Back at the Rathore Mansion, Vikram Rathore stood in the center of the grand hall, his face a mask of barely contained rage. The servants moved around him cautiously, their eyes lowered. The ornate chandelier above cast fractured light across the room, but nothing could soften the tension that filled the air.

“They’ve humiliated this family,” Vikram growled, his voice sharp enough to cut stone. “They think they can run, but they don’t know who they’re dealing with.”