Ishaan sat in the leather chair inside The Black Crown, his posture rigid, his eyes fixed on the wall ahead. His jaw was tight, and his fingers tapped steadily against his thigh—a quiet but clear sign of the storm building inside him. He waited, silent and controlled, for Matteo to speak and give him the answers he needed.

Across from him, Matteo was hunched over his laptop, code running rapidly across the screen as he worked to track the unknown sender's ID—the same unknown sender who had once again delivered information, clues, and pieces of a truth that ishaan really nedded.

As the cursor blinked on Matteo's screen, Ishaan's mind drifted back to  the moment the message came.

---One Hour Earlier

When Ishaan received a notification from an unknown number, he picked up his phone immediately. Opening the message folder, he stared at the unfamiliar number.
It wasn't the same number that had sent him the video of Maya changing the file.
No.
This one was different.

But strangely... both numbers felt like they had the same intention—
someone wanted Ishaan to know the truth.

He opened the message.

Inside was:

A video

A document containing information

A voice call recording

Ishaan opened the video first.

On the screen, he saw a man constantly lurking near Mehra Co, leaning against his car, watching the building. The footage zoomed in on the license plate—it belonged to him.

Then Ishaan opened the information file.

It contained:
The man's identity.
His car details.
His connections.

Ishaan's brows furrowed sharply. His jaw clenched.

"Divalo."

A member of Divalo... outside Mehra Co?

Why?

He pressed play on the call recording.

The same man's voice came through.

"The work is done, boss. I already informed the reporters about Ishaan...
They're on their way."

Ishaan froze.

His blood ran hot—anger and shock mixing dangerously.

He checked the call details.
The contact name flashed on the receiving end:

Corvo.

That was when everything clicked.

So it wasn't Aransh who leaked my information to the media...
It was Corvo.

But why?
How?

Corvo could know about Dante, sure. But how he know's about Ishaan Mehra?

And if Corvo knew this much about him...

Then Corvo also knew the deepest secret—

That Ishaan Mehra and Dante were the same person.

Ishaan exhaled sharply, tension coiling around him.

"Who are you, Corvo? And how do you know so much about me?"  What do you want from me? he muttered under his breath, eyes still on the unknown number.
"And you... whoever you are... the one helping me uncover the truth—why help me?  i know You're the same person who sent Maya's video."

-----

Ishaan's thoughts shattered abruptly when Matteo suddenly gasped behind his laptop.

His voice trembled with shock.

... Oh God—how did i miss this?"

Matteo's eyes were glued to his laptop screen, his expression slowly shifting from confusion to shock. His breath caught.

Ishaan noticed immediately.

"What happened? Did you find something?" he asked, leaning forward.

Matteo blinked rapidly. "No—I mean yes."
He ran a hand through his hair. "How did I not notice this earlier?"

Ishaan exhaled sharply. "Matteo, stop speaking in riddles and tell me clearly. What did you find?"
Beside him, Vitale and Grace stepped closer, watching Matteo with growing curiosity.

Matteo rotated the laptop toward them.
"Look at this mark."

All three of them leaned in.

On the screen was a strange symbol—
an a letter or design fused together in a confusing, almost artistic design.
It wasn't clear whether it was a letter... or a logo... or a coded signature.
And above it, appearing again and again, was a glitching Joker-smile emoji, flickering like a taunt.

Ishaan's jaw tightened.
Vitale raised a brow.
Grace frowned.

Ishaan looked at Matteo with irritation.
"What is this supposed to be? Matteo, this is not the time to joke. I asked you to track the unknown sender, not show us some random doodle."

Matteo sighed heavily.
"It's not random, boss. This is information. Not the sender's identity—but something about him."

Vitale stepped closer. "And what does this symbol have to do with the sender?"

"A lot," Matteo replied. "A connection. Let me explain."

He took a breath.

"I tried every method. Every route. Every trick I know. But this sender is... insanely smart. The moment they send something, they erase every trace of their existence. Not even a shadow remains."
Matteo tapped the mark on the screen.
"But this symbol keeps showing up. Every time."

Ishaan narrowed his eyes.

"First," Matteo continued, "I saw it when I tried to trace today's sender—this symbol flashed for a second. I ignored it at first, thinking it was a glitch. But then I remembered..." I've seen  this mark before."
He clicked another file.
 Then i check "Maya's video—the one exposing the file change. When I opened the sender's route that day, the same symbol flashed."

Everyone stiffened.

"And one more thing." Matteo's voice lowered.
"When Aransh escaped, I tried to recover the deleted CCTV footage. Guess what popped up during every attempt?"

The Joker emoji blinked again on the screen.

Vitale whispered, "You mean... all three events are linked?"

Matteo nodded.
"Yes. The same person is behind all of it. The same hacker helped Aransh, exposed Maya, and is now helping Ishaan."

Silence fell.

Ishaan leaned forward, eyes sharp.
"You said you've seen this mark before. Where?"

Matteo swallowed.
"In America."

Grace frowned. "America? What do you mean?"

Matteo nodded. "Yes. Last year, I participated in a major hacking competition in the U.S. Hackers from all over the world came—hundreds of them. Only twenty reached the final round... and among those twenty was a hacker who used this exact mark. The one who eventually won the entire contest."

He pointed at the glowing  symbol and the flickering Joker emoji.

"This is his signature. After he completes a hack, he erases every single piece of evidence—perfectly. Nothing remains. Except this mark. And that smiling Joker emoji. It's his way of mocking anyone who tries to trace him... as if saying, 'Nice try.'"

A cold silence settled in the room.
Vitale, Grace, and Ishaan exchanged looks—shocked or confused, none of them could tell.

Ishaan's voice hardened. "Did you see him? Do you know who he is?"

Matteo's face fell. He shook his head.

"No. I never saw him. No one did."

Vitale raised an eyebrow. "How? You were in the same contest, right?"

"Yes," Matteo said. "I reached the top twenty, but even then, no one saw his face. Actually, no one even knows whether that hacker is a man or a woman. He—or she—was covered head to toe in black. Hood, mask, gloves.Glasses Completely unrecognizable. It was impossible to identify them."

Ishaan sighed, leaning back. "So he might be an American hacker."

Matteo immediately shook his head.
"No, boss. There were hackers from everywhere—Europe, Asia, India, everywhere. Just because the contest was in America doesn't mean he is American. He could be from any country. Even India."

Ishaan nodded slowly, thinking.
"Hmm. But why would an expert hacker help Aransh? Did Aransh hire him to uncover the truth?"

"That's possible," Vitale said carefully.

Everyone nodded—logically, it made sense.

Ishaan looked again at the strange symbol.
"And this mark... what does it mean? Is it a letter? A design? Something else?"

He narrowed his eyes.
"Rotate it."

Matteo obeyed, rotating the symbol upside down, sideways, every direction.

They all stared at it.

After a few moments of silence, Ishaan spoke:

"No matter how you turn it... the symbol forms the same thing.
An A.
A V.
Or both together... A–V."

Vitale leaned closer, eyes widening. "You're right. From every angle, it reads as A or V. It could be the initials of someone's name."

Grace suddenly whispered, almost involuntarily:

"...Aransh Verma."

The room froze.

Everyone turned to her, stunned—because the possibility felt scarily real.

--

"Since yesterday, Mehra Mansion has felt unusually cheerful and warm. Today is the second morning after Mrs. Mehra returned home from the hospital. The mansion looks as if life has finally returned to it."

Mrs. Mehra sat on the edge of the bed, fingers lightly brushing the rim of her teacup. Her eyes followed Aanya quietly as she arranged flowers in a vase—small, nervous movements, like she wasn't sure she was allowed to exist in the room.

For a moment, Mrs. Mehra simply watched her.

Then, a soft crease formed between her brows.
That name...
Aanya.
It tugged somewhere—far, far back—like a memory underwater.

She pressed her fingertips to her temple.

Why does this name feel familiar? Aanya... Aanya... I've heard it before. But where? Who was she to us?

She tried to chase the memory, but it slipped away like sand through her fingers. The effort made her heart ache.

Still, she smiled—warm, gentle, hiding the confusion in her eyes.

"Aanya..." she said softly.

Aanya looked up instantly, startled, hands freezing mid-air. "yes...?"

Why do you look scared of me." Mrs. Mehra said, her tone deliberately cheerful, careful, as if trying not to break something fragile. 

Aanya lowered her gaze, embarrassed. "Sorry, aunty... it-its not like that..."

"Relax aanya?" Mrs. Mehra chuckled lightly. "i am not some cruel typical type women." you don't have to be scared of me or anyone.

She patted the seat beside her.

Aanya hesitated. Her feet refused to move. She wasn't used to warmth—not like this. since she come in this mansion.

Seeing that hesitation, Mrs. Mehra softened even more.

"Don't keep such a distance, beta. I won't bite you."she joked lightly.

Slowly... carefully... Aanya walked closer and sat down. Her fingers twisted together on her lap.

Mrs. Mehra watched those nervous little hands, and something inside her softened painfully.

She reached out, brushing Aanya's hair back behind her ear.

"You have such a lovely name," she said with a soft sigh. "Aanya... Aanya..."
She repeated it again, almost whispering—trying to catch the memory that was slipping away.

But nothing came.

Just a hollow ache.

Aanya noticed the flicker of pain in her eyes. "Aunty... Are you ok?"

Mrs. Mehra blinked quickly, forcing a smile. "Absolutely. It was just... a little memory game going on." She chukkal.

Then she held Aanya's hands gently between her palms.

"Whatever it is... whoever you are..." she said slowly, warmly, "I'm glad you're here."

Aanya's eyes stung unexpectedly. No one had said something like that to her in a long time.

Mrs. Mehra squeezed her hand lightly.

"Now come on, I want to sit with you and have tea. And no more hesitation, okay?"

Aanya nodded, a shy, shaky smile touching her lips.

And for the first time...
She felt like she wasn't an outsider.

The lobby of the luxury hotel was quiet when Ishaan walked in, his expression sharp and unreadable. This was the same place Aransh had visited a few days earlier. Ishaan headed straight to the reception desk, where the manager—and the recipcinist—greeted him respectfully.

"Mr. Mehra, please come to my office," the manager said, sensing the seriousness in Ishaan's demeanor.

Inside the office, Ishaan sat across from him, fingers clasped, gaze steady.
"I need the CCTV footage from 8th August," he said. "The day Aransh Verma checked in. I want every camera angle—lobby, hallways, elevator, floor access, everything."

The manager's face tensed. 

After a long pause, he sighed.
"Sir... there's an issue."

Ishaan's eyes narrowed. "What issue?"

"The footage from that date—everything after Aransh entered the hotel—has been completely erased. Not corrupted. Deleted. Someone removed every trace that shows who he met or which or with whom he went to the room."

Ishaan leaned forward, jaw tightening.
"All the footage? Every angle?"

"Yes, sir," the manager said nervously. "Only the entrance camera remains. It confirms that Aransh arrived on the 8th... but after that, nothing. It's as if he disappeared inside the building."

Ishaan's expression darkened, suspicion sharpening into certainty.
"This level of erasing... not possible without high-level access."

The manager nodded hesitantly.
"And there's something else, sir."

Ishaan looked up.

"Aransh Verma came here before you," the manager revealed. "He also asked for the footage from the same date."

Ishaan stiffened.

The manager continued, "He seemed... tense. In a hurry. But when we told him the footage was missing, he left immediately without another word."

Silence hung heavy for a moment.

Ishaan exhaled slowly, mind racing.

So... there is someone out there who doesn't want me—or anyone else—to know what really happened that day. Someone who doesn't want anyone to see who Aransh met, or who that girl was he went into the room with... or was taken with.
Someone is deliberately erasing every piece of evidence that could prove Aransh innocent.

Or...

Is Aransh himself wiping out the evidence?
That prove he is the one who did this, is he truly the culprit. or victim.

Ishaan's thoughts grew heavier, sharper.

Is Aransh truly a victim?
Is someone trying to frame him...?
Or is this all a game? A carefully played move where aransh  is just a pawn?

Corvo exposing me, a stranger working in my house trying to scare Aanya, someone erasing Aransh’s evidence — are all these things connected? Is Corvo doing all this to  defeat Black Crown? Or is there something else that I’m missing?”

The questions kept circling his mind, refusing to settle. The truth was out there—hidden behind deleted footage and invisible marks—and Ishaan could feel that whatever it was, it wouldn't be simple. It wouldn't be clean.

It was dangerous.

And someone was making sure the truth stayed buried.

Who was powerful enough to erase an entire day of digital evidence—and why were they protecting Aransh? or Framing him?

Everyone was gathered in the living area after dinner, relaxed and comfortable. Ishaan had come home early for once. He'd made sure to have dinner with his mother and the entire family—something he hadn't done in a long time.

Now they all sat together, enjoying the tubs of ice cream Ishaan had brought on his way home. Soft laughter filled the room, light conversation drifting around them. Aanya sat quietly beside Mrs. Mehra, listening more than speaking, still adjusting to the family's warmth.

Everything was peaceful... until suddenly Mrs. Mehra looked up at Ishaan and asked:

"Where is Bella, Ishaan? She must know I'm back from the hospital. Why hasn't she come to see me yet?"

The room fell silent.

Ishaan's hand froze midway, the spoon hovering just in front of his lips. Aanya glanced around, confused by the sudden tension.

Mrs. Mehra continued, frowning lightly.
"Don't tell me you didn't inform her that I'm home."

Everyone's eyes shifted to Ishaan.
Aanya looked between him and the family, trying to understand who they were talking about.

Ishaan slowly set his bowl of ice cream down, hesitating.
"Mo–mom... she—"

Before he could finish, Mrs. Mehra interrupted with a sigh.

"I knew it. You didn't tell her. Otherwise she would've run to me the moment she heard I was back. Poor girl. I still have to apologize to her... because of me her wedding got delayed. She was so happy..."

Aanya froze.
Wedding?
Bella?
Her eyes darted to Ishaan, searching his face for answers he couldn't give.

Mrs. Mehra, lost in her own guilt, spoke softly,
"Call her, Ishaan. Tell her I'm home. I need to talk to her about the wedding. I've delayed things enough already—we should pick a new date for the two of you soon."

Her voice was hopeful, cheerful even.

But Aanya's chest tightened painfully, as if the air had been punched out of her.
She stared at Ishaan—waiting, terrified, hurt.

Ishaan closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a long, heavy breath.
He looked at his mother, then at Aanya... guilt weighing him down like chains.

He was about to lie.
Again.
And the lie would hurt Aanya the most.

"Mom..." his voice was low, strained. "She... she's out of the country right now."

Mrs. Mehra blinked.
"Out of the country? Why?"

"She had an important surgery overseas," he replied quietly. "So she's there... busy. When she gets free, I'll speak to her. And there's no need to rush the wedding. Please just focus on recovering first. We'll think about all that later."

He managed to keep his tone steady, but his heart clenched painfully.

He hated this.

Hated lying to his mother...
And hated even more how Aanya stiffened beside her, her eyes lowering, her fingers tightening around her bowl.

But what was he supposed to say?
How could he tell his mother the truth—that the girl she loved like her own daughter had run away?

Run away the moment Ishaan lost everything—
his mansion,
his company,
his accounts... all sealed or blocked.

How could he tell her that Bella had thought he was useless now?
That she'd chosen to leave?

Aanya didn't realize she was holding her breath until her chest began to hurt.
The room slowly filled with soft conversations again, but everything sounded distant to her—blurred, muffled, like she was underwater.

She lowered her gaze instantly, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed her half-eaten ice cream bowl on the table. Her throat felt tight, her chest heavier with each second.

She shouldn't feel this hurt.
She shouldn't even feel anything.
But her heart was reacting before her mind.

Across the room, sikha noticed Aanya's expression and her heart softened. She reached out and gently touched her hand.

"You okay, Aanya?" she whispered.

Aanya forced a tiny smile.
"Yes... I'm fine."
But her voice betrayed her.

Mrs. Mehra smiled warmly, completely unaware of the storm inside both Ishaan and Aanya.

Beside her, Ishaan stared at his hands—silent, tense, guilt rising like a tide inside him.
He could feel Aanya's eyes on him for a moment... before she looked away.

He hated it.

He hated this lie.
He hated the situation.
He hated that Aanya was caught in the middle of his past... and his mother's recovery.

He wanted to tell her the truth.
He wanted to say Bella was gone.
That she had run away the moment his life fell apart.
That there was no wedding.
No fiancée.
No relationship.

Nothing.

But he couldn't—not yet.
Not when his mother's health was still fragile.

He still remembered the text he had received from Bella—cold, final, cutting him deeper than he ever admitted:

"I can't stay with someone who has nothing left. I deserve better."

Mrs. Mehra, meanwhile, kept talking with cheerful innocence.

"I can't wait to see her. I owe that girl so many apologies... and I have so much to discuss with her. I want this wedding to be beautiful."

Ishaan swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

He whispered under his breath, almost too low for anyone to hear—

"There is no wedding..."

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