Chapter 3
Warnings in the Dark
The law office was small, crammed between a closed tailor shop and a leaking chai stall, but inside it buzzed with a kind of stubborn hope.
Vedika adjusted the fan to blow some of the April heat off her back and straightened the loose piles of papers on her desk.
Across from her sat Mr. and Mrs. Kumar — an elderly couple in worn clothes, their hands knotted with callouses from decades of honest labor.
Their son, Rohan, barely twenty, hunched beside them, rage and fear written all over his too-thin frame.
“They just threw us out,” Mrs. Kumar said, voice cracking. “No notice. No papers. They said the building was ‘unsafe’ because we refused to sign over our flat.”
Vedika’s jaw tightened.
She had heard the same story a hundred times lately.
Developers backed by faceless corporations — corporations owned, indirectly, by Rathore Enterprises — swooping in, bribing officials to declare old buildings ‘unfit’, and forcing residents to evacuate.
No compensation.
No relocation.
Nothing but bulldozers arriving in the dead of night.
And standing behind it all, like a shadow swallowing the light — Abhimaan Rathore.
“I’ll file for an immediate stay order,” Vedika said, flipping open her file. “We’ll demand the housing board to freeze any demolition activity until we can prove the eviction was illegal.”
“But… can we fight them?” Rohan asked, his voice hoarse. “They’re too big, didi. They have police… politicians… thugs.”
Vedika met his gaze squarely.
“I don’t care if they have the Prime Minister himself,” she said, her voice steely. “We will fight. And we will win.”
Something flickered in Rohan’s eyes — a small, fragile flame of belief.
Mrs. Kumar wiped her tears with the edge of her dupatta. “Bless you, beta,” she whispered.
Vedika smiled tightly, hiding the lump in her throat.
Blessings were good.
But what they needed was justice — and in this city, justice came at a blood price.
⸻
By the time she stepped out of the office, the sun was a molten gold disc sinking behind the crumbling rooftops.
She had two hours before the meeting at The Imperial Hotel.
Vedika hailed an auto and leaned back against the cracked seat, files clutched tightly to her chest.
Something about this meeting still nagged at her.
The call had been too cryptic.
The client too unnamed.
But if there was even a chance she could secure more funding for her PIL, she had to try.
Money meant better lawyers.
Better lawyers meant better chances.
And she had promised the Kumars — and a hundred families like them — that she wouldn’t stop.
⸻
The Imperial Hotel was a beast of glass and marble, looming arrogantly against the gray sky.
Bellboys in crisp uniforms rushed forward to open the doors, their smiles wide but empty.
Vedika smoothed her black kurta, ignoring the glances of the wealthy guests swirling around her, and headed to the reception.
“Ms. Vedika Sharma,” she said, flashing her ID. “I have a meeting. Private conference room.”
The receptionist, a young woman with mechanical politeness, nodded and gestured to the elevator.
“Fifteenth floor. Room 1507.”
Vedika thanked her and stepped into the lift, feeling her pulse quicken.
As the elevator climbed, she caught her reflection in the mirrored walls — sharp eyes, set jaw, a face that carried too much anger for her age.
Stay calm, she told herself.
Be smarter than them.
⸻
The fifteenth floor was oddly silent.
Too silent.
Vedika walked down the plush carpeted corridor, heels clicking, until she reached Room 1507.
The door was slightly ajar.
Frowning, she pushed it open.
Inside, the lights were dim.
The room was empty except for a single man seated casually in a leather armchair, swirling a glass of whiskey.
Aadesh Malhotra.
Vedika recognized him instantly — a fixer, a thug dressed up in a cheap suit, always lurking in the background of shady deals.
Her stomach twisted.
She wasn’t here for a job offer.
She was here for a warning.
“You’re not who I was expecting,” Vedika said coolly, crossing her arms.
Aadesh smirked, rising to his feet.
“Expectations are dangerous, Ms. Sharma,” he said, voice oily. “But not as dangerous as stubbornness.”
He strolled toward her, movements casual but predatory.
“Mr. Rathore sends his regards,” he said, setting his glass down with a deliberate clink. “And a piece of advice: Drop the PIL. Walk away from the Kumar case. Close your pretty little office.”
Vedika stared at him, heart hammering in her ribs.
“And if I don’t?”
Aadesh’s smile widened.
“Accidents happen all the time in this city,” he said. “Break-ins. Fires. Disappearances.”
Vedika fought the wave of fear rising in her throat.
She thought of Rohan’s thin, desperate face.
She thought of her father, bleeding out alone because men like Aadesh had sold their souls for a few dirty coins.
And then she thought of Kabir — her little brother, her whole world.
Her voice was steady when she spoke.
“You can tell your boss that I don’t scare easy,” she said. “And if he thinks he can silence me the same way he silences everyone else, he’s welcome to try.”
For a flicker of a second, something like surprise flashed across Aadesh’s face.
Then he chuckled, slow and mocking.
“You’ll regret this,” he said, stepping closer. “Mr. Rathore doesn’t lose.”
Vedika tilted her head, giving him a razor-sharp smile.
“Neither do I.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Her knees wobbled slightly as she strode down the corridor, but she didn’t slow down.
If she stopped, if she allowed the terror to creep in, she might not be able to move at all.
⸻
In the elevator, she pulled out her phone with shaking fingers.
She sent a single text to her colleague:
“File the PIL. Full speed. No delays.”
If they wanted a war, so be it.
Vedika Sharma wasn’t just fighting for the Kumars.
She was fighting for her father.
For every innocent man crushed under the boots of men like Abhimaan Rathore.
And she would burn their empire to the ground before she bowed.
⸻
Outside, the rain had begun again — thin and sharp like needles.
Vedika stepped into it without flinching, head held high.
Some battles were chosen.
Some battles chose you.
And this one had just begun.