chapter 7:

The police station was a hub of frustration and despair. Detectives slumped over their desks, rubbing their tired eyes. The Chief's murder case was going cold, and they knew it.

Inspector Matteo slammed his fist on the table, making the coffee cups tremble. "We've got nothing! No leads, no witnesses, no evidence! It's as if the killer vanished into thin air!"

The team nodded in agreement, their faces etched with worry. They had reviewed the security footage countless times, but it was as if the cameras had been deliberately manipulated. Every angle, every frame, showed nothing but empty corridors and silent rooms.

"It's like they knew exactly where to avoid," one detective muttered.

Inspector Matteo's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe in coincidences. Someone wanted us to think this was a perfect crime. But I refuse to accept that."

He paced the room, his mind racing. "We're missing something. A detail, a clue, a whisper of a lead. We just need to find it."

The team watched their leader, their eyes filled with determination. They knew they had to crack this case, for the Chief, for justice, and for their own sanity.

But as they delved deeper into the darkness, they couldn't shake off the feeling that they were being watched, that the killer was still out there, waiting for them to make a move...

Inspector Matteo's voice cut through the tension. "Let's re-interview the family and staff. Someone knows something. I can feel it."

The team nodded, and with renewed purpose, they set out to uncover the truth, following Inspector Matteo into the unknown.

The police team arrived at the Chief's residence, a somber mood settling over them. They had been tasked with interviewing the family, hoping to uncover a lead in the case.

As they entered the living room, the Chief's son, a young man of 24, stood before them, his eyes red-rimmed from crying. "Please, you have to find who did this," he begged, his voice cracking.

Inspector Matteo nodded sympathetically. "We'll do everything we can, son. Can you tell us about last night? Did you notice anything unusual?"

The young man nodded, taking a deep breath. "We were all together, talking, around 10 pm. Then I went to bed. I didn't hear anything suspicious. But this morning...this morning was different."

He paused, his eyes welling up again. "My dog, Alexa, she was acting strange. She was in the garden, whining and running back and forth. I followed her...and that's when I saw..."

His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands. The team waited patiently, knowing that this was a crucial moment.

Finally, the young man composed himself and continued. "I saw my father's body. Oh God, it was...it was horrific. Alexa had blood on her fur, and I knew something was terribly wrong. I ran to him, but...but it was too late."

The room fell silent, the only sound the young man's sobs. Inspector Matteo placed a hand on his shoulder. "We're sorry for your loss, son. We'll do everything we can to bring justice to your father."

As the team continued their investigation, they couldn't shake off the feeling that they were racing against time. The killer was still out there, and they had to find them before they struck again.

Shazad paced back and forth in the opulent throne room, his brow furrowed in worry. His mother, the Queen, sat on the throne, her face etched with concern.

"Shazad, my son, this is a curse," she whispered, her voice trembling. "First, your grandfather, then your uncle, and now your father. Our family is being targeted."

Shazad stopped pacing and turned to his mother, his eyes blazing with determination. "No, Mother. I won't let that happen. I am the Prince, and I will find out who is behind this. I won't rest until justice is served."

The Queen's eyes welled up with tears. "But what if you're next? What if you're the target?"

Shazad's jaw clenched. "I won't let that happen, Mother. I promise. I will protect our family and our kingdom with every fiber of my being."

He approached his mother and took her hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "Have faith in me, Mother. I will not fail."

The Queen nodded, a small smile on her lips. "I have faith in you, Shazad. You are a true prince, and you will bring honor to our family."

As they embraced, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of determination and hope. Shazad's resolve was palpable, and the Queen knew that her son would stop at nothing to uncover the truth and protect their kingdom.

Ahh! This mortal world

Forgotten people

Expiring pleasures

Names to be erased

Temporary pleasures

Stopped breathing and then

Total self taste death

The table, once a hub of warmth and laughter, now lay spread with a fresh array of delights. The bread, freshly baked, emitted a warm aroma, the egg noodles steaming hot, the juice poured into a glass, sparkling like diamonds in the morning light. And amidst this vibrant scene, a single thought lingered, a haunting whisper that refused to be silenced - the memory of her. The morning sun, shining bright and bold, cast a warm glow over the scene, illuminating the beauty of life. But amidst this freshness, a sinister presence lurked, an evil smile spreading, a grim and malevolent force that threatened to shatter the tranquility, leaving only darkness in its wake.

The silence was shattered by the piercing ring tone of the telephone, a sound that seemed to reverberate through every cell of her being. She hesitated for a moment, as if sensing the weight of the call, before slowly lifting the receiver to her ear. The voice on the other end was urgent, the words tumbling out in a rush: "Doctor Anii, please come quickly. We need you. A serious patient has been brought in, and we have no experienced doctors available."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down, as she felt the familiar surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She knew she had to act, to respond to the call, no matter how much she might wish to ignore it. With a deep breath, she made the decision, her mind racing with the possibilities.

As she arrived at the hospital, the scene was one of chaos and confusion. The corridors were filled with the anxious faces of patients and their families, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and fear. She pushed her way through the crowds, her heart pounding in her chest, until she reached the intensive care unit. And there, lying on the bed, his face pale and drawn, was the man she had once sworn to forget - Shazad's father.

The memories came flooding back, the pain and the anger, the sense of betrayal and hurt. But she pushed them aside, her professional training kicking in, as she began to examine the patient. The diagnosis was clear - a heart problem, one that required immediate attention. She knew she had to act fast, to save the life of the man who had once been the source of so much pain.

And yet, as she worked to save his life, she couldn't shake off the feeling of irony. She, the one who had once been so hurt by the royal family, was now fighting to save the life of one of its members. The thought was bitter, a reminder of the complexities of life, the way that fate could twist and turn in unexpected ways.

But she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand. She would save his life, not for his sake, but for hers. She would prove to herself that she was stronger than the past, that she could rise above the pain and the anger. And so, with a steady hand and a determined heart, she began the surgery, the fate of Shazad's father hanging in the balance.

The operation theater was a dimly lit cave, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and the hum of machinery. The patient lay motionless on the table, a fragile form surrounded by the sterile steel and wires of the operating room. She moved with precision, her gloved hands dancing across the patient's chest, her eyes fixed on the monitor above.

The scalpel glinted in the faint light, a tiny flash of steel that seemed to whisper secrets to the darkness. The sound of beeping machines and muffled voices created a symphony of tension, a sense of urgency that pulsed through the air like a heartbeat.

As she worked, the memories flooded her mind, memories of a time when she lay on a similar table, her life hanging in the balance. The royal family's cruelty had left her broken and battered, but she had risen from the ashes, determined to save others from suffering the same fate.

The operation was a blur of chaos, a whirlwind of activity as she fought to save the patient's life. The voices of the nurses and anesthesiologists faded into the background, a distant hum of activity as she focused on the task at hand.

And then, it was over. The patient's vital signs stabilized, the machines beeping in a steady rhythm that seemed to echo through the silence. She stepped back, her eyes hidden behind a mask, her face obscured by a cap and gown. The patient's face was familiar, but she pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

As she emerged from the operating theater, a trio of voices pierced the air, their words overlapping in a chorus of desperation.

"How is my father?" Shazad's voice was laced with anguish, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for a ghost.

"How is my husband?" His mother's voice trembled, her face etched with worry.

"How is he, is he okay?" His lover's voice was a whisper, her eyes brimming with tears.

She stood frozen, her heart racing like a wild animal, as she listened to the familiar voices. Her expression remained a mask of calm, but her eyes betrayed her, flashing with a hint of fear and recognition. Her gloved hands trembled slightly, the only sign of the turmoil brewing inside her.

She answered in a changed voice, her words firm and confident, but her heart racing with fear. "He's stable. The operation was a success."

The three faces looked at her, their expressions a mix of relief and curiosity. Shazad's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing, as if trying to unravel the mystery of her identity. But she was gone before he could react, vanished like a specter into the darkness of the hospital corridor.

He ran after her, his footsteps echoing down the hall, but she was a phantom, a ghost who had vanished into thin air. He was left with only the whispers of her existence, a haunting reminder that he would never forget.

Determined to uncover her identity, Shazad stormed into the doctor's office, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Who was she?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

The doctor's face was a mask of calm, his eyes sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Shazad. We can't reveal any information about the doctor who performed the surgery. Patient confidentiality, you understand."

Shazad's face twisted in frustration, his mind racing with possibilities. Who was this mysterious doctor? And why did she seem so familiar? The questions swirled in his mind like a vortex, taunting him with secrets he couldn't uncover.

"The doctor who had saved his father's life was the same woman he had once wronged." But was don't no that whi is she ? ...

I am still a villain. Justice doesn't matter to me . Justice Hase become weak and hallow . The devil can't be conquered by law and justice. If justice were more power full then devil . No one gets more peace then me. Devil like me , I want to live a peaceful life . However, this is not possible so I have new mourning, grief of cleaning a garbage. Because under this garage people are buried and killed. I'm a devil because I want to say one last this from devil's perspective

"Il male é grand è vaste" . (Evil is prevalent and vehement .)

She walked down the deserted road, her long coat billowing behind her like a dark cloud. Her right hand was thrust deep into the pocket, her fingers clenched into a fist as if grasping for something elusive. Her left hand, however, held a fiery secret - a lighter, its flame flickering like a tiny demon in the darkness.

As she walked, her mind echoed with the haunting phrase, "Il male è grande e vaste." Evil is prevalent and vehement. The words swirled in her thoughts like a maelstrom, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within her.

The wind whipped through her hair, sending strands dancing across her face like skeletal fingers. She didn't bother to brush them away, her focus fixed on the internal turmoil that churned within her.

The road stretched out before her like a serpent, twisting and turning into the darkness. She walked on, her footsteps echoing off the silence, her heart heavy with the weight of her own malevolence. The flame from the lighter cast eerie shadows on her face, making her appear like a malevolent spirit conjured from the very depths of hell.

And yet, despite the evil that dwelled within her, she couldn't help but crave peace. A peace that seemed forever elusive, taunting her like a mirage on the horizon. But she knew it was a lie, a fleeting dream that would vanish like smoke in the wind.

For she was the devil, and the devil's existence was one of perpetual torment. A constant struggle to contain the darkness that threatened to consume her at every turn. And so she walked on, lost in her thoughts, trapped in a world of her own making, where evil was indeed prevalent and vehement.