The atmosphere in the Malhotra mansion had shifted from the usual cold luxury to something predatory. The air-conditioning felt sharper, the hum of the house more mechanical. In the formal drawing room—a space rarely used for anything other than business that decided the fate of thousands—Vikram Malhotra sat.

He didn't look like a villain. He looked like a man of immense, quiet discipline. He was the silhouette Aarav had been trying to fill his entire life, but as Aarav stood by the fireplace, he realized he had never even come close.