Threads of Fate

Chapter Two: The Gilded Contract

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The historical elements referenced are inspired by Indian heritage but have been adapted for the purposes of this narrative.

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The silence of the Radcliffe Camera was replaced by the aggressive roar of London’s Greyfriars district. Maya stood outside her architectural firm’s headquarters, the peacock feather tucked deep into her coat pocket. It felt like a hot coal against her ribs.

Rohan was gone. No trace, no footprint—just the lingering scent of rain and the echo of a warning.

"Maya! You’re late," a voice snapped, cutting through her daze.

She turned to see her boss, Sarah, clutching a tablet like a shield. "The Singhania Group is in the boardroom. Vikram himself flew in from Singapore. If we don’t land this Jaipur redevelopment project, the firm is underwater. Fix your hair, look 'royal,' and get in there."

Maya felt a wave of nausea. Vikram Singhania. The man her parents saw as a savior, and the man she saw as a predator in a bespoke suit.

The boardroom was a vacuum of cold air and expensive cologne. At the head of the table sat Vikram. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt engineered—perfect hair, a smile that didn't reach his predatory eyes, and a watch that cost more than Maya’s London flat.

"Maya," Vikram purred, standing up. He didn't offer a hand; he offered a gaze that felt like an inspection. "I was told the Jaipuria heir was the best architect for this job. After all, who better to dismantle the old world than someone who escaped it?"

He slid a leather-bound folder across the table. Inside were 3D renders of a glass shopping mall. Maya’s heart sank. It was positioned exactly where the "Blind Spot" on her map had been—the location of the hidden courtyard.

"This will destroy the foundation of the Old City," Maya said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"This will bring billions to a city that is rotting, Maya," Vikram countered. He leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "And it will pay off your father’s gambling debts in full. Consider it a wedding gift. All you have to do is sign off on the structural survey. Tell the board there’s nothing underneath those ruins worth saving."

Maya’s hand went to her wrist, where her skin still burned from the library’s light. She thought of Rohan’s glowing mark. She thought of the voice on the phone: The seal is bleeding.

Suddenly, the glass window behind Vikram cracked. A single, hairline fracture snaked across the pane in the shape of a lightning bolt. No one noticed but her.

"I need twenty-four hours," Maya said, closing the folder.

Vikram’s smile faltered. "You have until sunset tomorrow, Maya. After that, the bulldozers move in. With or without your blessing."

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As Maya hurried out of the office, her phone buzzed again. It wasn't the zeros this time. It was an encrypted message from an unknown source and a photo.

The text below the photo read: He isn't who he says he is. Meet me at the Southbank carousel at midnight if you want to live to see Jaipur.

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Maya looked at the photo, then at the peacock feather in her hand. The feather was no longer blue—it had turned a deep, blood-red.

Things just got complicated! Vikram is moving in, and Rohan might be hiding a century-old secret.

The Big Question: Do you think the man in the 1924 photo is Rohan, or an ancestor??!!

Let me know your theories in the comments! 🕵️‍♀️