MUMBAI

In the dimly lit, musty confines of a forgotten chamber tucked away within the opulent walls of that swanky 7-star establishment, chaos erupted. A scene straight out of a noir thriller unfolded as one individual relentlessly pounded another, their blows echoing off the aged walls, each strike accompanied by a sickening thud. The air thickened with tension as the victim, now drenched in a pool of his own blood, lay motionless on the cold, unforgiving floor.

In the eerie silence that followed the onslaught, the assailant, a figure cloaked in shadows, reached for the weapon holstered snugly against her side. With a fluid, almost choreographed motion, she withdrew the firearm, its metallic glint a stark contrast to the dim surroundings. The barrel of the gun found its target, aimed at a particularly vulnerable spot on the fallen man's body.

With a chilling calmness, the young woman fixed her gaze upon her helpless prey, her lips curling into a menacing smirk. In a voice dripping with disdain and authority, she uttered the words that sent shivers down the spine: "Well, look what we have here. It seems like someone forgot the golden rule: never lie with Naira Singhania. Consider this a lesson learned the hard way."

With a cold resolve, she pressed the gun between the man's trembling thighs, causing him to cry out in agony as waves of pain shot through his body. The mention of Naira Singhania's name hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the power she wielded.

Naira was a force to be reckoned with, her reputation preceding her every move. Tall and statuesque, with a slim yet commanding presence, she exuded an aura of authority that demanded respect. Her striking features, framed by cascading waves of dark hair, held a captivating allure that belied the danger lurking beneath the surface.

As the man writhed in pain before her, Naira's gaze remained steely, her expression betraying no hint of remorse. In that moment, she epitomized the essence of fear, her name synonymous with dread in the darkest corners of society.

After some time in the same hotel

In a dark hotel room illuminated only by the faint glow of a single lamp sat a girl, her features partially obscured by the shadows. Blood spattered across her clothes, hinting at the violence that had unfolded moments before. In one hand, she gripped a gun with a steely resolve, while the other rested gently on the shoulder of another girl seated beside her.

They were Naira Singhania and Ananya Rathore, assassins, masters of their trade, their eyes betraying a hint of weariness tempered by a lethal edge. Yet, despite the grim scene, their focus remained fixed on the figure seated opposite them—aa new client, shrouded in mystery and intrigue.

"Ab kya ladkiyan aise kaam karenge," the client said.

"Ajma ke toh dekhiye, huzur. Jab aurat jaan de sakti hai toh le kyu nahi sakti," replied Ananya, while the other one sat quietly, now sweeping one hand over the gun.

The client leaned forward, his face still hidden in the dim light, revealing only the sharp glint of his eyes. "Mujhe ek kaam karwana hai," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.

Ananya nodded slowly. "Kaam batao. Humein paise milte hai, aur tumhe tumhara kaam."

Naira finally spoke. "Aur agar yeh kaam hamare neeyam ke khilaaf hua, toh paise kitne bhi ho, hum nahi karenge."

The client chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Tumhare neeyam... Kitne idealistic ho tum log. But this task is different. It’s not just about money."

Ananya's eyes narrowed. "Toh phir kis baare mein hai?"

The client paused, as if considering how much to reveal. "It's about justice. The man you are to eliminate has done unspeakable things. He hides behind his wealth and power, immune to the law. But you... you can change that."

The girls exchanged a glance. They had heard such claims before; every client had their justification. But there was something in the client's tone, a resonance of personal vendetta, that piqued their interest.

"Aur batao," Ananya demanded, her voice firm.

"He is the son of a wealthy man," the client replied without hesitation. "A suspect in the murder of twenty people and in human trafficking. The police won't touch him because he's bought them all."

Naira tightened her grip. Many people came to them trying to lie to them in the name of justice, but trafficking was a line even they found hard to cross. "Koi saboot?"

The client shook his head. "No proof that you can use in court. But enough whispers, enough connections, enough victims who know his name. You do this, and you'll save countless lives."

She looked at her partner. A silent conversation passed between them, years of partnership allowing them to understand each other without words.

"Hum yeh kaam karenge," Naira said finally, her voice cold and resolute.

The client nodded, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "Good. He's a student at William Creek College, living in the dorms. You'll find him there. One more thing I want this death to happen on 7th June that would be almost two months from now.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Naira and Ananya absorbed the details, their minds already strategizing the execution of their task. The client's request for delayed action added a layer of complexity to their mission, but they were accustomed to navigating such challenges with precision and finesse.

As the client stood to leave, Ananya called out, "Ek baat aur. Agar yeh jhoot nikla, toh agla shikaar tum hoge."

The client turned, his expression serious. "I understand. But trust me, I need this as much as you do."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving the girls to prepare for their mission. The stakes were high, and the consequences were higher. But in the murky world of assassination, they had learned one thing: trust no one, but always finish the job.

10 days later

Vivaan's P.O.V

"6:45 p.m." displayed my watch when my flight landed.

After a long, exhausting flight almost 20 hours I finally met ground.

As I stepped off the plane, the exhaustion from the long journey hit me like a ton of bricks. The jet lag was already starting to set in, but I pushed through, eager to finally be on solid ground. The terminal was bustling with activity as travelers rushed to their gates or waited anxiously for loved ones.

As I made my way through the airport, I couldn't shake the feeling of surrealism that washed over me. After four years of studying in California, I was finally back in Mumba. The sights, sounds, and smells were all so familiar, yet somehow different after my time away.

As I stepped outside the airport, I was greeted by the familiar sound of raindrops hitting the pavement. The heavy rain was a stark contrast to the dry California weather I had grown accustomed to. With a sigh, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and hurried back inside the airport to seek shelter.

I found a quiet corner near the entrance and settled in to wait for my family and friends to arrive. Despite the inconvenience of the rain, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia as I watched the streams of water cascade down the windows. Mumbai's monsoon season was in full swing, and there was something oddly comforting about being back in the midst of it.

I took out my phone and sent a quick message to my loved ones, letting them know I had arrived safely and was waiting for them inside. As I waited, I couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation growing inside me. After years of being away, I was finally back home, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of Mumbai.

As I sat there, watching the rain continue to pour outside, a familiar voice called out my name. I looked up to see Ayaan Sharma, my best friend and partner in crime, striding towards me with a grin on his face. Despite the years apart, it felt like no time had passed at all.

"Vivaan" Aryan exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug.

"Hey, Ayaan! It's good to see you, man," I replied, returning the embrace.

We exchanged a few more words of excitement and caught up on what had been happening in each other's lives since we last saw each other. It felt like we had never been apart, our friendship as strong as ever despite the distance.

"So, how was California?" He asked eagerly, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

"California was amazing, man. But there's no place like home," I said with a smile, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over me for having such a great friend to welcome me back.

Ah, I see! In that case, let's adjust the scene:

With Ayaan by my side, we made our way out of the airport and towards his sleek Lamborghini parked just outside. The rain had eased up slightly, but the streets were still glistening with water, reflecting the vibrant lights of the city.

As we approached the Lamborghini, Ayaan grinned and tossed me the keys. "Fancy a ride, Vivaan?"

I couldn't help but chuckle as I caught the keys. "You know it," I replied, excitement bubbling up inside me. It had been years since I last rode in Ayaan's Lamborghini, and the thought of speeding through the streets of Mumbai brought back a rush of adrenaline.

We hopped into the car, the engine purring to life as Ayaan revved it up. With a roar, we sped off into the night, the rain-slicked streets flashing by in a blur of lights and colors. It was good to be back, and there was no better way to celebrate than with a thrilling ride through the city with my best friend by my side.

As Ayaan and I pulled up to my house in his Lamborghini, I couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension. While I was excited to be back home, I knew that facing my dad after all this time wouldn't be easy.

We stepped out of the car and made our way to the front door, the sound of raindrops still echoing in the air. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, bracing myself for the encounter.

After a few moments, the door swung open to reveal my dad, his expression stern and unyielding as ever. He took one look at me, then glanced at Ayaan with a raised eyebrow.

"Vivaan," he said, his voice low and gruff. "You're finally back."

"Yeah, Dad." I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral.

There was a tense silence as we stood there, the rain starting to pick up again. Ayaan shifted uncomfortably beside me, sensing the tension in the air.

Finally, my dad sighed and stepped aside, gesturing for us to come inside. "Well, come in then."

I exchanged a quick glance with Ayaan before following my dad into the house, the weight of his disapproval hanging heavy in the air. It was clear that things wouldn't be easy between us, but I was determined to make things right and reconnect with the only family I had.

As soon as we stepped inside, my dad's demeanor remained as distant as ever. He barely exchanged a word with me, his attention seemingly elsewhere. It was evident that his busy schedule and grumpy disposition hadn't changed in my absence.

After a brief, awkward silence, my dad muttered something about having an important meeting and abruptly left the room without another word. I watched him go, a pang of disappointment and longing tugging at my heart. Despite my hopes of reconnecting with him after returning home, it seemed like things hadn't changed between us at all.

Left with a sense of emptiness and longing for the family connection I had hoped to find, I turned to Ayaan, feeling grateful for his presence. With a heavy sigh, I muttered, "Well, I guess some things never change."

After a while Ayaan left leaving me alone the house along with tons of servant. I made my way to the room after dinner.

After some time, a servant came in my room along with an envelope.

"Sir, has given this for you." he said

I opened the envelope, there was an acceptance letter from different colleges and two tickets one to Bangalore and the other to Delhi.

"Sir has told that you have to complete your masters in India and that he won't listen to anything. You have the freedom to chose the college of your choice, your flight is on the day after tomorrow so he has adviced that you should start packin' ." he added