The penthouse in Bandra felt like a gilded cage by the end of the second month. The sea view through tinted glass was beautiful, the rain shower luxurious, the king bed wide enough for three bodies to tangle without edges—but safety was wearing thin.

Karan’s contacts had gone quiet. Too quiet. The burner phones rang unanswered. Arjun’s old family network in Rajasthan had tentacles that reached even into Mumbai’s underbelly—private investigators, retired cops on payroll, distant cousins who ran import businesses as fronts. Whispers filtered back: “The Rathore brothers took the girl. Honor must be restored.”