Chapter 8: The Nightclub and the Ferrari
Part 1: Siddharth in Shamli
Siddharth stood outside a small farmhouse in Shamli, the winter fog curling around him like a stubborn ghost. He was interviewing the last witness in the case—a frail old man who kept forgetting his own story.
Focus, Siddharth told himself. You can't afford mistakes.
But his mind wasn't really here.
Every few minutes he found himself checking his phone, flicking through CCTV grabs of Sana. The girl who had kissed him in a hospital hallway. The girl who had then disappeared, leaving behind a chaos of false IDs, stolen bikes, and questions that burned in his mind.
Who the hell are you?
Part 2: Delhi - The Nightclub
Meanwhile, hundreds of kilometers away, Delhi was alive in neon.
A new upscale nightclub pulsed with electronic music and blue strobe lights. Waiters in crisp black uniforms weaved through the crowd, balancing cocktails that glowed like liquid jewels.
Onstage, the lights dimmed.
A single spotlight fell on her.
Sana stood at the microphone in a figure-hugging red silk dress with a daring slit. Her long hair was swept up in a stylish bun with loose tendrils framing her face. But tonight she had gone all in on the disguise.
Her makeup was flawless, making her eyes look almond-shaped and adding subtle contours that made her seem unmistakably Chinese.
She looked exactly like Aditi.
And when she sang—it was spellbinding.
Her voice was like velvet dipped in honey. It climbed in haunting notes and dropped into sultry lows that made the entire room hold its breath.
The lyrics were in Hindi, but tinged with English lines that gave it an international glamour.
A group of men near the bar went quiet, drinks forgotten. Women nudged each other, whispering how pretty she was.
And Sana saw it all.
Good, she thought, her red-painted lips curving in a tiny smirk. Watch me.
Because when she was on stage—she wasn't the frightened girl from the orphanage. She wasn't the runaway who had left a man dying in an office.
She was a star.
Part 3: The Trouble Starts
But the spell broke the moment she stepped off stage.
Near the VIP area, a drunk man in a branded blazer staggered up to her.
"Hey, doll," he slurred, grabbing her arm. "Sing for me alone tonight, yeah?"
Sana's face went cold.
"Let go."
But he grinned and yanked her closer.
"C'mon, babe, don't be like that. How much do you want?"
The music stopped. A hush spread. People began filming.
Sana's eyes flashed.
"Three... two... one."
CRACK.
Her elbow rammed into his ribs. He doubled over. She kneed him in the face.
He fell, groaning, and she didn't stop. She kicked him in the gut, then in the chest, sending him sprawling across the polished floor.
People gasped.
Phones went up, cameras rolling.
"Get security!" someone shouted.
Sana wiped sweat from her brow, looking around at all the shocked, delighted, scandalized faces.
"I said don't touch me," she snarled, her voice ringing with raw, feral fury.
She saw the bouncers rushing toward her.
But she just smiled.
Part 4: The Video Goes Viral
By morning, the clip was everywhere.
"DELHI NIGHTCLUB SINGER BEATS UP DRUNK CUSTOMER!"
"WHO IS THIS FEARLESS BEAUTY?"
#ClubQueen #ViralVideo
The footage was grainy but unmistakable.
Sana's fierce eyes.
Her long hair in that Chinese style.
That dress slashing like fire as she moved.
Part 5: Siddharth Watches
Back in Shamli, Siddharth sat in the police jeep, exhausted.
His colleague handed him the phone.
"Sir... you need to see this."
He watched the video.
He watched her smile at the camera after beating the man bloody.
His hand clenched on the device.
So you're in Delhi.
He felt something harden inside him.
"Get me her last known address. I'm going after her."
Part 6: Liang Wei Watches
Half a world away in a Delhi hotel, Liang Wei's phone buzzed.
One of his friends was giggling.
"Dude, you need to see this! This chick kicked some jerk's ass in a club. She looks like your dead girlfriend."
Liang grabbed the phone, annoyed—until he saw it.
He went pale.
That's... Aditi.
But she was alive. Real. Moving.
His friend whistled.
"Bro, you okay?"
Liang's fingers trembled.
"She's alive," he whispered.
"Man... she died in China. You lost it. Don't start this again."
But Liang was already up, grabbing his jacket.
"She's alive," he repeated, voice shaking.
Part 7: The Escape
Back at the club, Sana watched the bouncers close in.
She laughed.
Amateurs.
She spun on her heel and darted through the kitchen, leaping over crates. Pots crashed. Someone screamed.
She burst through the back door into the alley.
Her eyes scanned the line of cars parked along the busy street.
And then she saw it.
A red Ferrari, purring quietly, its owner busy arguing with the valet.
Sana's grin widened.
Perfect.
She sauntered over like she owned it, flicked her hair over one shoulder, and slid in.
She hotwired it in seconds.
The engine roared like a hungry beast.
Outside, the owner turned.
"HEY! THAT'S MY—"
But Sana was gone.
The Ferrari screeched onto the main road, neon lights flashing on its sleek curves.
Inside, Sana whooped with laughter, hair flying, eyes blazing.
No one owns me, she thought. Not anymore.