For years, he had swallowed this pain. Buried it under his rage, refusing to let it leak into the world. But tonight, standing here after ripping apart the lives of the very people tied to his past, his restraint collapsed. The dam of control he had built inside himself gave way, and grief poured out with brutal force.
Rajat’s father, Vishwanath, and his aunt Mala had not wanted his childhood to turn into a headline. They had not wanted him growing up as a photograph on television screens, a boy frozen in tragedy. So, they had chosen justice in court and silence outside it. No interviews. No stories. No victim narratives. Only a verdict buried under legal language, like internal confrontation and misuse of authority. Vishwanath had used all his influential powers to make this happen, to safeguard Karan and the rest of the Wadhwa family.
Luckily for Karan, because of this, Daksh could never get deeper because there had been nothing left to dig. The files weresealed. The crime was recorded. The victim erased. Daksh had known enough about what his father did, but not enough to understand the storm waiting for him. The storm named‘Karan Wadhwa’.
He finally broke the silence, dragging the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping away the tears, and turned toward Mishti and Daksh.
“Whatever I did with you two is nothing compared to what your father snatched away from me,” he said. “Even if you Goels beg for mercy, or die at my feet, I will show none.”
He paused, letting his words. Mishti flinched, but Daksh couldn’t even meet Karan’s eyes, who continued.
“Only because you are the bloodline of the man who destroyed my family… who ruined my life.”
Without waiting for a response, without sparing a glance at the devastation he had left behind, Karan turned and stormed toward the door.
The silence inside the Goel mansion until the sound of Karan’s car tearing out of the gates echoed through the house.
Mishti jolted before turning slowly toward her brother, her eyes red. The anger that had been trembling inside her finally found its voice.
“You knew this?” she demanded.
Daksh did not answer. He looked away.
Mishti took a step forward, disbelief turning into rage. “You knew our father was a murderer? You knew he was alive all this time?” Her voice cracked as she pushed further. “Why didn’t you tell me, bhai? Why did you let me live like a fool?”
He turned on her, his own anger erupting after being held back for years. “Ask your mother when you meet her in heaven why she lied to you,” he shot back bitterly. “Shedecided to keep that filth away from you. She didn’t want our father’s dirt touching your innocent life.”
He let out a harsh laugh. “And whether you knew or not hardly ever mattered to me. Becauseyouhardly mattered to me, Mishti.”
Mishti stared at him, stunned.
“And what would you do if you had known?” Daksh continued, his voice rising. “What couldIdo even after knowing? Our father murdered someone. Yes. But why are we the ones being punished for it? Why are we carrying consequences that were never ours?”
Mishti did not back down. “Because we grew up using that stolen money, Daksh bhai,” she yelled back. “The money he murdered someone for, that blood money is the reason we are standing here today.”
There was a pin-drop silence again as Daksh glared at her.
“I cannot believe this.” She wiped her tears angrily and went on. “How could you not throw that money away? How could you keep everything he built by destroying someone else’s family?” Her eyes burned as she looked at him. “If you had walked away from it, we would have had one less guilt to carry.”
Daksh’s face darkened. He grabbed her arms in frustration. “It’s very easy for you to say this now,” he snapped. “I was not the only one making decisions then. Your mother wanted it too.”
Mishti froze.
“She did not want us, or you, living on the streets,” Daksh continued harshly. “She didn’t want us starving, without shelter, without a future. That money was the only way we survived, Mishti. If we hadn’t used it, we would not have survived at all.”
Mishti shoved him back, shaking her head violently. “I would rather die hungry,” she cried, her voice breaking, “than build a life on Karan’s mother’s blood.”
She looked at him with raw defiance. “No, Daksh bhai. This is not what I want. This is not what I would ever choose for myself. Or for us.”
Daksh’s anger flared uncontrollably now. “Of course you would say that,” he snapped bitterly. “Because you haven’t lost anything yet.”
Mishti stiffened.
“It’s me who has lost everything,” he continued, angrily. “Both my companies are gone. This house could be taken away in a few months if I don’t fix the business situation.” His eyes burned with resentment. “What have you lost?”
He stepped closer. “You still have Karan. I don’t care how he treats you, but you are stillMrs Karan Wadhwa. And you always will be.”
Mishti recoiled as if struck.
