part 10

New delhi ...

As soon as he stepped out of the railway station building, Kamil Kalsi, alias Babu, pulled out his mobile from his pocket and lit up the screen.

It was four in the evening.

Babu took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the handle of his briefcase. Being in the drug trade, he had developed the habit of staying alert. He scanned the surroundings, looking for anything suspicious, and felt immense relief upon seeing nothing out of place. After a moment of contemplation, instead of heading toward the taxi stand, he casually walked out of the railway station.

Babu was a tall man in his early thirties, with sharp features and an innocent face. When he couldn't secure a decent job despite his education, he learned a valuable lesson—that the path to wealth did not necessarily pass through schools and colleges. He realized that making money wasn't about relentless hard work but about seizing opportunities and making the most of them.

And today was that opportunity.

Right now.

He was terrified of bloodshed, yet he knew that the drug trade he was involved in as a courier was highly risky. For the past two years, he had been transporting goods from one city to another, evading the police multiple times. However, he was well aware that his luck wouldn't last forever. He had slipped past law enforcement dozens of times, smuggling contraband worth millions, but he understood the dangers of the trade.

And that was precisely why he wanted out.

His innocent-looking face, always carrying an expression of sorrow and helplessness, had helped him avoid police scrutiny. But there was no guarantee that he would always remain that fortunate. That's why, for the past few months, he had been thinking about quitting.

Courier work in the drug trade was dangerous, but it was well-paid. He had made a significant amount of money, but not in the millions. And whatever he had earned, he had wasted just as quickly.

The reason?

He was addicted to a lavish lifestyle.

And gambling.

Money never stayed in his hands!

Determined to leave behind his reckless life, Babu now sought a stable and secure future. He dreamed of settling down, building a home, and living a comfortable life with a beautiful wife. But after being knee-deep in this trade, walking away was not easy. He knew that the bosses he worked for—who had grown rich off his labor—would never approve of his decision to leave.

And Babu knew this.

He understood that if he openly declared his intentions, the result would be his dead body dumped in some dark alley. That's why, if he wanted to escape this business, he had to do so silently and without drawing any attention.

Babu looked up at the sky, where dark clouds signaled an impending unseasonal downpour.

Taking another deep breath, he reassured his grip on the briefcase and hailed a passing taxi.

---

At four o'clock, Dheeraj Dhama stepped out of the police headquarters and dialed a number on his mobile's touchscreen.

"Hello," answered the voice on the other end.

"Where are you?" Dhama asked.

"Where do we need to go, boss?" the voice responded. "Just tell me what needs to be done."

"It's important. And urgent."

"Give the orders, boss. Your man is ready."

"You'll get the orders, but we need to meet first."

"Just tell me the place, boss."

"Can you come now?"

"Do you even need to ask?" the voice chuckled. "Just name the spot."

"Connaught Place."

"On my way."

"How long?"

"Where are you right now?"

"Jasola."

"Perfect," Dhama said. "In one hour, meet me on the rooftop of the Indian Coffee House."

"Consider it done."

Dhama disconnected the call and hailed a passing taxi.

---

"Where are you lost, buddy?"

Daren Sajwan snapped out of his thoughts.

"What happened? Where were you lost?" Sameer asked, patting his shoulder.

Sameer—Sameer Bagchi—was Daren's junior at the office. He handled everything in Daren's absence. Though Daren was his senior professionally, outside of work, the two were close friends.

It was only five in the evening, and they were already sitting at Loud and Clear, a club on MG Road in Gurgaon, clinking glasses together.

However, despite their close friendship, Daren had never told Sameer about Neeta.

Neeta had been in Daren's life long before his wife, Saya. But after meeting Saya, he had forgotten all about her. Now, after marrying Saya, he wanted to set things right and move on from Neeta.

He had intended to meet Neeta one last time, to explain everything and bring closure to their relationship.

But that one last time turned into multiple meetings.

And then again.

And again.

Until eventually, Neeta—bad, mad, and highly infectious Neeta—had moved from her old place in Delhi to a three-bedroom flat in Gurgaon, fully funded by him.

Some women—certain kinds of women—become bad habits.

They're like comfortable beds.

It's easy to get in. Easy to settle in.

But nearly impossible to leave.

Thanks to his family's wealth and his handsome salary, Daren could afford this expense. That wasn't the problem.

The real problem was something else.

The problem was that he had discovered that the woman he was so obsessed with—the woman he had pampered and provided for—was not only disobedient, unfaithful, and deceitful but was still involved with another man.

Every night, lying beside Neeta, Daren would wonder how to escape this mess.

How to put an end to this.

How—either to leave Neeta or to make sure she left her lover.

After all, Neeta was his favorite toy.

Sure, she was unfaithful, dishonest.

But that didn't affect her performance in bed.

Yes, she was wrong.

But was it really her fault alone?

Her old lover—whose name Daren still didn't know—was equally to blame.

No, he was entirely to blame!

Surely, it was that bastard who had manipulated his sweet, innocent, naïve, helpless Neeta and led her astray.

So what now?

Now, if that lover were out of the way, then Neeta would surely return to him completely.

"Nowhere," Daren replied, shaking himself out of his thoughts.