The Deceit

CHAPTER 36

VISHNU

Walia Mansion – Present

The suspense is finally out. We now have a face to the ‘masked man’ who has been threatening Simran—Zane, or rather, Zayed Qureshi.

Raw anger courses through my veins as Qureshi’s last words echo in my head, as vivid and haunting now as they were six years ago:

“My blood will take revenge…”

“My eyes will always be on you…”

How the hell did I miss it?

His blood. His eyes. Qureshi had practically spelled it out for me. He wasn’t talking about himself. He was talking about his son—Zayed Qureshi. A ticking time bomb that I should have identified and defused six years ago.

My fists clench, my nails digging into my palms as I curse myself. How could I have been so blind? So careless? I should’ve pieced it together, should’ve hunted down his son before he ever had the chance to become a threat to my family.

I slam my fist against the nearby wall, the anger getting the best of me. Simran flinches at the sound and steps closer, but I can’t bring myself to look at her.

“This is all my fault,” I mutter, my voice tight with self-loathing. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve suspected it back then and dealt with his son at the time. If I had just…” I trail off, shaking my head in frustration.

“Vishnu,” Simran says gently.

“I should’ve ended this six years ago, Simran,” I snap, cutting her off. My eyes meet hers, burning with a fire that refuses to die down. “How could I miss something so obvious? Qureshi had clearly warned me, and I ignored it. I should’ve hunted his son down, ensured he wasn’t a threat before he had the chance to do this to us.”

“How could you have known, Vishnu?” she says softly. “It’s easy to overlook something like that. You were dealing with so much at the time—Qureshi’s death, keeping your family safe, protecting them. You did everything you could. You’re not to blame. It’s not your fault.”

“That’s not an excuse. I knew Qureshi had been married once to an American woman, and that they had a son who didn’t live with him in India. But I never suspected he would take revenge like this. After Qureshi’s death, I stayed vigilant. I was on high alert for years, watching for any threats to the Walias. I never let my guard down, not even for a second. But when nothing happened—when no attacks came—I let myself believe it was over. I closed that chapter, thinking we were finally safe.”

I exhale sharply, running a hand through my hair. “I should’ve known better. Hatred like that doesn’t just die. It waits. It bides its time, festering in the dark until it’s the perfect moment to strike. And I let it grow.”

“Vishnu, you’re not a mind reader.” Ayaan, who had been on a phone call after I shared the flashback related to Qureshi, joins us again. “You couldn’t have predicted this. And despite it all, you’ve always done everything in your power to protect this family.”

“But it clearly wasn’t enough,” I snap, frustrated. “All this time, Qureshi’s son was right under our noses—so close to me, so close to my family —and we had no idea. That’s not protection, Ayaan. That’s epic failure.”

“He’s dangerous, Vishnu,” Ayaan says, understanding the depth of this situation. “Zayed Qureshi has been waiting for years to avenge his father. As a son… he turned a blind eye to his father’s crimes and only focused on one thing. That somehow, the Walias were responsible for pushing his father to the edge, that they were the reason his father shot himself.”

His phone rings again, cutting through the tension. “I need to take this,” Ayaan says, stepping to the side, leaving Simran and me alone.

“I was such a fool.” Simran’s shoulders sag as she takes a shaky breath. “I can’t believe I couldn’t see through him. I confided in him—told him about my business, my plans, my dreams—and all this time, he was planning to destroy us?”

Her voice cracks as she continues, her hands trembling.

“You almost exposed Zane on our wedding day in New York, but I trusted him over your instincts. I fought with you… for him. How could I have been so blind?”

I step closer, gripping her shoulders firmly but gently.

“You couldn’t have known, Simran. No one in your place could have. Zane played his part well. He pretended to be innocent, gained your trust, and stayed close until he had everything set for his revenge.”

Tears well in her eyes as I continue.

“But despite you asking me to stop bothering Zane, I never did. I never stopped looking into him,” I admit. “Even when he proved his so-called innocence that day outside the marriage bureau in New York, something about him felt off.”

A flash of memory hits me—Zane’s face that day, his reaction to my words.

“Remember that day when I told Zane that he wasn’t off the hook? That I’ll dig up the truth even if I have to drag his family into this mess?”

Simran nods, recalling that moment.

“He had snapped when I mentioned his family. I saw something in his eyes that day,” I continue. “His reaction wasn’t just defensive—it was intense, raw. At the time, I couldn’t pin it down. So, we kept digging into his past. And eventually, today my team back in the U.S. found the photographs—of Zane with his mother. That’s when it all clicked. I recognised her as Qureshi’s ex-wife. I’d seen her pictures years ago when I was investigating Qureshi’s past. And that connection is what led us to the truth. Zane isn’t just your stalker, Simran, but he’s someone who has been waiting for the perfect moment to take revenge on the Walia family.”

“But what about Jack? How does he fit into all this?” she asks, confused.

“I had asked Ayaan to get me the patient list from Riverside Haven Mental Health Center, where Jack was being treated before his death. That’s where we came across Zane’s name too. After Qureshi’s death, he completely lost his way, teetering on the brink of madness. He spent three and a half years in Riverside Haven, receiving treatment. That’s where they both met, as Jack Thompson and Zane were patients at the same center, at the same time. My guess is that Zane manipulated Jack and used him as a pawn to stalk and threaten you. But after Jack’s accident, Zane had to take matters into his own hands. He continued using Jack’s identity to cover his tracks—Jack’s car, his home, his everything. He even planted your photographs and personal information there, making it look like Jack was the one behind it all. And the joker mask? That was the key. That’s how he kept his real identity hidden while he terrorised you.”

“But why me?” Simran’s breath hitches. “Why did he target me? Did he know about us? And if he did, then how?

“That’s something only Zane can answer,” I mutter darkly. “But it’s clear that he knew. Somehow, he figured out the connection between us, and between me and Veer. That’s why he targeted you. To draw me out.”

I pause, my mind racing before connecting the dots.

“If he was released from the mental health center four years after Qureshi’s death—that is around two years ago—then he must’ve been keeping an eye on me and my family all this time. Watching us. Waiting for that one perfect moment.”

Before I can say more, there’s a knock on the door. Abhay steps in, his expression grave as he hurries toward me.

“Our sources just confirmed something,” he says, handing me a file. “Zane travelled to India two years ago. Here’s the copy of the passport stamps showing his entry and exit.”

My fingers tighten around the papers as I scan the dates, my chest tightening with anger.

“He stayed in India for six months,” Abhay continues. “And he returned to New York just a month before Simran moved there.”

The sharp exhale I let out doesn’t do anything to suppress the fire rising in my chest. I look up at Simran and then at Abhay.

“That means I was right. The first thing he did after leaving that mental health center was come straight here. To India. He was shadowing me.”

I throw the papers onto the table, my fists clenching at my sides.

“Look at the timing,” I growl. “The months he was here match perfectly with the time period when Ayaan and Meher got married. That’s when Meher found out the truth—that I’m a Walia. Her stepbrother.”

Simran’s face pales as she processes this. We look at each other in silent understanding. That was the time we met at the club and spent the night together in her apartment. I simply nod at her, silently confirming the unspoken question in her eyes.

“That’s when he must’ve seen us,” I mutter. Finally, the puzzles fit. “That’s how he got to know about us. And after you left for New York, he started stalking you. Keeping tabs on your every move.”

She literally trembles in shock as I say this. I can’t control the rage building inside me, either.

“All this time, he was so close to us… and we had no idea,” I angrily mutter. “For eighteen months, he was in your life, pretending to be your friend, your business associate, all the while, knowing Veer was my son. He could have harmed you both anytime, and I didn’t even see it coming.”

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to contain the storm inside me, but it’s of no use. I slam my fist onto the table again.

“I failed,” I grind out through gritted teeth.

Simran moves closer, her hands reaching for mine, trying to stop me from hurting myself further. “Don’t do this to yourself, Vishnu. If anyone is to blame, it’s me,” Simran replies. “I took the foolish decision of keeping Veer a secret from you. And then I trusted the wrong person. But ever since you came back into our lives again, you’ve done everything you can to keep us safe.”

Her words should be comforting, but they only fan the flames of my guilt. I reach up and cup her face, forcing her to look at me.

“That’s not enough. I’m not letting you or Veer out of my sight again. Where you go, I go. No arguments. I don’t care what it costs me—my career, my plans, anything.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “Vishnu, we have talked about this. You can’t do that. You can’t sacrifice everything you’ve worked so hard for—”

“I’ve already made my decision,” I cut her off. “I want you and Veer safe. Nothing else matters.”

Before she can argue further, Ayaan walks back into the room, his face grim.

“The NYPD is on their way to Zane’s house with an arrest warrant. I’ve sent them all the evidence we have. Let’s hope they catch him before he disappears.”

I shake my head, my gut twisting with certainty.

“They won’t find him in New York.”

“What do you mean?” Ayaan frowns.

I meet his eyes.

“If I’ve learned anything about Zane, it’s that he plans his moves meticulously, well ahead in advance. He’s not in New York anymore. He’s here, Ayaan. In Mumbai. Waiting to strike.”

Ayaan exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair.

“If he’s here already, that means he has set everything in motion. We don’t have much time. We need to find him before he makes his move, Vishnu.”

I nod.

Abhay steps forward, his jaw set. “I’ll increase security around the mansion immediately. We’ll double the patrols and monitor every entry and exit point.”

“Do it,” I order. “And make sure no one leaves this house without my approval.”

As Abhay leaves to carry out my instructions, I turn back to Simran. She looks at me, her eyes filled with trepidation.

“I won’t let anything happen to us,” I promise her. “We may not know his exact plan, but we still have the upper hand. Because we know who he is now and what he wants.”

She gives me a weak nod, though her fear remains palpable. Zayed Qureshi is here, and he’s closer than ever. I just don’t know where he’ll strike—or when. But one thing is certain: whatever his moves are, I’ll be ready.

*******************

Few Hours Later

I stir in my sleep, the low hum of buzzing pulling me out of a restless dream. Simran, nestled against my chest, stirs a little but doesn’t wake. The room is still dark. I glance at the bedside table where the source of the vibration continues—my phone.

Who could be calling at this early hour?

Usually, Simran and I keep our phones on silent at night, set to vibrate mode to avoid waking Veer, who sleeps either between us or in his own baby cot beside our bed. But something about the persistent buzzing unsettles me. Slowly, I untangle myself from Simran’s arms, careful not to wake her.

I sit up and reach for my phone, my pulse quickening the moment I see the screen.

The caller ID displays a four-digit number—no name, no details. Just a four-digit number. My instincts immediately kick in, putting me on high alert, wiping away the last remnants of sleep. After everything we uncovered about Zane—Zayed Qureshi—last night, I know this isn’t just a random call.

Simran shifts slightly, her soft breaths steady as she sleeps. I grab my phone, then quietly check on my son, who’s snuggled up in his baby cot, sleeping peacefully. Satisfied, I slip out of the room without a sound. Once I reach the drawing room, I set the phone on the wooden table, propping it against a stack of books for support. My heart pounds as I accept the call.

The screen lights up, and my jaw tightens.

There it is—the joker mask.

It’s him!

The sight of it sends a wave of rage coursing through me, but I don’t flinch. We’d expected Zane to make some kind of contact with us, especially me, the moment he realised the NYPD had come knocking at his New York residence for his arrest. My team has already tapped my phone, ready to trace his location the second the call connects.

I lean forward, planting my palms on the table, my fingers splayed as my hardened gaze pierces through the screen.

“What should I call you?” I almost growl. “Zane or Zayed Qureshi?”

A twisted smirk stretches across his face as he slowly removes the mask, unveiling his true face. There he is… the man behind the mask—Qureshi’s son, Zayed. His expression is dark, sinister, and far too smug for someone about to be torn apart. That smirk won’t last long. I’ll make sure of that.

“And what should I call you?” he sneers, his voice oozing venom. “Vishnu… or should I call you what my father did… Walia’s watchdog?”

My jaw clenches so hard it aches, but I don’t break eye contact.

“Watchdog, huh?” Zane laughs darkly, his smirk deepening. “But you didn’t live up to that title, did you? It took you long enough to figure out it was me. All this while, I left you little breadcrumbs—hints like that cryptic note ‘My eyes will always be on you’ —the same promise my father made before you killed him… and yet, even with all that, it took you forever to send the police to my doorstep in New York.”

I lean closer, my hands tightening into fists on the table. “I didn’t kill your father,” I say through gritted teeth. “He committed suicide.”

“Suicide?” Zane’s smirk vanishes in an instant, his face twisting into a mask of unfiltered rage. “You think that was suicide? It was murder. You are his murderer, Vishnu.”

He leans in closer to the camera, his eyes ablaze with hatred. “That day, I saw everything with my own eyes. Do you remember that mirror, Vishnu? The one my father stared into when he made that promise—the one where he swore his blood would take revenge? Do you know who was watching from the other side? Me . I was watching everything .”

My breath catches as I process his words. So, that was a two-way mirror and Zane had been watching us all along.

“I saw how you goaded him,” Zane continues, his voice trembling with fury. “I saw how you cornered him, pushing him into a corner so tight that he had no way out. You showed him there was no choice left, no dignity to cling to. You didn’t shoot him, Vishnu, but you left him with no choice but to pull that trigger.”

He pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he slams his fist onto his own desk, the sound reverberating through the call.

“You humiliated him, stripped him of everything he had worked for. My father wasn’t a coward—he preferred death over the disgrace you forced upon him. And you? You wanted it to happen. The world may call it suicide, but let me make this perfectly clear to you, Vishnu—you killed my father. And for that, you will pay .”

Zane’s eyes narrow into cold, merciless slits, and I can see the madness in them. It’s not just anger—it’s obsession. A twisted, all-consuming need for vengeance that has burned in him for years. His lips curl into a menacing smile as he leans closer to the camera, his voice dropping to a cold, venomous whisper.

The conviction in his voice is chilling, a promise born out of years of simmering rage and misguided sanity. His eyes gleam with a manic light, and for a split second, I can feel the darkness this man carries.

“From the moment you took my father’s life, my life has had only one purpose—to fulfil my father’s last wish. To erase the Walia name from existence. Not just your father, Vishnu. Every single one of you. The Walias will cease to exist. You all will be nothing but a forgotten name in history, and I’ll make sure of it.”

“As if I’d ever let that happen!” I snarl, my anger erupting like a volcano, my fists clenching so tightly that my knuckles turn white. “Your father’s death might not have been at my hands, but yours certainly will. I swear to God, Zane—if you even think about getting close to my family, I will kill you. And I won’t need a gun or your pathetic mind games for that. I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands.”

Zane doesn’t flinch. Instead, he throws his head back and lets out a dark, guttural laugh that reverberates through the phone, like the sound of a madman spiralling deeper into insanity.

“You think you can scare me, Vishnu?” he sneers, his laughter fading as his expression hardens. “Do you think really your threats mean anything to me? I’ve already died a thousand deaths since the day I saw my father’s lifeless body. You can’t kill someone who’s already dead inside. Forget killing me…” he smirks eerily. “You can’t even lay a finger on me, Vishnu.”

His lips curl into a sinister smirk, his voice low and cruel as he speaks. “But your time is running out. Your death is at my hands, Vishnu... I promise you that. You’ve been hiding behind the Walias’ security, thinking you’re untouchable, but I’ll make sure you’re not. I will be the one to end you, Vishnu. Wipe you off the face of the earth.”

He leans closer to the camera, his mocking gaze burning into mine. “Just because your name is Vishnu doesn’t mean you’re immortal, does it?”

And then he laughs again—a dark, feral sound.

That laugh—it’s hauntingly familiar. It takes me back six years to Qureshi’s farmhouse. He had laughed the same way—the same sinister laugh, with the same arrogance, as if he were untouchable. Like father, like son.

“Your father laughed just like that,” I mock, my eyes narrowing. “And we both know how that ended. He’s dead, and the Walias are still standing strong. He thought he could crush the Walias, but look at how it turned out. He’s nothing but a distant memory now—a bad one, at that.”

Zane’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a contorted mask of hatred. I see the crack in his composure and press harder.

“History will repeat itself, Zane. Every time criminals like you or your father try to hurt my family, you’ll fall. Every single time.”

His fury explodes. He again slams his fist onto the desk in front of him, his entire frame shaking with rage.

“You think this is over? You think you’ve won just because my father is gone? No, Vishnu. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot. This has never been over because I’m still alive. And I swear on his name, I will finish what he started. You’ll see.”

“I had given your father a choice to surrender, and now I’m giving you the same. Back off. Stop this madness. This revenge of yours is baseless.”

“Baseless?” he growls. “My revenge is not baseless.” His body shakes, his eyes wild as he leans forward again. “Had you been in my place—had I been the reason for your father’s death—what would you have done?”

The mere mention of Dad’s death sends a wave of fury through me. My fingers twitch, desperate to crush the phone before me. I glare at the screen, my mind seething with the thought of someone daring to harm Dad.

Zane notices the shift in my expression.

“You would’ve done the same thing, Vishnu,” he smirks darkly, his eyes gleaming with psychotic intensity. “You would’ve burned the whole damn world down for your beloved father. So don’t pretend you’re any better than me. We’re the same. You are not the only son who can do anything for your father. I can too.”

Then he leans back, his gaze sharpening with dangerous clarity.

“Right or wrong, Vishnu, you would do anything for your father. Anything. And don’t even try to deny it. You and I, we’re both cut from the same cloth—loyal sons, bound by love and duty.”

His voice drops, a sinister edge creeping in as he tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. “We are meant to live for our fathers. To die for them...”

And then, as his grin widens into something almost feral, he adds with chilling finality, “And to kill for them.”

For a fleeting second, I feel the weight of what he’s saying. He’s not entirely wrong—I would do anything for Dad. I have done everything I could to protect him and my family, haven’t I? But this? This madness?

“You’re nothing like me, Zane,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Your father was a power-hungry criminal who lived and died by his own sins. He built his empire on the suffering of others—money laundering, human trafficking, smuggling, and God knows how many other unforgivable crimes. He didn’t just climb the political throne— he corrupted it , leaving a trail of ruined lives for his own personal gain.”

I step closer to the phone, my anger burning through every word. “But my father? My father has never once betrayed his nation for his own agenda. He has never stooped so low as to exploit the vulnerable to rise higher. Pratap Walia has always been a man of integrity, a man who has fought for this country with every ounce of his being. He’s earned his place through sheer determination and work ethics—not through spilled blood, not by buying loyalty.”

My fists tighten as my gaze bores into the screen.

“That’s why he’s worth protecting. That’s why I will stand by his side, no matter what. Don’t you dare compare him to your father, Zane. Your father was nothing but a tyrant who would’ve burned this country to ashes for his ambition. My father is a patriot. So don’t even think for a second that you and I are the same.”

“Integrity?” he taunts, his tone dripping with disdain. “You call Pratap Walia a man of integrity? Spare me, Vishnu. Do you really think sitting on his throne of patriotism makes him pure? Don’t make me laugh. No one rises to power without dirtying their hands. Not even your precious father.”

I clench my fists so hard that I feel my nails digging into my palms.

“My father wasn’t perfect, no. But at least he didn’t pretend to be all good. He knew what it took to climb the ladder, and he didn’t shy away from doing what he had to do. Money laundering? Human trafficking? You call them sins. But he… for him those were merely tools—necessary means to secure his place in a world where only the ruthless survive.”

His eyes narrow, blazing with hatred.

“Your father may have fooled the world, Vishnu, but not the Qureshis. Pratap Walia might wear the mask of a patriot in front of the world, but deep down, he’s no better than anyone else. And you... you are too blinded in your love for him, because you worship him. Just like I worshipped my father.”

His jaw tightens as he continues.

“I couldn’t protect him six years ago,” he breathes, the madness in his tone more evident than ever. “But now...”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air, his smirk slowly creeping back on his face. The silence is deafening, the tension suffocating.

“Now it’s your turn, Vishnu. Try protecting your father if you can.”

A cold dread settles in my chest.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand, my fury rising with each passing second.

Zane’s eyes gleam with malice.

“Six years ago, you came to my home and pushed my father to the edge—until he saw no way out but death. Now, I’ll return the favour. This time, I’ll come to your home, Vishnu. Within the next six days, I’ll come to your home and make sure your father doesn’t live to see another day.”

He leans closer, his smile evil. “Stop me if you can.”

“Zane!” I roar, but the screen goes black. The call disconnects before I can say another word.

“ZAYED!” I bellow again, slamming my fist onto the table with such force that the wood creaks under the pressure. My breathing is ragged, fury coursing through every vein in my body. Desperate to regain control, I try to reconnect the call, my fingers trembling with anger. But it’s of no use. The number isn’t functional.

With a guttural yell, I hurl the phone across the room. It smashes against the wall, pieces scattering across the floor as the sound echoes through the silence like a gunshot.

“Vishnu!”

Simran’s voice cuts through the storm raging in my head. I spin around to see her standing in the doorway, her silk robe wrapped tightly around her, her face pale with worry and fear. She’s clutching the fabric so tightly as if terrified—not just of the situation, but of seeing me like this.

“What happened?” she asks, hurrying toward me, her voice unsteady yet firm. “Was it Zane?”

I nod, unable to force out the words. My fists clench at my sides, trembling with the fury I’ve been trying—and failing—to contain. The image of his smug face, the venom in his voice, his threats—it’s all seared into my mind.

Simran doesn’t hesitate. She steps closer, placing her soft hands on my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. The concern in her gaze cuts through the haze of my anger.

“Vishnu, listen to me,” she says firmly, her voice steady despite the tension radiating from me. “Don’t let him derail you. That’s exactly what he wants. He wants to rattle you, to throw you off your game so that he can strike. Don’t give him that power. Don’t let him win.”

Her words anchor me, pulling me back from the brink. My breathing slows, just enough to stop my heart from racing, but the fire inside me doesn’t dim. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to ground myself, but Zane’s voice still echoes in my head, his threats like a dagger twisting in my gut.

Six days.

Six days to stop him.

Six days to protect my father and my family.

Six days to ensure this madman never touches us again.

Not now. Not ever again.