Peacock arrived at dawn.
Not with fanfare.
With silence.
Bharat woke to the sound of helicopter blades fading into distance—military-grade stealth model, the kind that didn't show up on civilian radar. He checked the window. Goa coastline stretched below, pink sky bleeding into turquoise water.
Beautiful.
Deceptive.
Like everything Peacock touched.
Ayesha was already awake. Sitting at the kitchen table, Codex open, three empty coffee cups beside her. She looked up when Bharat entered.
"He's here."
"I heard."
"And he brought a lawyer."
"Of course he did."
Peacock stood on the balcony.
Watching the ocean.
Like he owned it.
He wore white linen—crisp, expensive, the kind that somehow never wrinkled. Sunglasses despite the early hour. A watch that probably cost more than the safehouse.
"Bharat," he said without turning.
"Peacock."
"You look terrible."
"I feel worse."
"Good. Means you're still alive."
Peacock turned. Removed his sunglasses. His eyes were sharp—the kind of sharp that came from seeing too many corporate wars, too many hostile takeovers, too many people who thought they were untouchable.
"We need to talk."
"That's why you're here."
"No."
Peacock smiled.
"I'm here because you're about to make a mistake."
Inside.
Around the table.
Bharat. Ayesha. Peacock. And Mira—awake now, pale but functional, the black veins on her wrist faded to faint gray lines.
For now.
Peacock spread papers across the table. Legal documents. Financial statements. Photographs.
"This is the problem," he said, pointing at the Codex.
Ayesha Kaur — ACTIVE (13 days, 4 hours)
"And this," pointing at Mira, "is the liability."
Mira didn't flinch.
"I prefer 'collateral damage.'"
"I prefer solutions."
Peacock flipped to a new page. A contract. Dense legal text, but one clause highlighted in red:
Divine Covenant Nullification via Reputational Termination
Bharat stared.
"Explain."
"The god wants a bride, yes?"
"Yes."
"Pure. Untouched. Symbolically valuable."
"That's the contract."
"Exactly."
Peacock leaned back.
"So what happens if the bride becomes… unsuitable?"
Silence.
Then Ayesha's voice:
"You're suggesting character assassination."
"I'm suggesting strategic devaluation."
"Same thing."
"Maybe."
Peacock pulled out a tablet. Showed a headline mockup:
"TEMPLE SECURITY CHIEF EXPOSED: AYESHA KAUR'S SECRET CRIMINAL PAST"
Subheadline:
Former mercenary, alleged war crimes, connections to international trafficking rings
"None of that is true," Ayesha said flatly.
"Doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Does it matter more than living?"
Peacock scrolled through more mockups.
Fabricated evidence.
Doctored photos.
Fake testimonies from "anonymous sources."
Each one more damning than the last. Each one carefully crafted to destroy Ayesha's reputation—not just locally, but globally. Military contacts. Intelligence agencies. Every network she'd built over a decade of work.
Gone.
Burned.
For the sake of voiding a divine contract.
"The god operates on symbolism," Peacock explained.
"A pure bride is valuable. A tainted one is worthless."
"If we tank Ayesha's reputation—publicly, irreversibly—the temple will cut her from the list. Find someone else."
"Someone 'pure.'"
Pause.
"Someone easier to sacrifice."
Bharat looked at Ayesha.
She was staring at the mockups.
Face unreadable.
"Would it work?" he asked Peacock.
"Ninety percent certainty."
"And the ten percent?"
"The god decides her sins make her more interesting. Claims her anyway."
"That's a risk."
"Everything's a risk."
Peacock closed the tablet.
"But this is the best option you have. No fake marriage. No true-intent bullshit. Just cold, calculated reputation destruction."
"And after?" Ayesha asked quietly.
"After?"
"After I'm 'worthless' to the god. After my name is mud. After no one will hire me, trust me, or even acknowledge I exist."
"After," Peacock said carefully, "you're alive."
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Then Ayesha stood.
Walked to the balcony.
Stared at the ocean.
Bharat followed.
"Ayesha—"
"I'll do it."
"What?"
"I'll do it. Release the stories. Burn my reputation. Whatever it takes."
"You can't—"
"I can."
She turned. Her eyes were hard. The kind of hard that came from making impossible choices and living with them.
"I've survived worse than a ruined name."
"This isn't just a name. It's your entire life."
"My life is already borrowed time."
She tapped her wrist.
13 days, 3 hours.
"If this works, I get more time. If it doesn't, I was dead anyway."
"Ayesha—"
"I'm not a martyr, Bharat. I'm a pragmatist."
Pause.
"Let Peacock do his worst."
Bharat grabbed her arm.
Gently.
But firm.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no."
"You don't get a vote."
"I do when it's my plan that's being used to destroy you."
"Your plan?"
"I brought Peacock in. I asked for solutions."
"And he gave you one."
"A solution I won't use."
Ayesha pulled her arm free.
"Why not?"
"Because you matter."
"I'm a tool."
"You're a person."
"Same thing in this world."
"Not to me."
She stared at him.
Really stared.
Like she was seeing him for the first time.
"You're an idiot."
"I know."
"A suicidal idiot."
"Also accurate."
"And you're going to get us all killed."
"Probably."
Pause.
"But I'm not trading your life for your reputation."
"Why?"
"Because if we win by destroying the people we're trying to save, we haven't won. We've just become them."
Ayesha's jaw tightened.
"That's naive."
"Maybe."
"And dangerous."
"Definitely."
"And it'll get you killed."
"Then I'll die with a clear conscience."
"Conscience doesn't stop gods."
"No."
Bharat looked back at the table. At Peacock. At Mira. At the Codex.
"But strategy does."
He walked back inside.
"Peacock. I need a different plan."
"There isn't one."
"Then we make one."
"How?"
Bharat pointed at the mockup headline.
"TEMPLE SECURITY CHIEF EXPOSED"
"We use this. But not on Ayesha."
"Who, then?"
Bharat smiled.
Cold.
Sharp.
The kind of smile that meant someone was about to have a very bad day.
"Rajan."
Peacock blinked.
"You want to tank the temple priest's reputation?"
"Yes."
"The man who's actively hunting you?"
"That's the one."
"And this helps Ayesha how?"
"Simple."
Bharat grabbed the Codex. Flipped to a clause he'd noticed earlier.
Temple Authority — Selection Criteria:
Brides must be selected by a priest of pure standing. If the selecting priest is found unworthy, all contracts signed under their authority are voided.
"Rajan selected Ayesha."
"So?"
"So if we prove Rajan is corrupt—publicly, undeniably—his authority is revoked."
"And Ayesha's contract?"
"Voids automatically."
Silence.
Then Peacock laughed.
Low.
Impressed.
"That's brilliant."
"Will it work?"
"If we can prove he's corrupt, yes."
"Can we?"
Peacock pulled out his phone. Started typing.
"Every powerful man has skeletons. Question is whether they're buried deep enough."
"How long to find them?"
"Give me six hours."
"You have three."
Peacock left.
Helicopter blades faded into distance.
Again.
Ayesha sat down. Looked at Bharat.
"That was reckless."
"I know."
"And it might not work."
"I know."
"And if it fails, I'm back to square one. Except now Rajan knows we're targeting him."
"I know."
Pause.
"But you did it anyway."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you deserve better than a burned name."
"I don't."
"I disagree."
Mira spoke from the couch.
"He's right, you know."
Ayesha turned.
"About what?"
"You're not a tool. You're—"
Mira stopped. Looked away.
"What?"
"You're the reason I'm still alive."
Pause.
"And I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything."
"I do."
Mira stood. Walked over. Sat across from Ayesha.
"When I was unconscious, the god showed me something."
"What?"
"A timeline. Where you didn't save me."
"And?"
"Bharat tried alone. Failed. Died."
Pause.
"You're not just keeping me alive. You're keeping him alive."
Ayesha's expression didn't change.
But her hands did.
Clenched.
Tight.
"I didn't do it for him."
"Didn't you?"
"I did it because it was the job."
"Liar."
Mira smiled. Small. Sad.
"You care about him. Maybe not the way I do. But you care."
"Caring is a liability."
"So is living."
Ayesha stood.
Walked to the window.
"If Peacock finds dirt on Rajan, what's the play?"
"Public exposure," Bharat said.
"How public?"
"Front page. Every news outlet. Social media. Viral."
"That'll make Rajan desperate."
"Good."
"Desperate men are dangerous."
"So are desperate women."
Ayesha looked back.
"You're planning something else."
"Maybe."
"What?"
"Can't say yet."
"Why not?"
"Because if I'm wrong, you'll try to stop me."
"And if you're right?"
Pause.
"You'll try to stop me anyway."
Ayesha's phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Yes?"
Static.
Then a voice.
Distorted.
Mechanical.
"You have 13 days."
"Who is this?"
"A friend."
"I don't have friends."
"Then an enemy who wants the same thing you do."
"Which is?"
"Rajan. Dead."
The line went dead.
Ayesha stared at the phone.
"Who was that?" Bharat asked.
"I don't know."
"What did they want?"
"Rajan."
"Dead or discredited?"
"Dead."
Pause.
"But they're willing to settle for discredited."
Bharat's phone buzzed.
Peacock.
[PEACOCK]: Found something. Big.
[BHARAT]: How big?
[PEACOCK]: Career-ending. Life-ruining. Possibly illegal in 47 countries.
[BHARAT]: Send it.
[PEACOCK]: Sending. But Bharat?
[BHARAT]: What?
[PEACOCK]: This isn't just dirt. It's a nuclear bomb.
[PEACOCK]: Once you use it, there's no going back.
[PEACOCK]: Rajan will come for you. Hard.
[BHARAT]: Let him.
The file arrived.
Bharat opened it.
Scanned.
Eyes widening.
"Oh."
"What?" Ayesha asked.
"Rajan has a son."
"So?"
"An illegitimate one."
Pause.
"With a temple acolyte."
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"And the son?"
"Hidden. Raised in secret. Under a false name."
"Where?"
"Mumbai. Private school. Tuition paid by an offshore account traced back to—"
Bharat stopped.
"To who?"
"The temple's charitable fund."
Ayesha smiled.
The dangerous kind.
"He's been embezzling."
"Worse."
"What's worse than embezzling from a god?"
"He's been using temple money to fund his mistress and illegitimate child."
Pause.
"While preaching purity."
"While selecting 'pure' brides for the god."
"While condemning others for the exact sins he's committing."
Bharat looked at Mira.
"This is enough, right? To void your contract?"
"If it goes public, yes."
"And Ayesha's?"
"Same."
"Then we go public."
"How?"
Bharat texted Peacock.
[BHARAT]: Can you stage a photo op?
[PEACOCK]: What kind?
[BHARAT]: Rajan. His mistress. Entering a hotel.
[PEACOCK]: When?
[BHARAT]: Tonight.
[PEACOCK]: That's ambitious.
[BHARAT]: Can you do it?
[PEACOCK]: I can do anything.
[PEACOCK]: But it'll cost.
[BHARAT]: How much?
[PEACOCK]: Another favor. No questions.
[BHARAT]: Deal.
Ayesha looked at Bharat.
"This is risky."
"I know."
"If it fails—"
"It won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because Rajan is predictable."
"How?"
"He's arrogant. Thinks he's untouchable."
Pause.
"And arrogant men always make the same mistake."
"Which is?"
Bharat smiled.
"They forget people are watching."