AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And stop breaking things to vent your anger and get some sleep. Please,” he adds before leaving the room.
I can’t believe Meher is supporting her father. But if she has chosen to stand by her family, even after the pain they’ve inflicted on me and my father, she will soon learn that I can play the game of revenge just as fiercely as my love for her. And in the web of this love maze, Meher will find her name at the top of my list of adversaries, where her betrayal will be met with consequences she wouldn’t like. She had paved the way to my heart and had become the queen I desired. She has sensed the King’s passionate love for his Queen. Now if she stands by her father and against me, she will have to taste the bitterness of my hatred and a lot more.
CHAPTER 3
AYAAN
Next Day
Krish’s warning still echoes in my mind, urging me to stay away from this impending media conference, where Pratap Walia is going to justify his innocence. Krish’s idea to lock me up at Shergill Mansion was so juvenile and predictable. He infused my orange juice with sedatives so I would be out like a light, rest at home and not sneak out to sabotage this press conference. But after being friends with Krish for so long, I’ve learned to operate in secrecy, hiding things that should remain hidden and concealing my emotions even in the face of difficult circumstances. Today, I’ve put all those techniques to good use to deceive Krish himself, evading the confines of Shergill Mansion and proving that his conventional methods cannot restrain me. If Krish intends to stop me, he’ll have to raise the stakes and refine his strategies.
I fasten the reporter’s badge over my jacket as I step into the NEP political party office premises. With a black hoodie that covers my head and dark sunglasses, shielding me from prying eyes, I display the fake reporter’s identity card at the gates and, with an air of confidence, blend seamlessly with the army of reporters bustling around me. Beneath the external layers of my disguise lies a man on a mission. I absorb every detail, every nuance around me to determine the best way to fulfil my mission today. The media conference is held by Pratap Walia in his party office headquarters. I move inside with measured steps, observing, listening and keeping an eye on the other reporters who are making their way towards the main hall, their pens ready and cameras on standby. The conference will begin the moment Pratap Walia shows up. If the media even gets a whiff that I, Ayaan Shergill, am here, the one who has accused the deputy CM of the state of an attempt to murder his father, there will be pandemonium everywhere with yet another breaking news within minutes. Hence, I’d disguised myself as a reporter as that was the only way to enter this premises without much drama. To the outside world, I am a reporter, one among many. But deep down, a storm rages within me, desperate to know if Meher is really going to support her father, standing against me.
I tap at the Bluetooth earpiece to receive the incoming voice from my source, who is guiding me through all this ruckus.
“I’m in,” I tell him as soon as the call connects.
“Good. The Walias have left their villa some time back. They will reach the premises at any moment.”
I breathe, absorbing that information, and make my way towards the opposite side of the conference hall when one of the guards stops me.
“The conference is that way,” he says sternly.
“I’m going to the washroom.” I make an excuse.
He looks at me with suspicion as if trying to recognise me. If he identifies me as Ayaan Shergill, I’ll lose this opportunity, and under no circumstance I’m letting that happen. All my senses are on high alert, ready to even risk taking care of this guard and locking him up in the washroom if necessary if he poses a threat to my plans today. But fortunately, he seems convinced.
“Okay,” he says, pointing to his left. “The washrooms are over there.”
I give him a curt nod and am about to walk away when he blocks my way again.
“But not before I check you,” he says.
Ah! Of course! The security checks are conducted at the entrance of the main hall, where all reporters are required to undergo thorough checks for weapons or harmful devices before allowing them inside, and I cannot stop him from performing his duty. Doing so would only fuel further suspicion in his mind.
I lift my arms to the sides and allow him to conduct the check. His eyes briefly linger on the pen and the small notepad I am holding in my hand before returning them to me. A smirk plays on my lips as he bends down to inspect my jeans. He is never going to findit! I just know!
“You may go,” he says, standing back on his feet again and guarding his position.
What a fool!He doesn’t know that lethal weapons and ammunition are not the only means to create chaos. Even a small spark of flame can work wonders. Without any delay, I make my way inside the washroom and lock it up.
I retrieve the cigarette from the inner pocket of my jeans, which is cleverly concealed from the watchful eyes of the guard stationed outside. He probably has no idea how advanced the technology is these days and that a seemingly ordinary pen can also function as a lighter, serving as a covert tool tucked within my guise as a reporter.
I’m not a regular smoker, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I don’t mind having one when the need arises. I light the cigarette, staring at the wall before me.
Present…
‘No smoking.’
The small poster with its bold red letters mocks me from the wall, an ironic reminder of rules I have no intention of following. Leaning against the door of the washroom, I take a long drag from my cigarette, relishing the bitterness that fills my mouth. With a sardonic smile playing upon my lips, I lift my gaze to the ceiling, my eyes fixed on the fire alarm above. The acrid smell of smoke fills the air as I let another puff of smoke escape my lips. The cigarette dangles between my fingers, its glowing ember a symbol of rebellion, a tangible reminder of the fire that burns within me. I have always remained focused and driven towards my goals. But in the last few days, life hasn’t been fair, and I’ve begun to detach myself from the righteousness that I once promised to stand by forever.
“The Walia’s car is spotted two lanes away from the building,” comes the voice from one of my sources over my Bluetooth earpiece.
“Isshein the car?” I ask, my gaze glued to the unresponsive fire alarm, my patience unwavering.
“Positive.”
Of course, she is!I clench my jaw. The smoke swirls around me, masking the storm that is brewing within my soul.
