The first thing Rohit did after returning to his room was check the notifications on his phone.

The most recent one was from Robin.

[Robin: Sir, I’ve handled the aftermath here. All the girls from the city, except Priya, have been sent to the police station. Chetan was really helpful in Raju’s absence. I personally escorted Priya to her room, but it was empty, so I took her to her relatives’ house. Sending you her current address and their contact details in case you need them.]

Rohit read the message, then transferred ₹100,000 to Robin’s account. No reply followed. The money itself was the message.

With that settled, he tried calling Akansha to get details on Jayesh’s death, but her phone was switched off. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Rohit immediately called out, "Lisa. Akansha’s phone. What’s the status?"

The response appeared smoothly on the interface.

[Sir, her device is either powered off or has run out of battery. There is no trackable signal. Jayesh’s phone, the closest linked device, is already in police custody. I have no further data on her at this time.]

"Add her number to remote surveillance. Notify me the moment there’s any activity."

[All slots are currently occupied, sir. Active tracking: Ragini, Aisha, Harsha, Victor, Jayesh. Which would you like to remove?]

Rohit didn’t hesitate. "Delete Harsha, Victor, and Jayesh. They’re done. And flag me before the last slot fills up going forward."

[Understood, sir.]

He closed the interface and moved to his briefcase.

The spy cameras were exactly where he had left them. With limited time, he chose the Bluetooth models over the wired pin cameras.

He picked up three small sticky Bluetooth units, each no larger than a coat button, capable of running for 24 to 48 hours before the battery died. He pocketed them and headed downstairs.

The dining room was still occupied. Ananya sat at the far end of the table with Tanuj and Vijay, the meal winding down into easy conversation. His father, along with Hemant and Kalyani, had already retired.

No one looked up when Rohit passed through. Almost no one.

Just as he was about to enter the inner hallway, Arya called out from the dining table, drawing everyone’s attention toward him.

"Rohit? Where are you going?"

"Storage room," he replied simply. "Looking for something."

The family’s curiosity faded, but Arya wasn’t finished. "Once you’re done, come to my room. I need to talk to you about something urgent."

Rohit waved a hand casually without turning around. From the earlier conversation at the table, he already had a fair idea what she wanted.

The storeroom was at the far end of the downstairs hallway—the same corridor where Ananya’s room was located, directly opposite his father’s study. As he passed her door, Rohit slowed, quickly checking both directions. If he missed this chance now, the cameras might never catch them in the act.

He slipped inside.

The room smelled faintly of a perfume that was not unfamiliar in this house.

Ananya’s belongings were arranged with the careful neatness of a guest trying not to impose—a small toiletry bag on the dresser, a jacket folded over the back of a chair, a paperback on the nightstand with a boarding pass tucked inside as a bookmark.

Rohit noted it.

Someone who was planning to stay, but hadn’t fully committed to unpacking.

He worked quickly. The first camera went behind the wall clock, angled to cover both the door and the bed. The second was placed on top of the wardrobe, tucked behind a folded blanket that hadn’t been moved in months. The third went beneath the large painting on the far wall, pressed flat against the bottom of the frame.

He stepped back and checked each angle mentally.

Good enough.

Before leaving, he paused in front of the painting.

artwork.

It depicted the Battle of Plassey, 1757.

The East India Company had defeated the Nawab of Bengal with just 400 soldiers, all because the Nawab’s own uncle and general had betrayed him—holding back his forces while the British cut down his already weakened guard and took him captive.

Rohit let out a faint, humorless smirk.

’What an irony. My situation isn’t so different from the Nawab’s.

Luckily, unlike him, I’m fully aware of my false guardians.’

He took a quick photo of the painting with his phone, then slipped out of the room as silently as he had entered.

***

Rohit knocked on Arya’s door, but there was no reply. He tried the handle, but it was locked from the inside.

After waiting a few seconds, he turned and headed back toward his room.

"Young Master."

Midway down the corridor, a familiar voice stopped him. Secretary Pathak stood there, wearing his usual composed expression with a faint, knowing smile.

Rohit looked at him. "What are you doing here?"

Pathak’s smile didn’t waver. "I was summoned to accompany your father to the annual Delhi branch meeting today, sir. I’ve been hoping for this assignment for nearly a decade."

"Decade?" Rohit raised an eyebrow. "Who usually accompanies him, if not you?"

"You’ll understand once you visit today, Young Master," Pathak replied, his tone light but deliberate. "I’m also here to inform you that, given the traffic situation, a chopper has been arranged. It’s waiting on the landing pad. Departure in thirty minutes."

Rohit found that unusual. He clearly remembered that the house had a helipad for emergencies, but it was rarely used. Besides, his last visit to his mother’s office hadn’t felt particularly far or traffic-heavy.

"Isn’t the office in Mehrauli?" he asked.

Pathak clicked his tongue softly. "That’s the exports office, sir. Where we’re going today is the headquarters of the entire Delhi branch. Fortieth floor, DLF One."

He said it without any theatrics, as though it were routine information rather than something meant to impress.

Rohit showed no particular reaction. "Thirty minutes."

"Twenty-eight now."

Rohit rolled his eyes and turned back to his room without another word.

***

Rohit stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the navy blue professional suit he had worn at the banquet. It fit him perfectly—sharp, elegant, and commanding. The only thing ruining the look was the sling bag over his shoulder.

His left hand was still a mess from last night’s battle. That was why he chose practicality over aesthetics. Recovery came first.

He checked the time. Twenty minutes left.

He stepped out.

The helipad was at the far end of the estate, near the gate. It would take him ten minutes on foot.

By the time he reached it, the sleek Bell 429 chopper was already waiting, its rotors spinning steadily.

As he approached, he paused slightly.

Arya was already inside.

There was no sign of Raj Singhania.

She sat in her usual black professional suit, a tablet open on her lap, reading with the focused expression of someone who had already mentally arrived at the destination and was merely waiting for the journey to catch up. She didn’t look up when he appeared.

Honestly, Rohit had only ever seen her in grey or black, despite the variety her wardrobe supposedly held.

"Get in," she said, without lifting her eyes from the screen.

Rohit glanced inside. "Dad? Not coming?"

"Something came up at the agro export office." She looked up briefly. "He’ll take the second chopper from there. In or out—we’re already behind."

Rohit stepped in and took the seat across her.

His eyes instinctively drifted for a moment before a faint smirk touched his lips.

’This journey doesn’t have to be boring. Maybe I can gauge her reactions and redefine our dynamics’, Rohit thought, a small smirk forming in his mind. ’... and get something worthwhile in return.’

Suddenly, Rohit gripped the armrest tightly, his face losing color.

"What’s wrong?" Arya asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I... I think I’m afraid of heights," Rohit said, his voice slightly unsteady. "Didn’t realize it until now. It feels... too open up here."