He's not here to forgive, nor to forget. He's here to take control.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under the pressure as I sped down the road. Malhotra Media had crossed a line by publishing that article about my mother—about that woman. I didn't care what they said about her.

 She had made her choices a long time ago, and I had stopped caring about her the day—well, that's not important now. But my sister, she still thought of her as our mother. And because of that woman, my sister's life had been nothing but pain. I had protected her, shielded her from the mess that woman had left behind. She already lived through a childhood full of hell.

The engine roared louder as I pressed harder on the gas. Trees and buildings blurred by, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was my sister—her tears, her panic, her fear. The road stretched ahead, empty and dark, but it didn't calm the storm raging inside me. The tires screeched as I took sharp turns, the car jolting with every twist. I didn't care. My pulse pounded, matching the thrum of the engine.

But now, because of Malhotra Media, it was worse. They had dragged my sister through it all over again. My hands tightened on the wheel until I thought it might snap. The thought of my sister, shaking and crying because of that article, made my blood boil. I could feel the rage surging, hot and uncontrollable. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, the engine roaring in protest, but I didn't care. The city lights flickered by like ghosts, disappearing in my rear- view mirror. I needed to do something-anything.

I wanted to smash something, to hurt someone. They had hurt my sister, and that was something I couldn't let go. Not this time. Malhotra Media would pay, one way or another.

 The wind whipped through the small crack in the window, cold and sharp against my skin, but it did nothing to cool the heat rising in my chest. I could feel the steering wheel tremble under my grip, the whole car vibrating as I pushed it to its limit. The world outside was a blur, but inside the car, everything was crystal clear—rage, burning and relentless.

The phone buzzed in my pocket, dragging me out of my boiling thoughts. I didn't have to look to know who it was—Dadaji. He always knew, always sensed when I was about to lose control. I hesitated before answering.

"Where are you?" His voice was steady, but I could hear the warning in it.

"Handling business," I said, my voice tense.

"Come home. Now."

There was no arguing with him. Dadaji didn't ask; he commanded. But I wasn't scared of him. Since that terrible day when me and my sister lost everything, I had become emotionally distant from everyone. The day we buried our past, I buried my faith in God along with it. 

I exhaled sharply, pushing down my anger just long enough to turn the car around. The fury surged within me, a restless beast clawing at my insides, desperate to break free. Each heartbeat hammered a relentless reminder: I was done feeling powerless.

The drive home was a blur, and by the time I walked into Dadaji's study, the storm inside me hadn't calmed down. He was waiting, sitting in his leather chair, surrounded by shelves filled with books that towered like ancient fortresses. Dadaji had a vast collection—classic literature, history, philosophy—each tome a testament to his wisdom. He watched me with piercing eyes, as if he already knew what I was planning.

"I know you're thinking of going after Malhotra Media," he said, his tone calm but firm.

I didn't bother hiding it. "They deserve it," I shot back. "They came after us. After my family."

Dadaji leaned back, his gaze unwavering. His grandfather was a good man. So was his father. You can't destroy everything they built because of one person's mistake."

I clenched my fists, my chest tightening with anger. "One person's mistake?" I repeated, my voice low and dangerous. "That mistake nearly destroyed my sister, Dadaji. She saw the article, and it broke her. She couldn't even breathe, couldn't stop crying." The memory of my sister's panic attack made my blood boil all over again. I could still hear her gasping for air, see the fear in her eyes.

"That woman ruined us once," I continued, my voice shaking with rage. "I won't let them do it again."

Dadaji sighed, his expression softening, but I could see the disappointment there too. "I know you want to protect her, Siddhanth. But revenge won't bring you peace. Destroying their company won't make your sister any safer."

I gritted my teeth, fighting back the urge to argue. I couldn't defy Dadaji, not openly. His word was law. But I couldn't let it go, not after what they did.

That night, I barely slept. The rage kept me awake, twisting in my gut, demanding action. Destroying Malhotra Media wasn't an option anymore—not with Dadaji standing in my way—but control... control was different. If I could control the company, I wouldn't need to destroy it. They'd be under my thumb, and they'd answer to me.

I reached for the bottle on my nightstand, a bottle of aged whiskey. I poured myself a glass, the amber liquid swirling as I downed it in one go, the burn barely registering. The whiskey wasn't enough to calm the storm in my head, but as I poured another, and then it hit me.

Yes... she was the key.

The one piece that would give me everything I needed.

I sat up, my mind racing. This was how I'd win. I didn't need to tear down the company.

I just needed the right leverage—her.

The next day, I stormed into Varun Malhotra's office, my jaw clenched and my fists itching to throw a punch. I saw the motherfucker sitting behind his desk, looking every bit the spineless coward I expected him to be. My blood boiled just watching him. Pathetic. I wanted to punch him right then and there, but not yet. No, I would do worse than that. I would crush everything he had.

I threw a file across the desk. It slid right in front of him, and I could see the panic flash in his eyes. "You want to save this company, Mr. fucking Malhotra?" I spat, my voice low and venomous. "Save yourself? Then sign the damn papers and do what I want."

He swallowed, his hands trembling as he reached for the file. I stood still, watching him in cold silence as he flipped through the papers. His eyes darted over the pages, panic setting in as he slowly grasped just how deep he was in. My anger simmered beneath the surface, but I held it in check, choosing to let him squirm a little longer.

Without a word, I turned and dropped onto the leather couch in his office, my movements deliberate, confident. I stretched out, taking my time, letting him see that I was in no rush. This was my moment, and I wanted him to feel every second of it. My arms rested along the back of the couch as I watched him fumble with the papers, knowing that he had no way out.

His breath hitched, his fingers shaking as he reached the part I was waiting for. His head snapped up, confusion and fear etched into his face. "This... but why this? What does this have to do with saving the company?" His voice was shaking, desperate for answers.

I tilted my head slightly, my eyes locked on his.

"I don't owe you an explanation, bastard. You don't get to ask questions here." My tone was sharp, cutting. "You have no choice but to sign those papers if you want to live through this. If you want Malhotra Media to survive. Either you sign, or everything burns."

"But... she won't agree. She will never go along with this," he stammered, his voice weak.

I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing. "I don't care if she agrees. That's your problem, not mine. And if you don't make this happen..." I stood up slowly, towering over him. "I'll destroy your company. But not before I destroy you."

His eyes widened in terror. He knew I wasn't bluffing. I took a slow step toward him, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "You won't just lose everything you've built. I'll make sure you have nothing left. You won't even be able to walk down the street without wondering if it's your last day alive."

I watched him break, his hands shaking as he stared down at the contract. I didn't need to hear his answer. I'd already won.

I turned and walked out without another word, ignoring his desperate calls behind me. His pleading meant nothing.

As I left the office, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A message from Vikram, my trusted PA. The photo loaded first—a headshot of her.

Samayra Malhotra. With it came the details I needed.

My lips curled into a smirk. This was it. My sister had suffered enough because of this mess, but now it was their turn. I would make it worse for them. Much worse. They thought they knew pain? I was about to show them what real suffering looked like. And I wouldn't stop until they begged for mercy.

But mercy wasn't something I gave.