Present Day – Mumbai Sessions Court
The courtroom buzzed with anticipation.
A high-profile case.
A powerful businessman accused of murdering his wife.
Media vans crowded outside like vultures, hungry for blood.
Inside, two lawyers prepared for war.
ACP Arjun Mehta sat rigid in the witness box, jaw clenched, eyes sharp. He had arrested the accused himself. The evidence was airtight. This should have been simple.
Then she walked in.
Kavya Singhania.
Defense attorney. Twenty-seven. Already legendary in legal circles.
She moved through the courtroom like she owned it—confident, elegant, dangerous. Every head turned. Every whisper followed her.
Arjun looked up.
Their eyes met.
Something electric snapped between them—instant recognition. Not familiarity, but something deeper. The awareness of an equal. An adversary. Something neither of them wanted to name.
"Mr. Mehta," she began, her voice smooth as silk and sharp as a blade, "you arrested my client based on circumstantial evidence, did you not?"
"I arrested him based on solid investigative work," Arjun replied calmly, holding her gaze.
"Solid?"
She smiled—and it was predatory.
"Then walk me through your solid evidence, Detective. Let's see how well it holds up under scrutiny."
For the next forty minutes, the courtroom became a battlefield.
Question.
Answer.
Thrust.
Parry.
Kavya was relentless, brilliant—finding microscopic cracks, twisting facts just enough to unsettle them. Arjun refused to yield, matching her blow for blow.
The tension was unmistakable.
Half the courtroom could feel it.
Finally, the judge called for a recess.
But the damage was done.
Kavya had planted reasonable doubt. Her client would likely walk free.
Outside the courtroom, Arjun caught up with her.
"You know he did it," he said, voice low, dangerous.
She turned slowly, eyebrow arched. "Prove it."
"I did. You just twisted everything—"
"I did my job."
She stepped closer, invading his space, standing toe to toe.
"Maybe if you'd done yours better, I wouldn't have had anything to twist."
They were too close now. The air between them felt charged, volatile. Anyone watching would have thought they were either about to fight—
—or kiss.
"This isn't over," Arjun said.
"I certainly hope not."
Her smile sharpened.
"I do enjoy a challenge."
She walked away.
Arjun stood there, frustrated, angry—and against his will, intrigued.
Sameer appeared beside him, grinning.
"Damn, boss. That was intense. You two got history or something?"
"Just met her."
"Could've fooled me. That was basically foreplay in legal form."
Arjun shot him a warning look.
"Focus. We have a serial killer to catch."
"Right. About that…" Sameer's expression turned serious.
"I pulled Dr. Kapoor's records. She came back to Mumbai six months ago. Same time the first murder happened."
Six months.
She'd been back six months—and he hadn't known.
"Set up a meeting," Arjun said. "Professional. I want to interview her about her patients."
"You sure that's a good idea? Given your… history?"
"I'm a professional. I can handle it."
But even as he said it, memories flooded back.
The taste of her lips.
The feel of her skin.
The promises whispered in the dark.
Forever bound.
Could you ever truly be professional with someone who once knew every inch of your body—every secret of your soul?
He was about to find out.
That Evening – Arjun's Apartment
Arjun poured himself a whiskey. His third.
Case files lay scattered across the coffee table—four dead women, four unsolved murders.
At the center sat a new file.
Dr. Myra Kapoor.
He'd requested only her professional records, avoiding anything personal. Still, they told a story.
She had left Mumbai six years ago.
Right after their breakup.
Studied abroad. Built a successful practice in London.
Then—six months ago—she returned.
Why?
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
"Mehta."
"Hello, Arjun."
The voice hit him like a bullet.
Familiar. Haunting. Exactly as he remembered.
"Myra."
"I heard you wanted to talk to me," she said softly. "About my patients."
A pause.
"About murder."
"How did you get this number?"
"I never deleted it."
Then, quietly:
"Did you delete mine?"
He had.
He'd deleted everything, trying to erase her from his life.
"This is a professional inquiry," he said, forcing his voice steady.
"Of course."
Was that amusement?
"Come to my office tomorrow. 3 PM. We can discuss my patients… and old times."
"This isn't about old times."
"Isn't it?"
She let the question linger.
"See you tomorrow, Arjun. I've missed you."
The line went dead.
Arjun stared at his phone, heart pounding.
Six years of walls.
Six years of moving on.
Six years of convincing himself he was over her.
All shattered by three words.
I've missed you.
The doorbell rang.
He froze.
Through the peephole—Kavya Singhania.
"What the hell…"
He opened the door.
"Ms. Singhania. This is… unexpected."
She held up a folder, hands trembling slightly.
"I'm being blackmailed. Someone's threatening to kill me if I don't drop a case. Normally I'd ignore it, but—"
She swallowed. Vulnerability flickered across her face.
"This morning, I found a dead rat in my car."
A pause.
"With a note. You're next."
Arjun's instincts snapped into place.
"Come in."
As she stepped inside, one thing became painfully clear.
The killer had made a mistake.
They had targeted the one woman Arjun was now personally invested in protecting.
The one woman who had made him feel something—for the first time in six years.
And tomorrow, he would have to face the woman who had broken him.
The game had truly begun.