And the countdown starts. Here's the last 3rd chapter for y'all.
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"Mujhe batake khud bhool gayi, Zeenat-"
("You told me yourself, Zeenat, and then you forgot it.")

His voice was soft. But it sliced deeper than any bullet.

"Har khel jaldbazi aur jazbaat se nahi khele jaate..."
("Not every game is played with haste and emotion...")

He straightened his spine. Looked her dead in the eye.

"Kuch dimaag se bhi khele jaate hain."
("Some are played with the mind.")

And in that moment, everything shattered.

Her illusion. Her pride. Her dominance.

Zeenat stared at him. The same eyes that haunted her past were now staring into her defeat. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her chest tightened. Her breath hitched. Her world-the one she controlled so tightly-had cracked wide open beneath her feet.

And Siddharth?

He simply watched.

As the empire of a vengeful queen collapsed in the silence she had once used as a weapon.

The silence of a mastermind's triumph.

Siddharth watched her face twist, and in that twist he saw the truth - the arrow had hit exactly where he wanted. His smirk deepened. Slowly, he straightened his back, his eyes locked on her, not allowing a single flicker of her defeat to pass unnoticed.

Not a single crack escaped him.

He took a deep breath, the kind that feels like shedding a heavy, fake skin he had worn for years, and then ran one hand over his other palm, a slow, almost careless movement. His gaze never left Zeenat.

Zeenat, on the other hand, she, still on the ground, was looking at the ruins of her empire.

Everything she built... crumbling right before her.Her mind was running through the cracks, the moments, the details she could not fit together. She was trying to understand how it had all collapsed.

"Sahi kaha tha tumne, Zeenat. Main maanu ya na maanu... maa to ho tum meri."

(You were right, Zeenat. Whether I accept it or not... you are my mother.)

The tone was sharp, taunting. Mocking her with her own words - words she had once thrown at him when she thought she had already won. His voice carried a cruel echo of that day.

"Tabhi to pata tha kaunsi naas kaise dabani hai... aur tumhe yaha tak kaise laana hai... akele."
(That's why I knew exactly which nerve to press... and how to bring you here... alone.)

The last word hit her like a knife.

Alone

She glanced around. The mastermind she believed was her puppet now stood across from her, gun in hand. No one moved to shield her. No one dared. She was, in truth, alone.

Her teeth clenched, but she said nothing. Her eyes moved back to him - to how he stood, tall and unshaken, both hands in his pockets. Calm. Controlled. Razor-sharp. His very presence seemed to fill the room, pushing down on every breath she took.

He turned his head slightly, tilting it in a small, deliberate motion, and glanced at Dheer. Dheer stood steady, the gun still aimed at Zeenat - at their own mother. Siddharth's eyes flicked over the faces of the others in the room, the ones she had once believed would protect her. His gaze was enough to turn their stillness into silence. Then he looked back at Zeenat. The table had turned so completely it was almost cruel.

Zeenat sat on the cold floor now, one hand pressed over the other, blood seeping through her fingers. He looked at her, and the smirk on his lips widened. Then, with an almost lazy grace, he tilted his head in the exact way Zeenat used to whenever she thought she had trapped him - a gesture that once meant victory for her.

"Dimag to bahot lagaya tumne..."His voice was calm. Controlled.

(You used your brain well...)

"From the fake illness of Noor's father to letting me know it was fake so I would send them away... from sending that bastard to my house, knowing I wouldn't live with him and would leave my family too... then buying that doll and getting caught on camera, knowing I'd get the message and come after you and then sending those torn tulips, knowing they'd make me worry for my Noor, and I'd eventually go away from her too."

His jaw tightened for just a moment-but his tone never broke. he stayed steady. His voice remained calm, as if he was not just exposing years of her schemes, but reading out a list of insignificant mistakes

"All alone and lonely. Ready to fall into your trap. Ready to think impulsively and act according to you." Then, a small twitch at the corner of his lip.

"Socha to acha tha tumne, Zeenat... par..." He crunched his nose, mocking her.

(It was a good plan, Zeenat... but...)

"Par bhool gayi... rago mein humare ek hi khoon hai... nahi?" Her jaw twitched. His lip twitched in return - a mirror, a counter, a warning. For a heartbeat, her eyes widened, a flash of surprise breaking through her mask. Years of careful planning, of pulling invisible strings, now lay crushed in a few minutes of his words. And he... he stood there with his hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on hers, his presence like a blade at her throat, laying out every trap she had set, every game she had played... and showing her that all of it had failed.

(But you forgot... in our veins runs the same blood... right?)

Zeenat lay on the cold marble floor, one hand pressed hard against her bloodied side. Pain pulsed with every breath, but her eyes... her eyes were still alive, still burning with the disbelief of a queen watching her throne crumble.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Everything had been moving exactly as she had willed it - the plans, the traps, the pieces she had placed on the board. She had been winning. And yet, here she was, looking up at Siddharth, seeing no fear in him, no hesitation, nothing but that maddening calm that said she had been outplayed long before tonight.

Her gaze flicked to Dheer.

And there it was. The master stroke - the one card she had kept hidden for years, never thinking it could be turned against her. She couldn't even piece together when it happened, how it slipped from her grasp, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she was not the kind of woman who would sit and watch her empire collapse without making a move.

The fury in her glare began to melt, drop by drop, until only a smooth, calculated mask remained. She had worn that mask countless times before. She had bent stronger men than Dheer with it. She had twisted hearts, broken wills, rewritten loyalties, She had built people, broken them, and made them dance to her tune. She had been the queen of manipulation for decades & Dheer had been one of her finest works. She still believed she could reach him and she was not about to stop now.

Still holding her bleeding side, she fixed her gaze on him and spoke, her voice soft, warm, almost tender - the exact opposite of the woman she truly was.

"Dheer... ye kya kar rahe ho? Main maa hoon tumhari. Maine chuna tha tumhe... Siddharth ne nahi. Yaad nahi? Isne tumhe kabhi nahi chuna tha. Kaise kar sakte ho aisa? Ye toh hamara badla tha na?" Her eyes did not waver. Every syllable was designed to press on the memories she had planted in him, the bonds she had forged, the loyalties she had shaped. She had seen this work before. She had seen him flinch under this voice. And so she waited.

("Dheer... what are you doing? I'm your mother. I was the one who chose you... not Siddharth. Don't you remember? He never chose you. How can you do this? This was our revenge, wasn't it?")

Dheer stood in silence, the gun in his hand pointed squarely at her. He didn't move, didn't speak. Only the faint tightening of his jaw betrayed any thought. The stillness in the air deepened. No one else moved - not even Siddharth, who stood just behind him, his gaze locked on the scene, his silence sharper than any weapon.

For a moment, Zeenat thought she might have anothet chance. The quiet seemed to stretch in her favor. Maybe he was remembering. Maybe the hook had sunk deep enough again.

But then, Dheer began to walk.

Each step echoed in the silence, slow, deliberate, carrying the weight of something she could not quite read. He stopped directly in front of her. The gun lowered slightly, though it stayed tight in his grip.

His face was carved from stone, the fire in his eyes the very same she had once nurtured. And then he spoke, his voice hard, cutting clean through the air.

"Badla toh hai, maa... par mujhe mile dhokhe ke khilaf. Har woh dhokha. Aur aapko bhi pata hai... what length I can go to take my revenge. You built me like that." The muscle in his jaw twitched - she knew that twitch, had seen it before, back when he had been hers to shape. But before she could answer, he raised the gun again, locking eyes with her... and fired.

("It is revenge, Mother... but against the betrayal I faced. Every single betrayal. And you also know... what lengths I can go to for my revenge. You built me that way.")

The shot cracked through the air. It missed her by inches,passed just past her head, close enough for the wind of it to brush her cheek, hitting the wall behind her. Dust fell from the impact, but neither of them blinked. They kept staring at each other, two predators unwilling to look away.

She didn't blink. Not when he aimed. Not when the gun went off. Not even when she realized, with a clarity sharper than pain, that her years of manipulation had finally failed. The act she had been playing - the soft voice, the maternal plea - fell away like a broken mask.

And beneath it was the real Zeenat.

Her eyes hardened into ice, her lips curled into something between a snarl and a smile. Her blue eyes turned cold, deadly, and full of murder. The rage that burned there was raw, unfiltered, ready to consume anything in its path - even her own blood. "Main bana sakti hoon... toh bigaad bhi sakti hoon, Dheer. Mat bhoolna yeh."

("If I can make you... then I can destroy you too, Dheer. Don't forget that.")

Dheer's smirk came slow, cruel, like a blade sliding from its sheath.

"Uske liye tumhara hona bhi zaruri hai." He stepped closer, the gun now aimed squarely at her forehead. His knuckles whitened around the grip, his eyes locked with hers, dripping with hate, with the hunger to end this once and for all.

("For that... it's necessary for you to still exist.")

The tension was so tight it felt like the very air might snap - and then, from behind him, a voice cut through, low and final.

"Not now, Dheer... not now."

Dheer's hand stopped mid-breath, the gun still aimed, but unmoving.

Zeenat's head turned sharply toward Siddharth. Her brows drew together. When had he gained this much control over Dheer? When had the strings shifted from her hands to his?

And in that moment, as her blue eyes narrowed in both fury and dawning realization, she knew - she was no longer the player. She was the piece.

Dheer obeyed, at Siddharth's word he stopped, the gun dipping a fraction as he took one step back. The anger in him was still alive-hot, loud, shaking the edge of his fingers-but he held it. Silence pressed over the roof like a lid. Zeenat stayed on the floor, palm clamped to her bleeding side, chin lifted, eyes hard. Siddharth's gaze did not leave her. It was the same look she had once wanted from him-a look that burned-but now it did not feed her power; it stripped it.

He moved slowly, never in a rush, letting each step land like a verdict. A small smirk touched his mouth as he reached her. "Not now. She will hear the trap she laid,straight from my mouth."

He lowered onto one knee to place her exactly where he wanted her to feel she belonged. his shoulder square, his head slightly tilted, the gun loose at his side as if he had all the time in the world.

Up close, the hate in him was quiet and cold. It did not shout. It looked into her eyes and did not blink. "Kaise hua yeh? Kab hua yeh? Baazi toh tumhari thi, na... toh tum hi shikaar kaise ban gayi? Yahi soch rahi ho, na?"

("How did this happen? When did this happen? The game was yours... so how did you become the prey? That's what you're thinking, isn't it?")

She did not answer. She only stared back-unblinking, jaw set, rage sitting like ice in her blue eyes. The fire there did not fade; it focused. Her shoulders went still, even the rise of her breath flattening, and that stillness told him he had pressed the exact nerve. The smirk on Siddharth's mouth deepened by a breath, no more. No one could say when he had turned the table; only that it was turned now, and he was the one holding it flat.

Flashback:-
(Of the day Siddharth found Dheer drunk on the road)

The rain was still hitting the windshield in a steady rhythm, each drop blurring the lights on the highway into long, liquid streaks. The wipers moved in slow, deliberate arcs, clearing just enough for Siddharth to see the endless black road ahead. His hands were steady on the wheel, his back straight against the seat, every muscle locked in quiet focus.

Beside him, Dheer sat slouched against the passenger seat, his head tilted as though unconscious, his clothes damp from the downpour earlier. The faint smell of alcohol still lingered between them-sharp, stale. But it wasn't the smell that stayed in Siddharth's head.

It was what Dheer had said on the road.

The words still echoed in the back of his mind, clipped and urgent, right before Dheer lost his balance and crumpled to the ground. His knees had buckled, the coin he had been toying with slipping from his hand and rolling into the dark. In that split second, he had lost more than his footing-he had lost the composure of a man who knew exactly where he stood.

And now, here they were.

The Rajvardhan Mansion was still miles ahead. Siddharth kept his eyes on the wet stretch of road, the sound of the engine low and even beneath the patter of rain. For a while, he didn't glance at Dheer-not directly. His mind was running, replaying every second from the moment he'd found him, every word, every twitch, every blink that didn't match a drunk man's rhythm.

When he finally did turn his head, it was for just a second. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Dheer-the slow rise and fall of his chest, the angle of his jaw, the way his fingers curled just enough to hold tension. He was still as stone, but not in the way an unconscious man would be.

He looked back at the road.

The rain thickened, rattling against the roof. Siddharth slowed the car just a fraction, enough to feel the weight of the moment stretch thin. His voice was quiet, almost casual, when he spoke. "Main jaanta hoon, tum behosh nahi ho, Dheer."

(I know you're not unconscious, Dheer.)

No movement.

The corners of his mouth tugged faintly-so faintly no one could have noticed. He shook his head once, the motion so small it could have been mistaken for nothing at all. His eyes caught a detail Dheer hadn't meant to give away-the controlled rhythm of his breath, a subtle shift of his eyelids when he spoke, the kind of flinch you feel rather than see.

"You don't have to explain why you did that. Drop the act."

This time, Dheer's head moved slightly, his eyelids lifting. His eyes met Siddharth's for only a moment before drifting forward again, but it was enough.

Still no words from Dheer. But in the rear-view mirror, Siddharth caught the tightening of his jaw, the slow adjustment of his posture as he sat upright, his wet shirt clinging to his shoulders, his face pale in the dashboard light. He didn't look at Siddharth, and Siddharth didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back. He simply kept driving.

There were questions in his mind-plenty of them-but this wasn't the moment to ask. Not yet. He had no intention of rushing. The longer the silence lasted, the more it would speak.

The only sound was the rain and the hum of the tires on the wet road. It stayed that way until Dheer's voice cut through it, low but clear.

"Kyun madad ki tumne meri?"
(Why did you help me?)

Siddharth didn't answer. His eyes stayed ahead, a faint smirk pressing against his lips as he shook his head once.

"Kuch pooch raha hoon main tumse."
(I'm asking you something.)

There was a strain in his voice-desperation he probably didn't want Siddharth to hear. It was the same tone from earlier, before he had gone limp on the street.

"I'm not answerable to you, Dheer."

Dheer finally looked at him then, his jaw tight. "Not answerable to me?" he repeated, voice vibrating with something sharp.

"No."

His gaze sharpened, and when he spoke again, there was a different weight in his tone, something close to hatred.

"The only person you're answerable to all your life is me, Siddharth."

Siddharth didn't react, not outwardly. But his mind caught the words and held them still. They had never met before. Not once. Until a few days ago, the only time they had crossed paths was when he had left a the house barely acknowledging Dheer.

But he didn't let those questions reach his face. His voice stayed even.

"How, Dheer? How am I answerable to you? Have we ever met before?"

That landed. He saw it in the quick clench of Dheer's jaw, the shift in his shoulders. Something in that question had touched a nerve.

Siddharth slowed the car again, just slightly, letting the road feel longer than it was. Dheer's fists curled tight, the knuckles whitening under the dim light. He looked away, staring at the rain-smeared night beyond the glass.

Siddharth said nothing. He let the silence deepen. He let Dheer sit with whatever storm was turning inside him.

Dheer's eyes lingered on the road ahead, but the silence between them was thick enough to choke on. The car hummed along the winding stretch, its engine the only sound in a world suddenly stripped of every other noise. After what felt like an eternity, Dheer finally said it-

"No."

The word landed flat, devoid of explanation.

Siddharth didn't react-not in the way most would expect. No flash of irritation, no probing questions. His face remained calm, his voice silent, as if even his breath was measured. But inside, every thought was precise, deliberate. He was being careful.

Because he didn't know.

He didn't know what Dheer's true intentions were.

He didn't know who Dheer really was.

Whether the man sitting beside him was truly who he claimed to be... or someone else entirely.

And somewhere in that uncertainty, a dangerous question twisted: Was Dheer... the one he had been searching for all along?

Siddharth had no answer.

Dheer's reply didn't align with what he'd been saying before-it didn't fit the pattern-but Siddharth didn't push. He let the quiet expand between them like smoke in a closed room.

They took a turn, the headlights slicing through the shadows of the narrowing road. Rajvardhan Mansion wasn't far now.

But Siddharth's hands suddenly tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles paling for the briefest second before he loosened his grip again. He glanced sideways at Dheer, his eyes tracing every line of his face-the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight tension at his temple. He studied him as if committing him to memory, like a man looking for a truth buried too deep to surface on its own.

Something heavy was moving inside Siddharth's mind. You could see it in the way his brow furrowed, in the unblinking focus of his eyes.

When he finally spoke, his tone was even, but it carried a warmth that was deliberate, almost fragile.

"I know you are lying here, Dheer... mujhe pata hai Dheer. Tum bas ek naye anjaan chehre nahi ho. Usse badh ke ho."

(I know you're lying, Dheer... I know, Dheer. You are not just a new, unfamiliar face. You are more than that.)

He looked at Dheer with something dangerously close to care-care he was trying to disguise beneath neutrality. Siddharth wasn't here to use him, not in the cold, calculating way his plan demanded. Somewhere deep down, he already knew Dheer was more than just a stranger to extract answers from. He can feel it.

There was something in the way Dheer looked at him... and in the way Siddharth felt when Dheer was near. It wasn't the detached awareness one feels with an unknown presence-it was something older, warmer, and unspoken. Siddharth didn't want to trample on it.

So his words were chosen with precision, each one holding a thread of sincerity. He didn't want to hurt Dheer's sentiments, didn't want to manipulate him into confession. Instead, he wanted to make him feel. Real.

He wanted Dheer to know the kind of warmth that could make someone open up without fear-the warmth that had been missing when, earlier on the road, Dheer had asked him that strange question: Would you care if I died?

Back then, Siddharth hadn't understood the weight of it. Now, he did. That question wasn't about death-it was about care. About belonging. About a kind of love only shared history could provoke. No stranger would ever ask such a thing... unless they carried something deeper, something that bound them to the one they were asking.

Siddharth still didn't know what that history was. But now he understood what Dheer had needed in that moment.

And for the first time in his life, Siddharth was going to act on someone's vulnerability-not to use it, not to twist it into leverage, but to protect. To save Dheer from whoever was pulling his strings. To save him from himself.

A fragile connection pulsed between them-something invisible, almost brotherly, though neither could name it.

Dheer didn't respond to Siddharth's words. Not aloud. But inside, something shifted.

His heart fluttered.

All his life, she-his mother-had told him he was unwanted. She had made him believe he wasn't the chosen one, that he was born to to bear the weight of the curse like a chain around his neck, the curse of being a Rajvardhan. She had carved it into him that he was born for revenge. That injustice had been etched into his fate. And she had made sure he knew exactly who had written it there-Siddharth.

She had told him it was Siddharth who had stolen his place, Siddharth who had chosen others over him, Siddharth who had to pay.

And Dheer had believed her.

He had believed it so deeply that his anger had swallowed everyone in the Rajvardhan Mansion-his father, Abhijeet Rajvardhan, the grandparents, every relative who carried the family's pride. Everyone except... Siddharth.

Even when he had been told, and had seen for himself, that Siddharth had chosen others-chosen Vani-over him, some quiet, defiant part of his heart had refused to hate him entirely.

Because Dheer had seen how Siddharth loved. How he protected. How he stood unshakable for those he called his own. And somewhere, in a place Dheer could never admit existed, he had wanted that for himself.

He had wanted a brother like Siddharth.

And now, sitting here, all those buried emotions began to rise-emotions he had tried to smother, to erase. He had told himself again and again that he wasn't meant to be loved, that his life was for revenge and nothing else. That his purpose was to make his mother proud and then die.

Die knowing that Siddharth would be gone because of him.

But now... now he wasn't so sure.

His heartbeat was speeding, every thud echoing in his ears. This was supposed to be the moment. Today, he had played his part to perfection because for once-just once-he wanted to look Siddharth in the eye and ask.

Ask if there was anything.

Anything at all.

For the brother he had been left without.

For the brother he had cursed.

And by the way Siddharth had answered him, it was nothing like he had expected. Nothing like he had been told to believe.

The truth was pulling him in two directions-towards the revenge he had promised, and towards the man who, against all reason, he wanted to believe could be his.

Siddharth said nothing more. He let the tension sit, heavy and unspoken. He could see the pressure in Dheer's posture, could almost hear the weight of the thoughts crushing him.

And then, without warning, Dheer's voice broke through the air.

"STOP THE CAR."

Siddharth stopped the car.

The tires made a soft hiss against the wet road as the vehicle slowed to a complete halt. Rain streaked down the windshield in endless silver lines, the wipers moving back and forth in a steady rhythm.

He turned his head towards Dheer.

Even with the rain-soaked air pressing in from all sides, there was a thin sheen of sweat on Dheer's face. His damp hair clung to his forehead, droplets sliding down the sharp lines of his jaw. But it wasn't the water that caught Siddharth's attention-it was the tension. The way Dheer's face carried a silent storm, telling a story Siddharth couldn't yet read, but could deeply feel.

There was so much happening in Siddharth's mind. So much he was holding back.

And in Dheer's mind, a bitterness began to rise.

How could Siddharth say such things?

How could he speak as if Dheer was nothing but a "new face"? Wasn't this the same face Siddharth had once seen-once ruined? How could he call it unfamiliar?

That bitterness spread like ink in water, mixing with everything else already swirling inside him.

Dheer felt the chaos of his past tightening around his heart.The pain of growing up alone The pain of knowing his brother had not chosen him, he let him die, didn't cared about him. And above all, the sharp memory of her-of how she had made sure, every single time, to remind him of it.

The car's sudden stop had made his body jerk forward, but Dheer had steadied himself. His hand now rested near the door handle, ready to open it.

That's when Siddharth's voice broke the silence.

"Meri larae tumse nahi hai Dheer, na tumse koi dushmani hai. Par mujhe pata hai ki kuch toh aisa hai jo tumhe pata hai, mujhe nahi. Lekin main tumpe zabardasti nahi karunga. Main un logon mein se nahi hoon jo kisi ki kamzori ka faayda uthaye."

(My fight is not with you, Dheer, nor do I have any enmity towards you. But I know there is something you know, that I don't. Still, I will not force you. I am not someone who takes advantage of another's vulnerability.)

Siddharth paused, his eyes locked on Dheer, quietly watching how his words landed.

Then he spoke again, slower this time, each word deliberate:

"Tum bas ek mohra ho us khel mein, Dheer... jiski zindagi woh bahut pehle likh chuki hai."

(You are nothing but a pawn in her game, Dheer... a life she had already written long ago.)

Those last words struck something deep.

Dheer felt it like a sudden, sharp pull in his chest.

He knew what Siddharth meant. He wasn't her son-not truly, not in the way a son is loved. He was something else entirely. Not someone she cared for, but someone she was using. She had been feeding him not with love, but with purpose-a purpose meant to serve her own desires. He wasn't just a person to her. He was her motive, her weapon, her design for life.

And now, hearing it all from Siddharth-the very man he was meant to kill-it shook something inside him.

Siddharth's voice didn't carry accusation. It carried understanding. And that understanding was the part Dheer hated most. Because Siddharth was unknowingly speaking truths Dheer had buried for years.

His jaw tightened.

All his life, no one had understood him. And now Siddharth, of all people, was coming close. Too close.

Dheer's thoughts were twisting fast.

Siddharth was speaking as if he knew exactly what Dheer had been made to believe... and yet, he wasn't saying the one thing Dheer was burning to hear.

Nothing was aligning. Nothing matched the image she had built in Dheer's mind all these years.

She had told him that Siddharth had chosen others over him, that he had never cared.

So why did he care now?

Why did he speak like this now... when he hadn't then?

The questions were like stones inside Dheer's chest, heavy and unmovable.

The rain's rhythm grew louder against the metal of the car. The road outside was empty-just them, the sound of water, and the weight of things unspoken.

Siddharth sat silently now, watching him, not knowing what would come next. He had played his part carefully, deliberately, and now he was waiting. Waiting to see what would break through.

The moment stretched. The rain hit harder. Dheer's breath came slow and tight. And then-

"Aur kitna jhoot bologe, Siddharth?"

(How much more will you lie, Siddharth?)

"How long are you going to pretend that you don't know about me? That you I'm just a new face not the brother you never chose" Dheer said. And like thunder the truth landed on Siddharth.

He was right all along. Dheer was the third child.

"20 saal pehle mai bhi wahi tha Siddharth when you chose Vani above me. When without looking at me you decided whom you wanted. When without knowing about me you wrote my fate. I was there when you lost everything & snatched everything from me too."

Siddharth lips parted & brows relaxed as the realization drowned. Now that the truth was out, with more confusion & more mystery. One thing was sure, Siddharth was going to solve it & make it work according to him.

Flashback ends.

Present time:-

Siddharth stayed kneeling. His face looked almost neutral, but the truth was far from it. The difference between them was simple-he held the strings of this moment, and she did not. His calm was a weapon. Her silence was a wound she could not hide.

A faint smirk curled on his lips.

"You made Dheer believe that I never chose him. You made him believe I was the one who stole from him. You treated him not like a son but like a weapon, Zeenat. You poisoned his mind so he would work for you, against me!" The last line came out like a whip, sharp and sudden, his voice cutting through the air.

On the ground, Zeenat did not flinch. This was exactly what she had done. She had raised Dheer not to love, not to grow-but to fight her battles. She had hidden him from the world, fed him lies, carved her hatred into his mind. Twenty years ago, on this very same spot, she had stood with Siddharth.

That day she never spoke Dheer's name. She never let anyone know he existed. And slowly, carefully, she had made sure Dheer would see Siddharth as the enemy.

She had played with her own child's life like a gambler holding loaded dice.

Siddharth's jaw tightened. His eyes locked on hers, unblinking, unshaken. Twenty-eight years she had invested in building Dheer into her perfect weapon-one meant to destroy everything in Siddharth's world. But the weapon had turned.

Her glare didn't waver, but his smirk only deepened. It was the kind of smirk that burned her pride. She wanted to tear it off his face.

"I didn't ruin him like you," Zeenat finally said, her voice ice-cold. "He was just a weapon to me. A key to my success. Par tum? Tum to uss ginauni raat ki yaad ho. Ek paap ke phal. Tum ek shraap ho, Siddharth. Ek dhabba."

(But you? You are the memory of that filthy night. The fruit of a sin. You are a curse, Siddharth. A stain.)

Her voice dripped with hatred-hatred no mother should ever have for her child.

The words landed on his heart like stones thrown into deep water-silent at first, but heavy enough to sink. His face did not change. His smile stayed. His eyes still looked at her as if untouched. But deep inside, something twisted.

Siddharth had always known the truth-how he was born, the shadow over his childhood. But hearing it from her lips, spoken with such venom, still cut deep. The pain was sharp, but he buried it under layers of control. She wanted him to break. She wanted to see the crack. He wouldn't give it to her.

Still, the weight of her words pressed against his chest. She had taken the crime done to her and used it as a weapon against him, an innocent. She had turned pain into poison, and he had been forced to drink it since birth.

His eyes narrowed, just slightly. And she noticed.

For the first time that night, Zeenat's lips curved into a smirk. She could see through his mask. She knew it had affected him.

Dheer stood to the side, silent. He had always known he meant nothing to her but hearing it confirmed made the truth feel colder. That night, years ago, Siddharth had proven she was not the mother they deserved. But a small part of him had hoped-hoped that some piece of her still cared, hoped she might ask for forgiveness. That hope was dead now. She was nothing but venom.

Siddharth remained where he was-kneeling, his gaze hard, a storm contained behind his eyes. His disgust was not for what had happened to her, but for what she had done with it. Whatever crime had been committed against her was unforgivable-but none of it had been his fault.

The silence between them grew heavy. The sun dipped lower, painting the terrace in dying gold.

And then-

A voice shattered the air. A voice none of them expected to hear here. A voice almost everyone present despised.

"Ek dhabba wo nahi hai, Zeenat. Wo dhabba wo hai jisne tumhe sabse bada dhokha diya hai."

(That stain is not him, Zeenat. The stain is the one who betrayed you the most.)

The words came from behind her, from the terrace gate. Abhijeet Rajwardhan stepped inside.

Zeenat heard the voice but didn't turn. Siddharth's eyes shifted toward the man, his father. He had expected him to come. But seeing him and Zeenat in the same space tightened something in his chest. His fists curled, knuckles pale. His eyes burned, but he rose to his feet and stepped slightly aside, keeping distance.

Abhijeet gaze never left Zeenat. Tonight, there was more than guilt in his eyes. There was fire-a kind she had never seen from him before. A fire she had always made sure stayed hidden.

He stopped a few paces away from all three of them. In his hand, there was a diary. His voice came steady, but each word landed like a blade.

"The night when that happened... it was your brother who spiked my drink. It was your brother who made sure I..." His voice caught, but he forced the words out. "...raped you, so the deal between us would never break. And it was him who killed the one you loved."

The terrace fell silent. Even the birds above went still.

Siddharth stood frozen. Abhijeet walked forward, his eyes locked on Zeenat. The fire in them burned out as he came closer-now, they were dead, empty.

He stopped before her and placed the diary at her feet.

Zeenat's eyes fell on it. She knew instantly whose it was. Her brother's. And for the first time in her life, she swallowed hard. She was afraid-afraid of what truth lay inside.

For the very first time in her life, Zeenat felt her heartbeat stumble. The diary lay in front of her feet, its worn leather edges almost touching her shoes. The words Abhijeet Rajwardhan had just spoken were like shards of glass-sharp, impossible to swallow. She could never digest them.

But there was one thing-one thing she had always known about Abhijit Rajwardhan.

He never lied.

He had made mistakes, yes. Grave ones. But he had never denied them. Never twisted the truth to save himself. And that fact-more than the diary, more than the accusation-was what made her hesitate.

Her mind began to turn, dark and fast. Was her brother... the real mastermind of her life's ruin? The true hand that had set every horror in motion? The one who had made sure everything happened exactly as it did-only to walk beside her afterward, pretending to share her grief, while reaping the benefits?

The brother she had believed above all others.

A strange tremor ran through her. Her confidence, her anger, the cold steel of her will-it all felt momentarily cracked. She could not believe it. She would not. With a flick of her foot, she pushed the diary slightly away, as if even its presence threatened her control. Her eyes, hard and unblinking, turned to Abhijeet

"Jhooth. Abhijeet, jhooth bol rahe ho tum."
(Lie. Abhijit, you are lying.)

Her voice was harsh, almost a whip. But Abhijeet stood unmoved, his face unreadable.

And then his voice came-steady, cutting.

"Zeenat... you know I never lie."

She knew it. And yet-she could not accept it. Denial was her shield. Her head shook slowly, almost like a child refusing to hear the truth.

The truth now hung over her like a thunderclap frozen in the air. She could feel its weight pressing down. But she pushed back-not with reason, but with madness. Something in her eyes flickered... not sorrow, not guilt, but something almost unhinged.

Her lips curled into a cold, strange smile.

"Aur kya hi faida ab... Maine har ke bhi apna badla le hi liya hai."
(And what use is it now... I have already taken my revenge for everything.)

The smile widened, slow and sinister.

All three men watched her. Siddharth's eyes never left her-he had seen this Zeenat before. The one who lived in denial. The one who could twist even the truth to suit her. He knew her mind was spinning, searching for the next piece to play. But he said nothing. He was still, silent. Even though the crime had been forced upon him by others, even though the guilt was never his to bear, he was still her gunhegar-her culprit in her eyes.

And then her voice struck again, colder, sharper. She looked at Siddharth, then Abhijeet then back at Siddharth. Her gaze was almost gleeful.

"Vani... teri beti. Aur Noor... iski biwi. Dono ko maar diya hai maine. Ab zindagi bhar tarpo."

(Vani... your daughter. And Noor... his wife. I killed them both. Now suffer for the rest of your life.)

The words hit Siddharth like an explosion. He heard her say Noor's name-and something inside him snapped. Noor was the one person in his life untouched by darkness, so pure, so undeserving of being spoken about by this woman's mouth.

He moved before he even realized it.

His stride was sharp, the air around him almost trembling with the weight of his rage. For the first time tonight, he lost control. His hand came up, a gun now pointed directly at Zeenat. His chest heaved, his jaw locked so tight it looked carved from stone. His teeth ground together as he spoke.

"Meri Noor ka naam bhi apni gandi zubaan se mat lena. Un tak pahunchne ke liye tumhe saat janam lene honge."

(Don't you dare take Noor's name with your filthy tongue. To even reach her, you would need to be born seven lifetimes.)

Zeenat's eyes narrowed, but her lips twitched in amusement. A cruel little snicker escaped her. She remembered it all-how she had planted the explosives in the car. How Noor had been inside. How the fire had bloomed like a flower in the night.

But before she could speak again-

The sound came.

The delicate, unmistakable chime of anklets, growing closer.

Zeenat's jaw tightened instantly. She didn't need to turn to know. Her body stiffened, her teeth gritted.

Siddharth, however, heard the sound and his eyes shifted toward the terrace gate. Just moments ago, his heart had been bleeding, heavy with grief and rage. But that sound... it was like cool water over a burn. The act they had pulled -the blast, the fire-it had made his pulse a storm. But now... now it slowed.

Noor stepped into view.

His eyes swept over her from head to toe, drinking in every detail-her face, her hands, the faint rise and fall of her chest. She was unharmed.

He exhaled, long and deep, the first true breath of relief he had taken since the night began. For the first time since stepping onto this terrace, peace slid back into his heart.

The anklet's soft music still rang in his ears, and in it he found something dangerous-obsession, the kind that bound his soul to hers.

He kept looking at her.

Behind Noor stood Abhimanyu and Vikram, silent sentinels in the growing night. The gun was still in Siddharth's hand, still pointed at Zeenat, but his eyes... they belonged entirely to Noor.

Flashback:-
(The day Siddharth left, after confession)

Noor was sitting on the ground. Her tears had long dried, but the grief still clung to her like a shadow. Siddharth had left without a word. Without telling her. The wound of his absence was fresh and raw.

Her fingers were still curled tightly around the letter. Still holding the green bangles he had left behind. Her eyes were fixed on nothing, her heart far away - still searching for him.

And then-

A sudden, loud thud split the stillness.

The door burst open, the sound tearing through the room like thunder.

Noor's whole body flinched. The crust of her dried tears burned against her skin. Her head jerked back, eyes wide - startled, breath caught in her throat, as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

And then her gaze landed on the figure at the door.

It was Siddharth.

He stood there, chest rising and falling fast, his shirt clinging to him with sweat, his face flushed as though he had run all the way. His hair was slightly damp, strands falling across his forehead.

Noor didn't move. She couldn't. Her mind couldn't catch up with what her eyes were seeing.

He was here. He was actually here.

Siddharth took a slow step forward. His eyes never blinked, never left her. He saw her sitting there on the ground - still holding the letter, still clutching the bangles he had given. He saw the red on her face, the exhaustion in her eyes, the silent weight of grief and loss carved into her expression.

And it tore him apart.

Because it was he who had caused this.

He who was the reason for her pain.

He hated himself for it.

Siddharth moved closer and knelt, just a step away from her. Noor's head tilted slightly, her eyes never leaving his face.

The air between them was still, heavy, almost trembling with unsaid words.

And then, in the gentlest, softest voice, Siddharth said,

"Cherry..."

The sound of that name - the way he spoke it - broke something inside her.

Her eyes blinked for the first time since he had entered. And then, before she could think, she threw herself into his arms.

Siddharth wrapped his arms around her instantly, pulling her close, holding her as if he would never let go again. He stayed kneeling in front of her while she sat on the ground, their bodies pressed together.

One of Noor's hands slid to the back of his head, pulling him closer. The other pressed against his back, gripping him tightly, as if anchoring herself to him.

Siddharth buried his face into the hollow where her neck met her shoulder. For the first time in what felt like forever, peace washed over him.

The chaos outside, the dangers surrounding them, the weight of everything he had been fighting - all of it faded. In her arms, he felt alive again.

And then he felt her tremble.

He realized Noor was crying, she had broken down completely.

She cried for the fear she had lived in.

She cried for her husband who had left without a word.

She cried for the fate they were both tangled in.

She cried out of relief, out of gratitude to God for sending him back to her.

They stayed like that for what could have been minutes or hours - neither of them knew.

When they finally pulled back, Siddharth's hands rose to her face. He cupped her cheeks gently and with his thumb, wiped away her tears.

"Roiye mat, Noor... please."
(Don't cry, Noor... please.)

He wiped again, brushing away even the invisible tears. Her whole face was flushed, her eyes swollen from a day of crying.

And then Siddharth saw something in her gaze - eyes still wet but filled with love, relief, gratitude... and then, in a second, they narrowed.

Before he could react, her hand landed sharply on his bicep.

"Kidar chale gaye the aap? Jyda hero ban rahe hai aap?"
(Where had you gone? Trying to be a hero?)

Siddharth, despite the sting, smiled softly. No matter her anger, no matter her words - to him, his wife looked impossibly beautiful in that moment.

Noor's palm landed on his arm again, and again. Soon she was beating his biceps repeatedly, still crying. Siddharth took it all silently.

"Maaf kar dijiye, Noor. Aapko bina bataye gaya... jaruri tha."

(Forgive me, Noor. I left without telling you... it was necessary.)

Another hard slap.

"Sari cheeze jaruri hai aapko hume chhod ke?"

(Everything is necessary for you, even leaving me?) she hiccuped between sobs.

Her words hit him, but not in pain. He knew she understood her place in his life. And he knew she was right - what he had done was not forgivable.

"Aaj agar jaan bhi nikalni hogi to aapki aankhon mein dekhe bina nahi nikal payegi, Noor... itni jaruri hai aap."

(Even if my life has to leave my body today, it won't leave without looking into your eyes, Noor... that's how important you are.)

His voice was soft, almost breaking. Every word was the truth - to live, to breathe, even to die - she was the most important.

Noor looked at him but said nothing. Siddharth's thumb brushed her cheek again, catching the tears that had escaped.

Another slap on his bicep. He didn't flinch.

"Maaf kar dijiye apne bawale ko, Cherry."
(Forgive your crazy one, Cherry.)

Noor caught his wrist - the one still cupping her face - and gently moved his hand away. She turned her head aside, the storm in her heart finally beginning to settle.

"Nahi karege... bahut gande hai aap."
(I won't... you are very bad.)

Siddharth tilted his head, a small smile touching his lips. He reached out, gently holding her chin, turning her face back toward him.

"Then look at your bawala once, and purify him."

His voice was deep, vulnerable, carrying all the devotion and need he felt for her. Noor's narrowed eyes held his gaze - and then the sincerity of his words seeped into her.

A small smile broke across her lips. She threw herself into his arms again, holding him close, feeling his heartbeat against hers.

Siddharth's lips brushed her ear as he whispered,

"Maaf kar dijiye, Cherry... dobara kabhi nahi hoga."

(Forgive me, Cherry... it will never happen again.)

They stayed like that - locked in each other's arms - as if the world outside had stopped breathing.

Noor's face was buried in Siddharth's shoulder, and Siddharth... Siddharth was breathing her in.

Jasmine.

Sandalwood.

That same perfume - the one that had ruled over his mind since the first time he had caught its scent on her skin. The one that could calm his storm even in the middle of a battlefield.

He inhaled deeply, slowly, like a starving man tasting food after years. His hold tightened imperceptibly around her. He did not want to let go. Not yet. Not ever.

Every second with her in his arms was a rebellion against the fate that tried to keep them apart.

And then... his eyes caught something on the floor.

The green bangle.

One of the ones he had given her. Lying alone, abandoned, its glass catching the faintest glint of the dim light.

Siddharth slowly loosened his embrace, but Noor - as if feeling even that slight retreat - clutched him tighter.

He smiled, a small, aching smile.

That grip... that desperate, stubborn hold... it told him more about her love than words ever could.

She loved him with the kind of love people wrote poems about. And he loved her back with the same - maybe more.

But he had left her. He had left her on purpose.

Not because he wanted to. Not because he could bear it.

But because it was the only way to make his plan work.

He needed Zeenat to believe that he had done exactly what she wanted - that he had abandoned his wife, his friends, his family. That he had walked away from everything to come to her alone. He wanted her convinced, blinded, comfortable in her victory.

The camera in his car had been a problem. So he had left the car at the haveli in the village. Parked it in the garden deliberately. From there, he had come back - silently, in the darkness - slipping through the back door of the house so that no one, not even Zeenat's spies, would know he had returned.

Because he knew Noor.

He knew she must be crying.

He knew she must be blaming herself.

He knew she must be questioning what she did wrong.

And in Siddharth's eyes, Noor could never, ever do wrong. So he was here.

At night.

In the quiet. To hold her before the guilt could drown her.

They stayed wrapped around each other for another long, precious moment. And then Siddharth, very slowly, eased back - this time Noor let him.

Her face was still wet, her skin soft under the tear tracks. He reached for the cuff of his shirt, fingers moving with unhurried care as he unbuttoned the sleeves. Then, with the tenderness of a man touching the most fragile thing in his world, he used the fabric to wipe her tears.

Slowly.

One cheek first.

Then the other.

Every movement deliberate, like he wanted to erase not just the water on her face but the day that had caused it.

When he was done, his hands slid down to hers. He took both her wrists gently in his palms. Without a word, he lowered his head.

His lips touched the inside of one wrist - warm, lingering - and then the other. It wasn't a kiss for desire. It was a vow, pressed into her skin.

When he lifted his gaze back to her, there was a faint smile on his lips. Noor, through her tears, gave him one back. And that smile... it hurt him. Hurt him because he had been starving for it.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on her forehead - slow, steady, sealing her in the safety of his presence. Then he reached down for the green bangle.

One by one, with careful precision, he slid them onto her wrist. The sound of glass sliding against glass was soft, almost shy. The green gleamed against her skin like it had been born there.

When the last one was in place, Siddharth's head dipped again. He kissed her wrist over the bangle.

This time, Noor giggled - the sound small and wet with tears, her throat still heavy from a day of crying.

But to Siddharth, it was perfect.

Exactly what he wanted.

He looked up, and she was still giggling. And in that moment, he knew - this was the smile he could die for. The face he could die for. The feeling he could die for.

And then -

A knock.

Three short raps on the closed door.

"Siddharth... he's here."

..

.

.The staircase stretched before them like a slow drop into an unknown fate. The dim light from above painted long shadows across the walls, their steps echoing faintly in the hushed air. Noor's hand rested firmly in Siddharth's, her fingers curling tighter around his as if he were the only anchor she trusted in a world she did not understand. She didn't know who waited below, or why this night felt so different, so sharpened at the edges. But she trusted him. Whatever was unfolding, it would bend in her favour-if Siddharth was the one leading her.

They descended together. His pace was unhurried, deliberate, as though every step had already been measured in his mind. The faint scent of sandalwood clung to him, steadying her heart. His thumb brushed the side of her hand, a quiet reassurance without words.

Her feet reached the last step, and in that breath, her gaze shifted forward-only to still.

A figure stood waiting.

Professor Dheer.

The metal glint of a gun caught the dim light, sharp and cold. Noor's breath caught, her step faltering for the briefest of moments. A pulse of alarm rippled through her chest-but when she glanced at Siddharth, he hadn't slowed. His gaze locked with Dheer's, steady, unreadable. No surprise flickered in his eyes. No panic. Only an intent so controlled, it was almost unnerving.

They stopped just short of him. Silence held the air, taut as a drawn bowstring. Dheer's stare remained fixed on Siddharth for a moment, then flicked toward Noor-only for the briefest heartbeat-before returning to the man in front of him. And then, his voice broke the stillness.

"Chai ka bhi nahi puchengi, bhabhi?"

(Won't you even offer me tea, sister-in-law?)

Noor blinked at him, startled. Her lips parted in confusion as her gaze darted between Siddharth, Vikram, Abhimanyu, and Dheer. She found small, knowing smiles on each of their faces, and then-like the breaking of a dam-Abhimanyu's laugh burst into the air.

"Rajvardhan, you haven't disclosed everything to bhabhi yet? Beta, tu bahut mar khayega."

(Boy, you're going to get beaten up badly.)

And in that instant, understanding began to take root. They had known. They had known he was coming. And the way Dheer said bhabhi-as though it were already a settled truth-struck her with sudden clarity. Dheer... was the third child. The one Siddharth had been searching for all along.

Her eyes shifted sharply to Siddharth, narrowing. He hadn't told her. Not this. And Dheer-standing there with that small, almost reluctant smile-watched her back with a look that was neither hostile nor entirely friendly.

For Dheer, the first time he had ever laid eyes on Noor had been in college, under orders from his mother to watch her, to hurt her if necessary. She was supposed to be a weakness to exploit, the backbone of Siddharth that needed breaking. But the moment he saw her-really saw her-he knew she was not a woman who belonged in this pit of schemes and betrayals. That first day, when she had stood in the office, saying her full name with unwavering strength, something inside him had shifted. Respect. That was the first thing he'd felt for her.

From that moment, he decided-no matter his mother's plans-he would not hurt her. Even when she forced his hand, ordering him to kidnap Noor to end everything, his resolve remained unmoved. Noor was innocent. Noor had always been innocent.

And then came the night when the truth unraveled. When Siddharth had told him everything, laid it bare. The night everything became clear. By then, Dheer had already chosen his side.

Siddharth's gaze dropped briefly to the leather-bound diary in Dheer's hand. The exact same one Abhijeet Rajvardhan had stolen from Akash Nigam's house just a day earlier. That diary had been a turning point-an ace slipped into Siddharth's game at precisely the right moment. The kind of move only a patient, calculating mind could orchestrate.

His mind flashed back to Abhijeet's call. The man had claimed to have something valuable, something worth Siddharth's protection-something that could turn the tide completely. Siddharth didn't trust easily, least of all a man like Abhijeet, but there was one truth everyone knew: Abhijeet Rajvardhan never lied. And he hadn't. The diary had been real. It had exposed how Zeenat was using Dheer, how every thread had been pulled.

Now, the diary was in Dheer's possession-and Dheer was standing on their side.

Siddharth's eyes flicked briefly to Vikram and Abhimanyu-his confidants in this entire game. The men who knew every step of the plan, every mask he'd worn, every move Zeenat thought she'd predicted but hadn't. Then, back to Dheer. A slow smirk curved his lips. The trap had been flawless.

Because while Zeenat thought she was watching a man unravel-leaving his wife, sending her parents away, abandoning his home-what she was really seeing was a performance. A perfectly crafted illusion. Every impulsive decision, every gesture of apparent surrender, was calculated. Even the cameras she'd planted in his car and home had been turned into tools in his hands.

And tonight-tonight, she believed he was in the village, coming to her, vulnerable and alone. Tonight, she believed victory was hers. Which meant tonight was the exact moment Siddharth had been waiting for.

The death she deserved, the justice Noor deserved-it was already waiting.

Flashback ends

Zeenat sat on the cold ground, her body trembling as she tried to push herself up. Her palms pressed hard against the floor, but her own hands betrayed her - weak, trembling, refusing to lift the weight of her broken pride. The sharp sting in her leg sent a jolt through her body; when she fell earlier, something in her knee had twisted, and now even standing felt impossible. She gritted her teeth so hard that her jaw ached, but the pain in her body was nothing compared to the fire eating her from the inside.

Abhijeet Rajvardhan stood there, his face carved with a mix of steel and sorrow. Noor and Siddharth stood side by side, their presence a silent defiance. And Dheer was there too, unwavering. For the first time in her life, Zeenat felt the sting of a realization that cut deeper than any wound - she had never been playing the game at all. She had been the one played. From the beginning. Every plan, every move she thought she had mastered was just part of a larger play where she was nothing but a pawn.

Her eyes darted to Noor. She saw the glow in her face - not the glow of softness, but of fire, of quiet rage. Noor was no longer the fragile girl Zeenat once imagined her to be. She was not merely a wife... not merely another woman dragged into the storm. Tonight, she was a force. A storm herself

And now Zeenat understood why Siddharth stood so sure, so steady at her side.

Noor's eyes locked on her - steady, unblinking. This was the first time Noor was facing the woman who had poisoned her husband's heart, the woman who had stolen years from his life, the woman who had whispered venom into his soul. Noor had seen pictures before, but they were nothing compared to the reality. In those photographs, Zeenat had looked regal, proud, untouchable. But tonight? Tonight, she looked stripped of every layer - fallen, weak, almost small.

Noor stepped closer to Siddharth. Without a word, she slid her fingers into his, entwining them until they felt like one grip, one strength. Siddharth's gaze fell to their joined hands. The contact burned into him, steadying him. She wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to be alive - and yet she was. Her presence alone was undoing every crack in his armor.

The strength Noor gave him-was never meant to exist.

But Noor's gaze soon shifted past him. To the culprit. To the one whose lies had set this all in motion. Her eyes flickered to the diary - the book of truth, the silent witness to years of betrayal.

Abhijeet Rajvardhan's eyes followed hers. He had never seen Zeenat like this - restless, shaken, her own certainty slipping through her fingers. He knew the truth that had surfaced tonight was not a wound she could ignore. It wasn't just about betrayal... it was about the brother she had worshipped above all others - revealed as the true snake.

His voice broke the silence.

"Manta hoon mujhse galti hui thi, Zeenat... aisi galti jiski koi maafi nahi."

(I admit, Zeenat... I made a mistake. A mistake that can never be forgiven.)

His eyes lowered, shame pressing on his shoulders. Slowly, they turned toward Siddharth... then Dheer. The son he had last seen when he was just a fragile, crying newborn in his arms. That day, he had sworn to protect him, to be the father every son deserved. And now, that boy stood before him - tall, unyielding, and carrying a hatred that no apology could erase.

But this was not the time for embrace. Not the time for tears. He didn't speak for forgiveness - he had long accepted that it would never come. He only spoke now to tear away the last shroud of misunderstanding.

"Maine wahi kiya jo tumne kaha. Tumhari maafi ke liye saare gunah kiye maine. Tumne kaha Siddharth ko bhool jao... kaha ki uska hona tumhe dard deta hai... aur maine apne nanhe se bete ko chhod diya. Baap ka saya kya hota hai mehsoos bhi nahi hone diya. Tumne kaha ghar chhod do... chhod diya. Tumne kaha mera chhota beta mar gaya... maine maan liya. Tumne jo kaha, maine mana... bas tumhari maafi ke liye, Zeenat. Aur tumne apni beti ke saath hi...? Rooh nahi kaampi tumhari, Zeenat. Pyaar se zyaada izzat karta tha... isliye tumhari maafi itni keemti thi... gunahgaar main tha na tumhara, toh mere bache kyu?"

(I did exactly what you told me, Zeenat. For your forgiveness, I committed every sin. You told me to forget Siddharth... you said his presence caused you pain... and I left my little boy. I didn't even let him feel what a father's shadow means. You told me to leave home... I left. You told me my younger son was dead... I believed you. Everything you said, I obeyed - just for your forgiveness. And you... with your own daughter? Didn't your soul tremble, Zeenat? I respected you more than I loved you... that's why your forgiveness was so precious. I was your sinner, wasn't I? Then why punish my child?)

His voice cracked, not from weakness but from the weight of memory. His mind fell back to that night - the night his pride broke. He remembered falling to his knees before her, clutching her legs, begging for mercy for the first time in his life

He remembered slapping himself until his cheek burned.

He remembered staring at the mirror and hating the man who stared back.

He remembered the knife in his hand, the moment he almost ended it.

And he remembered the condition she gave him: Forget you ever had a son.

He remembered the last time he saw little Siddharth asleep on the bed.

The way his small chest rose and fell.

The way his tiny fingers curled around nothing.

And he remembered forcing his heart to turn to stone.

Thirty years ago, Abhijeet Rajvardhan had stood in front of a mirror, tears streaking his face, realizing that the life he had ruined was his own.

He had wanted a family.

He had dreamed of taking his children to water parks, forests, foreign lands.

He had planned a life filled with laughter.

But one decision-one moment-had shattered it all.

And yet, somewhere, wasn't he also a victim? Everything had started that night, a night he had walked into trusting Akash - Zeenat's own brother - as his closest friend. He had gone to discuss divorce, to free Zeenat so she could marry the man she loved.

Abhijeet had loved Zeenat deeply, respected her more than himself.Enough to step aside. That was why he wanted her free, why he wanted to step aside with dignity.

But the next morning, he woke up naked beside her.

And the moment his eyes fell on her, he knew what had happened.

Shame crushed him.

He could not bear to stay.

So he ran.

Now, standing there, looking at her-Zeenat, the woman he had once seen as his future-he felt the reel of his life spin in his head like an old film.

They had ruined each other.

She was his destruction, and he was hers.

Siddharth's voice trembled, but his words came like cracks in stone.

"But plot twist... Zeenat didn't do everything just for revenge."

He paused. His eyes found her across the room.

She was already looking at him. Not blinking. Not moving.

A silent, heavy stare-two storms meeting in the middle of a ruined house.

Zeenat tried to stand. Not even trying, really-her movements were sluggish, almost indifferent. Her leg faltered beneath her weight, one arm still bleeding, the crimson tracing a stubborn path down her skin. She wasn't reacting. She wasn't defending herself. She knew. The truth was spilling into the open, and she could taste it in the air. Everything was out now-Siddharth knew it all-and still, she stood as though the revelation didn't matter anymore.

What caught Siddharth's attention was not her smirk, not even the blood-

It was the diary in her hand.

"Dadaji named all his property to Zeenat's children," Siddharth said, his voice cutting through the charged air. "And that was the moment Zeenat and Akash chose property over her dignity... and over her revenge. She decided to trap Abhijeet Rajvardhan again. And me? Siddharth? I was never even her option. I was meant only for her revenge. Then came Veer, Vani, and Dheer. But before she could execute her plan, Akash told her once that her lover had died. What she didn't know-what Abhijeet Rajvardhan knew from the very beginning-was that it was Akash who had killed him. And before Abhijeet could tell her the truth, Akash poisoned her mind again, making her believe it was Abhijeet who had done it.

"Zeenat, who once dreamed of living her life with the man she loved, funded by Rajvardhan's fortune, saw those dreams shatter. And so, she decided she would take revenge-not for her own pain, but For the money she never got... and for the money she would still take. That's why she kept Dheer hidden all along. I was meant to die, Veer and Vani were meant to die, and Dheer-Dheer was the key to the entire property. Zeenat and Abhijeet's child. Isn't that right, Zeenat?"

She didn't flinch.

She didn't even blink.

She straightened, ignoring the weight in her injured leg, ignoring the blood drying on her arm. There was no softness in her face-only the glint of fire in her eyes and the curve of a small, cruel smirk. A psychopath's smile.

The truth was out.

And there was no one left to hide it from.

She had planned to kill every last person from Rajbhagavan. Hide Dheer. Claim the property-all of it. Everything named under Abhijeet and Zeenat's children. Dheer would be the golden key to unlock it all. Siddharth was never meant to live. He was meant to be tortured. Meant to pay for his father's sins. She had trapped him, just as she had trapped Abhijeet before. The second chance she gave Abhijeet was not born of forgiveness, not of love-only greed. Greed she shared with her brother.

Siddharth's chest rose and fell sharply. His eyes were knives.

And then-he shrieked. A raw, guttural sound that rattled the air.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, raising the gun in his hand.

Zeenat's eyes flickered to Noor. She saw him let go of Noor's hand. Of course he did. He wouldn't hold her while ending a life. He wouldn't make her complicit in the sin.

Zeenat understood. This was the end.

But she felt no regret-not for a single act she had done.

Her only regret was the man she had trusted.

Her grip on the diary tightened, the knuckles paling. Somewhere inside, she knew Abhijeet Rajvardhan had told the truth. She didn't even need to read the diary to confirm it. Abhijeet never lied-and she knew it. She knew exactly how she had been trapped. She knew exactly how she had been betrayed.

"Mai sirf wo 14 saal ka bacha nahi tha, Zeenat, jo rota rehta tha ek kone me... badle ki aag to mujh me bhi tab se hi hai."

(I was never just that fourteen-year-old boy, Zeenat, crying in a corner... the fire of revenge has been in me since then.)

Siddharth's voice shook, but the words rang heavy.

He pointed the gun straight at her.

Nobody moved.

Her brother's betrayal was written in the way she held that diary close to her chest. It was crushing her, even if she refused to show it. Siddharth could see it-the small tremors in her fingers, the shadow in her eyes.

And then-memories crashed through him like waves breaking on stone.

He saw himself as a child-locked in a dark room. The smell of dust, the taste of stale air in his mouth. His small hands banging against the door until they were red. The sound of his own sobbing echoing back at him.

Her voice outside-telling him he was cursed.

Those piercing blue eyes watching him suffer.

Nights of hunger so deep it gnawed at his bones. Days without a touch of comfort.

No mother. No father. Only a world where every breath was a fight.

She had stolen his childhood.

She had stolen his innocence-clear and flowing like river water-and poured poison into it.

Siddharth's finger curled on the trigger.

He kept staring at her.

She kept staring back-expressionless, unblinking.

"I hope dubara kisi janam me kabhi nahi milunga."

(I hope we never meet again in another life.)

He stood three or four steps away. Zeenat was backed against the wall, her eyes locked with his. She still hadn't spoken.His voice was low, steady. The kind of steady that comes from years of bleeding inside without anyone noticing.

And then-her voice.

Cold. Unyielding.

"Yaad rakhna... I don't regret anything I did, Siddharth."

(Remember this... I don't regret anything I did, Siddharth.)

Siddharth's hands tightened around the gun. His face remained composed, but in his mind, storms broke and reformed. He stared at her as if trying to measure the exact weight of every wound she had carved into his life. The silence between them was not empty - it was full of screams from another time.

The barrel of the gun lifted toward her, a gesture that felt like an ending. No one moved. Not Abhijeet, not Dheer, not the guards. Everyone seemed to understand that this was not a moment to interrupt - that whatever was going to happen here had been decades in the making.

Zeenat did not flinch. She held his stare as if daring him to pull the trigger. In that silence, Siddharth's mind betrayed him with memories - his childhood locked behind doors, the metallic clang of chains on his wrists when he was too young to understand why, her voice telling him that he was cursed, her hands pushing him away from every sliver of warmth. He remembered wanting a mother, a father, a family. Instead, he was given hunger, bruises, and cold walls.

Still, he didn't fire.

Not because she was his mother - that word had never belonged to her - but because there was always a moment of hesitation before you ended another life. Not weakness. Not mercy. Just the gravity of that final act pressing down on him.

Zeenat's breathing shifted. She straightened slightly, eyes narrowing as if reading something in his stance. Then, without warning, she moved. It wasn't a stumble; it was sudden, sharp - she lunged toward one of the guards.

The room fractured into motion. Voices rose, guns adjusted, boots shifted on the marble floor. Siddharth didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on her, cold and unreadable. He had already guessed what she was trying to do.

She feinted left, as if heading for the far exit, then pivoted sharply toward Dheer. That too was a lie - halfway there, she changed direction again. Her erratic movements were like a puzzle meant to waste seconds and scatter attention.

And then she struck.

Her hand darted to the waist of a nearby guard, wrenching free the gun holstered there before he could react. Gasps cut through the air. The barrel glinted under the harsh light.

Everyone expected her to aim at them. Siddharth didn't.

His gaze didn't even flicker. He knew.

Zeenat's smirk returned - wide now, almost joyful in its madness. She lifted the weapon, but not toward Siddharth, not toward Dheer, not toward anyone in the room. Instead, she pressed the cold metal under her own chin.

"Not any of you," she said, her voice laced with a venom that would stain the air long after she was gone.

Her finger pulled the trigger.

The sound tore through the surrounding like an executioner's drumbeat.

For a moment, no one breathed.

The body that had haunted Siddharth's life for decades crumpled to the floor, diary still in hand, smirk frozen into the last expression she would ever wear.
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