Chapter 14
The rain outside the Malhotra residence in South Mumbai transformed into a relentless, deafening monsoon deluge. Heavy drops slammed against the glass windows of Shruti’s second-floor bedroom, matching the chaotic, painful storm raging inside her chest.
Shruti sat on the edge of her bed, her knees drawn tightly against her chest, her dark hair falling messily over her shoulders.
Her eyes were red and swollen from hours of silent crying.
On the nightstand, her smartphone remained dark, vibrating occasionally with unanswered calls from Myra and Neil.
Every time she closed her eyes, Akhil’s heartbroken, hollow face from earlier that afternoon flashed before her mind. She could still hear the raw, agonizing crack in his deep voice as he had pleaded with her: '"Love without trust is just control... My entire life belongs to you, Shruti."'
A heavy, suffocating pang of sorrow twisted her heart.
She had loved Akhil Raheja for eight long years.
Walking away from him had been the most painful decision of her life, but the stinging cut of his betrayal in Italy, using her as uninformed bait in a dangerous trap, had broken her trust to pieces.
"Why didn't you just tell me the truth, Akhil?" Shruti whispered into the dark, quiet room, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Why couldn't you just trust me?"
Suddenly, without a single warning...
'CLICK!'
The bright ceiling lights in her bedroom flickered once and went completely dark.
Shruti froze. She looked up at the darkened ceiling fan, which slowly ground to a complete halt. Outside her window, the ambient golden glow of the streetlights along the avenue vanished simultaneously.
The entire Malhotra estate had been plunged into pitch-black darkness.
Downstairs, the low hum of the house central air conditioning died. Silence descended upon the house, broken only by the roaring sound of the rain outside.
Shruti sat up straight, her sharp travel journalist instincts immediately going on high alert.
Mumbai had occasional power cuts during heavy monsoon storms, but her father's house was equipped with an automatic, industrial-grade diesel backup generator that was supposed to kick in within five seconds.
Ten seconds passed. Fifteen seconds. The backup generator failed to start.
"Dad? Raghav?" Shruti called out into the dark hallway, standing up from her bed and pulling a light knit cardigan over her yellow t-shirt.
There was no answer. The house was unnaturally, ominously quiet.
Shruti reached into her bag, pulled out her smartphone, and activated the bright built-in LED flashlight. Holding the light before her, she stepped out of her bedroom onto the dark second-floor gallery.
As she reached the top of the wooden staircase, her nose picked up a faint, acrid smell floating up from the ground floor.
It wasn't smoke. It was the sharp, chemical scent of burnt electrical wiring and military-grade EMP wire cutters. Someone had deliberately severed the main power grid cables and fried the backup generator from the outside electrical junction box.
Panic spiked through Shruti’s veins like ice water. Her blood ran cold.
"Mom! Dad!" Shruti gasped, sprinting down the stairs as fast as her sneakers could carry her.
As her flashlight beam swept across the dark ground-floor hallway, her heart stopped in her throat.
Lying motionless on the marble floor near the front entrance were the two private Malhotra family security guards. Their flashlights were scattered on the floor, and both men were unconscious, having been struck swiftly from behind with heavy tactical batons.
"Oh my god!" Shruti gasped, rushing over to check their pulses. They were alive, but deeply unconscious.
Before she could stand up to run towards her parents' master suite, heavy, tactical footsteps echoed from the rear service corridor.
Three tall men dressed in black raincoats, dark balaclavas, and tactical boots stepped into the bright beam of her phone flashlight. In their hands, they held heavy plastic zip-ties and silenced tactical pistols.
"Miss Shruti Malhotra," the lead mercenary spoke, his voice muffled behind his black mask. "You are coming with us quietly."
Fear slammed into Shruti’s chest, but her innate, stubborn spirit refused to surrender to terror. She didn't scream. She didn't freeze.
Instead, using the element of surprise, Shruti aimed her phone’s blinding LED flashlight beam directly into the lead mercenary's eyes.
"Argh!" the man grunted, shielding his face as the high-intensity light blinded him.
Without wasting a single microsecond, Shruti swung her heavy leather shoulder bag with all the force in her body, slamming the brass buckle directly into the second man's throat. He choked, stumbling backward into a marble vase, sending it crashing onto the floor with a loud 'SHATTER!'
"Grab her!" the lead man snarled, shaking off the glare.
Shruti turned on her heels, sprinting towards the rear study. But as she reached the wooden door, the third mercenary lunged forward, grabbing her upper arm in a painful, crushing grip.
"Let go of me!" Shruti yelled, thrashing violently, driving her elbow backward with full force straight into the man's solar plexus.
The mercenary grunted in pain, his grip loosening for a split second. Shruti broke free, but as she scrambled towards the study desk to reach the landline phone, a fourth shadow stepped out of the study's dark corner.
Reyansh Khanna.
Reyansh was wearing a dark rain jacket, his eyes burning with a cold, predatory malice that made the blood freeze in Shruti’s veins. In his hand, he held a white cloth handkerchief soaked in a sweet, suffocating chemical.
"End of the line, Miss Malhotra," Reyansh sneered darkly.
Before Shruti could dodge, Reyansh stepped forward, grabbed her by her dark hair, and pressed the chemical-soaked cloth firmly over her mouth and nose.
Shruti thrashed wildly, kicking her legs, scratching at his hands, her lungs screaming for oxygen. But the sweet, sickening fumes of the chemical rapidly invaded her senses. Her vision began to blur, her legs turned into lead, and the room began to spin out of control.
'No... no!' Shruti’s mind screamed frantically. 'I have to leave a clue... Akhil will look for me... Akhil!'
Even as her consciousness slipped away into dark shadows, her brilliant travel journalist mind focused on a single, vital objective: leaving a trail.
Reaching into her cardigan pocket with her failing, numb fingers, Shruti pulled out her signature silver charm bracelet, a unique, custom-engraved piece she had purchased in Vietnam, featuring a small brass compass charm and a distinct miniature camera pendant.
As Reyansh dragged her limp body backward, Shruti deliberately dropped the silver bracelet into the narrow gap behind the mahogany study desk leg, letting it fall onto the dark floorboards where standard searchers wouldn't notice, but where someone who knew her habits inside out would find it.
Using her remaining strength, as her hand brushed against the polished wooden surface of the desk, her fingernails dug hard into a fresh sheet of white blotting paper resting on the desk blotter, tearing off a distinct, jagged triangular corner that stuck beneath the desk drawer handle.
"She's out," the lead mercenary reported, catching Shruti’s limp frame as her eyes closed completely.
Reyansh looked down at her unconscious face, a cold, victorious smile spreading across his ruthless features.
"Pull her out through the rear garden gate," Reyansh commanded, throwing the cloth aside. "Load her into the silver delivery van. Take her to the abandoned Sewri dockland warehouse. Tonight, Akhil Raheja loses everything."
***
Meanwhile, five miles away in South Mumbai, inside the high-rise executive suite of the Raheja Group Headquarters, total darkness of a different kind reigned.
Akhil stood by the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of his corner office, looking out at the rain-soaked city.
He had not changed out of his clothes. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, his tie lay discarded on his desk, and a glass of untouched, aged scotch sat on the marble table beside him.
His phone was ringing continuously on his desk, calls from board members, media managers, and legal advisors demanding his attention regarding the ongoing corporate smear campaign.
Akhil ignored every single ring. He didn't care about the news reports.
He didn't care about the corporate shares dropping. He didn't care about his empire.
His mind, his heart, and his soul were completely shattered, stuck on the image of Shruti’s tear-stained, disappointed eyes as she had walked away from him that afternoon.
'"Love without trust is just control, Akhil... I don't choose you."'
The words echoed in his mind like a physical blade, tearing through his chest with every breath he took. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold glass window, his broad shoulders shaking subtly with silent, agonizing grief.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of his office were thrown open with a loud slam.
Raghav Malhotra rushed into the room, his face pale as death, his breathing ragged, holding his phone in a trembling hand.
Akhil turned around slowly, his dark eyes hollow and dead. "Raghav... I told you I want to be alone, "
"Akhil! She's gone!" Raghav screamed, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated panic.
Akhil went completely still. Every nerve ending in his body went dead quiet. "What did you say?"
"Shruti!" Raghav sobbed, stepping closer, his hands shaking violently.
"The power went out at my parents' house twenty minutes ago!
I tried calling my dad, but the landlines were dead.
I drove over there right away... Akhil, the guards were knocked out!
The security cables were cut! Mom and Dad were locked inside the basement storage room! "