The bullet missed Meher by inches.
It buried itself in the mahogany wall behind her with a dull, ugly thud.
Kabir kicked open the bedroom door seconds later, gun raised, eyes wild. “Meher!”
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, standing frozen beside the shattered mirror.
The guards found nothing—no prints, no intruder. Just an open window and the scent of betrayal.
Later, in the panic room beneath the estate, Kabir paced like a caged beast while Meher sat calmly, blood still drying on her cheek from a shard of glass.
“I will find who did this,” he said. “And I’ll make them regret breathing.”
She didn’t speak.
“You don’t get to act like this is normal,” he snapped. “Someone tried to kill you.”
“And I’m still here,” she replied, voice flat. “You made me strong, remember?”
He turned to her. “This is different. This isn’t about power anymore. This was a message.”
She stood and walked toward him slowly. “Then send one back.”
Kabir looked at her—this girl who once flinched at his voice. Now standing with fire in her eyes, daring the world to try again.
His voice was low. “They aimed for the queen.”
Her lips curled. “Next time, they better not miss.”
And in that cold, concrete room, they understood something for the first time—
This wasn’t just Kabir’s war anymore.
It was theirs.
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