Author's POV:

Veer woke up to the sharp ringing of his phone, the sound drilling straight into his head. He groaned, eyes still half-closed, and fumbled for the device on the side table.

"Hmmm..." he answered, voice husky and rough with sleep.

On the other end, Aishwarya's familiar irritated voice rang out.

"Yaa... Rudra tumhare saath hai kya?"

Veer lazily turned his head toward the other couch.

Rudra was sprawled there, one leg hanging off, mouth slightly open, snoring like an old, exhausted hag.

Veer hummed in response.

Aishwarya sighed loudly. "Seriously, you both are so careless. Kam se kam mujhe bata toh dete ki yeh ghar nahi aaya kal raat. I was worried."

Veer rubbed his eyes and muttered,

"Isme meri kya galti hai? Tera bhai hi pi ke tun ho gaya tha."

Aishwarya inhaled deeply, clearly counting to ten.

"Whatever. Maine keys doormat ke neeche rakh di hain uske liye. Aur haan—maine khana bhi arrange kar diya hai. I'm going to Punjab for a case. Do din baad aaungi."

"Hmmm," Veer replied again, already drifting.

The call cut.

Silence filled the apartment.

Veer lay back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a second... and then his mind did what it had been doing since last night.

Vani.

Her name echoed softly in his head.

He unlocked his phone and opened Instagram—not his verified account with millions of followers, but the fake one he had created last night.

 A blank profile. No pictures. No clues.

His thumb hovered over notifications.

Nothing.

He opened her profile.

Request pending.

His jaw tightened.

"She hasn't accepted," he murmured to himself.

An uneasy feeling settled in his chest.

Was I creepy?

Did I make her uncomfortable?

He exhaled sharply and cursed under his breath.

"Idiot. Directly insta maang liya... stupid."

As if summoned by his self-loathing, a sleepy voice came from beside him.

"Hmmm hmm... ladki ka chakkar."

Veer flinched so hard his phone slipped from his hand and smacked straight into his face.

"FUCK—" he yelped, sitting up instantly.

"Yaa b**k! Dara diya!"

Rudra was now sitting up, hair standing in all directions, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"Subah subah itna pyara reaction," he smirked. "Toh bata... kaun hai woh?"

Veer glared at him and reached for a cigarette instead of answering. He lit it, inhaling deeply, deliberately ignoring Rudra.

Rudra, of course, took that as an invitation.

"Ohooo," he dragged out. "Dekh raha hoon main. Chup chaap cigarette, no gaali, no bakwaas. Pakka kuch scene hai."

Veer exhaled smoke slowly.

Rudra leaned closer, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Hmm... apni bandi bana lega aur mujhe single marne ke liye chhod dega? Bata na kaun hai. Uski koi dost bhi hai kya? Cute wali?"

Veer shot him a warning look.

"Bakwas band kar."

But Rudra was unstoppable.

He clapped his hands dramatically and stood up.

"Hero-giri 'fhu fhu' karne main nahi... apne dost ki setting karane main hoon."

Veer shook his head, cigarette dangling from his fingers, but the corner of his lips twitched despite himself.

He didn't say a word.

But his mind had already drifted back—

To Marine Drive.

To quiet typing on a phone screen.

To red eyes under moonlight.

And to a girl who didn't even know...

That she had just completely messed up Veer Singh Rathore's peace.

Meanwhile;

Aishwarya's flight landed smoothly at Chandigarh airport.

The moment she stepped out, the cold Punjab air brushed against her face, carrying a strange heaviness with it. 

She adjusted her long coat, sunglasses resting on her head, and rolled her trolley forward with steady steps.

A cab arrived within minutes.

She settled into the back seat, gave the driver the hotel address, and the car pulled away from the airport, merging into the early morning traffic.

As the city slowly unfolded outside the window, Aishwarya took out her phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Hello, Mr. Maan," she said, her tone crisp and professional.

"I've reached Chandigarh. We'll meet as soon as I reach the hotel. There are a few important details about the case that need immediate discussion."

A pause.

"Yes," she added, eyes hardening. "This one can't afford any mistakes."

She disconnected the call and leaned back, exhaling slowly.

This wasn't just another legal battle.

This was personal.

Aishwarya Ashwin Oberoi—one of the most feared corporate and criminal lawyers in the country—had taken up a case that most advocates had outright refused.

Amar Singh Ahuja.

A powerful politician.

A man with deep connections, deeper pockets, and a reputation for crushing anyone who dared stand against him.

The case had been filed not by a common man—but by a businessman.

A respected industrialist whose life had been turned upside down overnight.The charges?

Illegal land acquisition.

Political pressure on government officials.

False cases registered against the businessman's companies.

And a staged attempt to malign his reputation in the media.

All because the businessman had refused to fund Amar Singh Ahuja's political campaign.

When money didn't work, power did.

Raids were conducted without warrants.

Bank accounts were frozen.

Contracts were canceled.

Instead of bowing down, the businessman had filed a case.

Against the politician himself.

And that's when Aishwarya entered the picture.

The moment she had read the file, she had known—this wasn't going to be easy.

Evidence was being erased.

Witnesses were retracting statements.

Officials were suddenly "unavailable."

And Amar Singh Ahuja?

He was smiling in every press conference.

Because no one had ever dared to take him head-on in court.

Until now.

Aishwarya opened her eyes, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Threat calls had already begun.

Subtle warnings masked as friendly advice.

Anonymous messages telling her to "stay in her limits."

She scoffed softly.

Limits had never been her thing.

She hadn't come to Chandigarh to negotiate.

She had come to drag Amar Singh Ahuja into the courtroom—and expose every filthy layer of 

power he was hiding behind.

The cab sped forward.

Somewhere else, a man believed himself untouchable.

And here sat a woman who had made it her mission to prove—

No one is above the law.

Not this time.

Author's POV

The hotel room was silent except for the faint rustle of papers.

Aishwarya stood near the window, flipping through the case files one last time. The clock on the wall read 10:45 AM.

Court hearing at 12:00 PM sharp.

She adjusted her blazer, tied her hair into a neat low bun, and slipped her glasses on—her armor before war.

This wasn't her first courtroom.

But it was her first time standing directly opposite Amar Singh Ahuja.

By 11:40 AM, the courtroom buzzed with murmurs.

Lawyers shuffled files.

Journalists whispered excitedly.

Cameras waited outside like hungry vultures.

Aishwarya took her seat, calmly arranging her documents, pen aligned perfectly on top.

That's when—

"All rise."

The entire courtroom stood.

Not for the judge.

But for him.

A heavy silence followed, thick enough to choke on.

Aishwarya looked up.

And then—

He entered.

Tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Impeccably dressed in a crisp white kurta-pajama paired with a tailored Nehru jacket.

Every step he took echoed authority.

His presence alone screamed power—

The kind that didn't need permission.

The young politician.

The untouchable one.

Her eyes met his.

And there he was.

Amar Singh Ahuja.