Kabir Rathore stood in the middle of the Mayor's private hall, his walking stick planted firmly against the polished floor.
A few weeks ago, when Kabir had come to meet Rajiv regarding the sixteen-year-old case connected to his missing wife and dead daughter, the conversation had been completely different. Rajiv had listened seriously back then. He had not made any direct promises, but he had given enough hope for Kabir to believe that maybe someone powerful was finally willing to help him.
That hope was the reason Kabir had returned today.
But the man sitting in front of him now felt nothing like the Rajiv he had met before.
Rajiv sat carelessly behind his desk with both legs crossed over the table, showing open disrespect from the very beginning. Even when Kabir questioned him, Rajiv didn't take him seriously. He casually asked him to sit down with a single finger gesture, as if ordering a servant, but Kabir refused.
At first, Kabir assumed Rajiv had simply become afraid of reopening such an old case.
But what happened next shattered that thought completely.
Instead of refusing politely, Rajiv began mocking the entire matter. He dismissed Kabir's pain as wasted time, questioned the purpose of reopening the case, and then deliberately crossed every limit by speaking about Kabir's family in the most disgusting way possible.
He suggested that maybe Kabir's wife had killed their daughter before disappearing. After all, only the daughter's body had been found. The wife's body never was.
And then, with the same cold arrogance, he implied that perhaps she had simply run away with someone else and started a new life.
"Rajiv… how dare you make fun of my daughter?"
Kabir's voice shook with pure rage.
The entire room had gone silent.
Even the distant staff looked frozen.
Rajiv, however, looked completely unaffected.
Kabir's grip around his walking stick tightened so hard that his knuckles turned pale.
"Main tumhe ek mauka de raha hoon," he said, his voice much colder now. "Jo kuch ab hoga… uske zimmedar tum khud hoge."
But even then, Rajiv showed no fear.
That was the exact moment Kabir understood something.
The man sitting in front of him was not the same Rajiv he had trusted.
And trusting him in the first place had been a mistake.
Kabir turned sharply and started walking toward the exit, his walking stick striking hard against the polished floor with each step.
The anger inside him had not reduced even slightly. If anything, Rajiv's disgusting words had pushed him dangerously close to losing control. The only reason he kept walking was because he knew staying there any longer would lead to something far uglier.
But Rajiv's voice came from behind before he could leave.
"At least ab jaa rahe ho."
Kabir stopped for half a second.
Rajiv's cold mocking tone continued.
"Mera kaafi time waste kar diya tumne."
A brief pause.
"Ab nikal jao yahan se… langde aadmi."
The entire room went silent.
Even the staff standing nearby looked uncomfortable.
Kabir's grip around his walking stick tightened hard enough that the veins in his hand became visible.
But he didn't turn back.
Not even once.
Before the situation could become worse, Meera quickly stepped forward. Unlike Rajiv, the discomfort on her face was impossible to hide. What had happened in front of her was beyond rude. Even she hadn't expected the conversation to fall this low.
"Mr. Rathore… please…"
Kabir kept walking.
Meera moved beside him, trying to keep pace.
"I'm really sorry about what happened."
Kabir finally stopped.
He didn't look angry now.
That somehow felt heavier.
Slowly, he turned his head just enough to look at her.
"Aap maafi mat maangiye."
His voice was controlled, but cold.
"Maafi usse maangni chahiye."
A brief silence passed.
Then Kabir added one final sentence.
"Aur usse keh dena… aaj ke baad mujhse contact karne ki koshish bhi na kare."
Without waiting for a reply, he resumed walking.
Meera followed him all the way outside, apologizing again, but Kabir said nothing more.
He simply got into his car and left.
After Kabir Rathore left, silence slowly returned to the massive private hall.
Rajiv remained where he was for a few moments, then let out a faint laugh under his breath as if the entire confrontation had been nothing more than mild entertainment.
A few seconds later, he moved toward the large window overlooking the city.
Without hesitation, he picked up a cigar from the table nearby and examined it briefly between his fingers. Then he lit it.
The first drag was rough.
The smoke entered his lungs, forcing an immediate cough out of him.
But instead of irritation, something else appeared.
Enjoyment.
He took another drag.
Then another.
The coughing remained, but so did that strange satisfaction, almost as if this was something he had not experienced in a very long time and was deliberately savoring every second of it.
After a while, footsteps entered the hall behind him.
Rajiv didn't turn.
He already knew someone had returned.
"Meera."
His voice was calm.
"Jaao. Meri beti ko mere paas bhejo."
He took another slow drag before continuing.
"Kaafi time ho gaya usse baat kiye."
For a second, nothing happened.
Then—
A sharp metallic sound tore through the silence.
Pure instinct took over.
Rajiv's body moved instantly.
A sharp metal weapon shot past and stopped barely an inch from his right eye.
Had his reaction been even slightly slower—
that metal spike would have gone straight through his skull.
For the first time, the enjoyment disappeared from his face.
The burning cigar remained between his fingers, thin smoke still rising quietly into the air.
The room had become completely silent.
Rajiv's eyes remained fixed on the weapon hanging dangerously close to his face.
Then, slowly—
he turned.
And standing there behind him…
was Meera.
END OF THE CHAPTER