with a bag of vegetables. "They looked fresh," he had said, sheepish.
Her mother's half-annoyed, half-amused scolding.
Her father laughing, shrugging.
Her father… helping…
Kavya's knees weakened as the flood overtook her.
She stumbled back against the wall, her chest tightening with a pressure so brutal, it felt like drowning. She felt something chocking her. Holding her throat in a vice-like grip. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
No air.
No control.
No escape.
Panic.
"Kavya!"
The voice rang from somewhere far off.
"KAVYA!"
A hand grabbed her shoulders — firm, grounding.
"KAVYA, SNAP OUT OF IT!"
Ira.
"Kavya, look at me. You're having a panic attack. Breathe, okay? Just breathe!"
Kavya gasped as though surfacing from drowning, the edges of her vision sharpening. Ira held her face between both hands, gently, trying to anchor her.
Kavya dragged in a breath. Then another. She clung to Ira's hand like a lifeline.
"You don't have to do this," Ira whispered. "Not today. Not like this. Let's leave, please."
But Kavya shook her head. Slowly, deliberately.
"No," she said, her voice hoarse, thick with emotion. " "I have to. I need to. This house… this pain… it's my reminder."
She turned to look at the living room again, she stared it all down — the wreckage, the memories, the ghost of a home.
"This is what Vikram destroyed," she continued. "He reduced my family to ashes. He stripped this house of its soul. My father is dead. My mother's lying in a hospital bed. My brother is gone. And I–"
Her jaw clenched.
"I will make him pay. I'll rebuild this house. I'll bring my family's name back from the dirt he dragged it into. And I'll make him watch. Every moment. Every brick I lay. Every breath I take."
Her voice, hoarse and raw, rang through the empty halls like a vow carved in stone.
Ira didn't say anything — she just stood by her side, quiet and steady.
She stood taller. The grief still clung to her, but beneath it —
Steel. Determination.
It was a graveyard of the past —
And the birthplace of her vengeance
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The metallic clink of heels echoed through the concrete stillness of the basement as the morning sun reflected off the sleek row of glossy black sedans and luxury SUVs lined up in the basement parking lot of the high-rise Glassglow Company & Co.
Kavya crossed the parking lot, distracted.
A folder slipped from her grasp, scattering a few sheets across the polished floor. She bent to gather them, her movements slow — unfocused.
Her mind was still reeling from the visit to her old home. The scent of dust and sandalwood. The ache of loss. The image of her father laughing with a grocery bag in hand. Her hands lingered a moment too long on the file.
She stood, exhaling sharply — only to freeze.
Someone was watching her.
DARSH YADAV
He stood at a short distance, half in shadow, a hand shoved in the pocket of his perfectly tailored suit. His eyes were dark, narrowed in sharp disbelief. Like he'd just s seen a specter crawl out of a grave he assumed was sealed.
She had expected him BUT Not this soon.
The tailored suit, the polished shoes, the precise grooming — all signs of the clean-cut executive he played so well. But it was the set of his mouth, the cold glint in his eyes, that spoke louder than anything he could wear.
Her gaze swept over him once, indifferent.
"Yadav," she said, voice clipped, flat — like she was reading his name off a boardroom roster.
She was four steps ahead when his voice rang out, sharp and low.
"Here to ruin more lives, Singhaniya?"
She paused.
A slow smile curved her lips, though it never reached her eyes. She turned back to him — slowly, deliberately — and took a step in his direction.
"Yes," she said softly, taking a step back toward him. "Yours."
His face hardened. Jaw clenched. One step closer, and the tension between them snapped taut.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low.
"Oh, but I should," she replied, tilting her head. "Apparently, so many days of laundering and lying really dulled your instincts, Mr. Yadav."
He gave a dry laugh — sharp. "And here I thought your flair for drama died with your father."
The words landed. She didn't flinch.
"I'm not here for drama," she said, her tone flat now, razor-edged. "I'm here to dismantle every rotten pillar Vikram built. One by one. Brick by brick. And you—" her eyes locked with his, "you'll watch, helpless."
The air between them shifted — no longer cold, but charged. Two polished masks worn over smoldering embers.
His lips curled into a humourless smile. "So this is how it starts, then? You walk in with your righteous grief and think you'll fix the world?"
"No," she said, stepping closer. "I walk in, tear apart everything Vikram built — light the place on fire, and stay to watch it burn."
He looked at her like he didn't recognize the girl in front of him — and maybe he didn't.
"Bold move," he murmured, "for someone standing in enemy territory."
She leaned in slightly, eyes glinting.
"Not brave. Prepared."
"Brave words for someone who's already lost everything," he replied, his voice dark, low. "You think this building still belongs to you? You think you can take it back?"
"I will," she said. "And when I do, you'll wish you were dead."
He took a step toward her, his eyes narrowing further. "Try it, Kavya. I dare you."
She smiled again — not the smile of someone amused, but someone dangerous. Someone with nothing left to lose.
"Don't worry," she said. "You won't have to wait long."
Their voices stayed even, controlled — the kind of quiet venom that didn't need to rise to be felt. Like two swords held just inches apart, neither drawn but both ready to cut.
Kavya turned first, heels echoing once again as she walked toward the elevators.
Darsh didn't follow. He just stood there — jaw set, fists tight, eyes locked on her retreating figure.
The air she left behind was thick with something unspoken.
And whatever history lay buried between them —
It had just cracked open.