He holds my gaze for a beat, then gives a tight nod.
I turn and push the door open. Stepping inside, my eyes land on Deepak, seated on the metal chair, arms folded, oneleg bouncing. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and formal pants, with sleeves rolled up, two buttons undone, hair combed neatly, as if he just walked out of some damn board meeting.
I shut the door behind me and walk up to him.
“We meet again,” I say casually, taking the seat across from him.
“What the hell is this, Sidharth? Why am I here?” he snaps, slamming his arms onto the steel table and leaning forward.
“I’m in the mood for a little conversation,” I say, leaning back in my chair, letting him get a feel of what it’s like when shit pushes you past your limit.
His mouth tightens. “Can you get to the point?”
I tilt my head and smirk. “Impatient, are we?”
He exhales sharply. “I don’t have time for your games, Sidharth. Just tell me what the hell this is about.”
I arch a brow. “I just met your girlfriend, Maya. She shared some interesting facts about you.”
Deepak scoffs. “And what interesting facts could possibly have brought me here?”
I lean forward. “Like how you have anger issues, and that the miscarriage wasn’t an accident.”
A muscle jumps in Deepak’s jaw, the veins straining along his neck. “She’s lying.”
I cock my head, studying him. “Is she?”
He shifts in his seat. “You seriously believe her?”
“Why wouldn’t I? There’s no reason for her to lie. Or even fake the bruises,” I say flatly.
“What bruises?” he snaps, too quickly.
“The ones you left on her neck. Probably when you were strangling her,” I bite out.
“I don’t know how she got those. But it wasn’t me. I don’t lay my hands on women, no matter how crazy they get.”
“Then tell me this,” I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. “How did she have a miscarriage?”
He slams his palms on the table. “You think I killed her baby? I’d never stoop that low. She miscarried because she came home drunk despite being pregnant and fell off the stairs.”
“You actually expect me to believe that?” I sneer.
Deepak’s nostrils flare. “Yes, I do. That woman is nothing but a cheating, lying bitch. I chose her over Kavya, and she cheated on me. Hell, the baby she carried wasn’t even mine. I only found out all this a week ago. We had a fight. She threw things at me, and yes, I shouted at her. I lost my temper. But I never laid a hand on her or the baby.”
“Right,” I nod slowly. “And yet, you’re still with her.”
He jerks in his chair. “Like I said, I found out about her cheating and the baby just last week.” He exhales sharply. “She came home drunk. Some guy had dropped her off. When I asked who he was, she confessed he was her boyfriend. The baby’s father. That’s when I told her I’d had enough. I ended it for good and have been living separately since.” He leans forward, his voice tight with frustration. “That’s why I don’t even know what bruises you’re talking about. Maybe that’s why she’s making all this up… because I walked away.”
I slam my hand on the table, hard enough to rattle it.
“You’re fucking lying,” I snarl. “She found photos in your cupboard. Photos of Nisha, marked and targeted. And she heard you talking to Prakash.”
His brows pull together, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “What photos? What the hell are you even talking about? And who the hell is Prakash?” he shoots back, his voice rising with disbelief. “I don’t know any Prakash. This whole thing is a damn setup!”
Before I can lunge across the table, grab him by the collar and slam him against the wall to remind him exactly who Prakash is, the door creaks open and Viraj walks in.
“We’ve got a lead on Prakash. We need to move if we want to catch him.”
