The police station was unusually still, the air heavy with unspoken tension. A few minutes ago, Devanshi had been escorted inside by a group of uniformed officers. Her personal assistant, Niharika, followed closely, her steps hurried and anxious.

"Sir, you guys can’t do this. My madam is innocent…!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief as she saw them locking Devanshi behind the cold iron bars.

The officer glanced at her with a measured look, clearly unmoved by her desperation. "You should come with your lawyer and talk with us properly…" he replied, his tone dismissive and procedural.

Devanshi said nothing. Her mind was far from the gray walls of the station. All she could see were the bloodied faces of her workers—men and women who had given their sweat and hours to her dream. Now, they lay on sterile hospital beds, some barely clinging to life.

She took a slow breath. She would find out who did this. And when she did, she would not forgive them.

"I’m calling a lawyer…" Niharika whispered, more to herself than anyone else, her fingers trembling as they hovered over her phone. "Madam, nothing will happen to you," she added, her voice soft, almost pleading.

Devanshi was shoved unceremoniously into a dim, damp cell. The stench of mold and years of misery hung in the air. A few women already inside looked up, their curiosity piqued by this new entrant—elegant even in distress.

Their gazes sharpened as they took in the details: her blood-stained designer kurta, the luxury watch gleaming faintly on her wrist.

"That must be expensive…" one of the women muttered, rising slowly, her eyes locked onto the shimmering timepiece.

"Your watch," she began, but before the sentence could be completed, Devanshi silently removed the watch and handed it to her without resistance.

The woman stared in disbelief. Her eyes sparkled with unexpected glee. "This is f*ing insane… Rolls-Royce edition…!" she gasped, marveling at the craftsmanship.

The other inmates gathered around, drawn like moths to a flame. They examined the watch, then turned their attention to Devanshi—her disheveled elegance, her stained but clearly expensive attire, her stoic silence.

"Oh my God… you’re lucky, Fatima!" one of them laughed, nudging the woman now clutching the watch as though it were a crown jewel.

Devanshi barely noticed. Her thoughts weren’t here. Her entire being was consumed by one desire: to get out and do something—anything—for the people injured because of her project.

At the same time, Niharika’s phone rang. The name flashing on the screen made her eyes widen—Devraj. He had just come out of a meeting and seen her missed calls.

"Hello, Niharika?"

"Sir, sir… Madam is inside jail… the project collapsed, many people got injured, and the police think she’s behind it!" Her voice cracked with panic.

There was a pause on the other end, then an explosion of disbelief. "What!!"

"Sir, I’m contacting a lawyer, but I don’t know what else to do…"

"I’m catching the next flight to Rishikesh. I’m sending you the number of the best lawyer in the city, and I’ll speak to the commissioner personally," Devraj said, already moving fast, his steps echoing through the corridor of his office building.

"Okay, sir…" Niharika murmured, clutching her phone as though it were her last anchor.

Meanwhile, the hospital was beginning to overflow with relatives, bystanders, and media crews. The emergency ward pulsed with urgency as doctors worked tirelessly, doing all they could to save lives.

More than thirty people had been seriously injured. Two men teetered dangerously close to death. If either of them didn’t make it, the charges against Devanshi could become catastrophic.

Dr. Bhatt knocked and stepped into his senior’s office, his face grim.

"Sir, you called me…?" he said, his voice steady despite the chaos he’d just stepped out of.

"Yes, Mr. Bhatt. Please, take a seat. This is the officer in charge of the investigation—he needs all the medical reports immediately," Mr. Mishra explained, motioning toward the man in uniform beside him.

"Yes, sir," Dr. Bhatt replied, turning toward the officer and handing him a stack of detailed medical files—evidence that could either clear Devanshi’s name or seal her fate.

Inside the cell, the dim bulb flickered above like a dying star. Devanshi leaned against the damp wall, her blood-specked kurta stiff with dried fabric glue and dust. She was silent, still—watching, waiting.

Fatima, the woman who now wore her watch like a trophy, sat down across from her. The Rolex glittered absurdly against her worn prison clothes.

"You’re different," Fatima said after a long pause, studying her. "Most girls like you come in here screaming, crying… acting like they’re too precious to breathe the same air. But you… you just handed me a watch that costs more than all our lives put together."

Devanshi looked at her with calm, unreadable eyes. "I didn’t give it because I’m scared. I gave it because I didn’t want a fight. And because you looked like you needed a little joy."

The other inmates glanced at each other. Even Fatima’s smug grin faltered.

"Why are you here?" another woman asked, a younger one with a stitched eyebrow and a voice laced with suspicion.

Devanshi’s jaw tightened, her voice low. "A construction site I own collapsed. People are hurt—badly. The police think I’m responsible."

Fatima tilted her head. "Are you?"

"No." Devanshi’s voice was cold steel. "But I will find who is."

A quiet respect fell over the women. In prison, people recognized conviction like wolves sensed blood.

Meanwhile, outside, Niharika was seated on a bench near the police station entrance, gripping her phone as it rang again. Devraj answered immediately.

"Niharika? What’s happening now?"

"Sir, I just spoke to the lawyer you sent—Mr. Khatri. He’s on his way, but he said it might take a few hours to get bail at this hour unless we put pressure from higher up."

There was a pause, then Devraj said, "I’m on the way to the airport. I’ll be in Rishikesh by morning. I’ve already spoken to Commissioner Sharma. He’s… aware. But it’s delicate, Niharika. If any of those workers die—"

"Two of them are in critical condition," she interrupted quietly. "Dr. Bhatt said they're doing everything they can."

Devraj’s voice dropped, tense. "This wasn’t just a random accident. Someone sabotaged the foundation. I know it. But we can’t prove anything yet."

"Madam didn’t even get to see the site plans herself. I handle most of those now, remember? She only signed off after the structural team gave clearance."

"I know. Which means someone in that team might be compromised. Find out who handled the last clearance report. Call Rishi from the HQ, and get him to send everything. I’ll dig on my end too."

Niharika’s voice turned firm. "We’ll get her out, sir."

"And when we do," Devraj said grimly, "we burn the people behind this."

Outside the police station, the night was thick with the kind of heat that pressed against the skin like guilt. A black SUV pulled up, its headlights cutting sharply through the darkness. The car door opened with a heavy thud, and Mr. Devraj Rathore stepped out, looking every inch the powerful industrialist — sharp suit, silver cufflinks, but eyes weary with urgency.

Beside him emerged a man in his late fifties, tall, composed, and wearing a sharply tailored grey suit. This was Advocate Vikram Khatri, one of Rishikesh’s most respected criminal lawyers, known for turning hopeless cases into courtroom victories.

They were met by Niharika, who rushed toward them.

"Sir! Sir—thank God!" she exclaimed, her voice a blend of panic and hope.

Devraj nodded, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Where is she?"

"Still inside. They haven’t moved her. The officer on duty said they’d wait for the legal team to review the FIR before allowing any hearing."

Mr. Khatri adjusted his glasses, his tone calm but commanding. "Take me to the SHO. I need access to the FIR, charge sheet, and any witness statements filed so far."

The three of them walked in. The moment Devraj entered, the energy in the room shifted. Officers looked up, recognizing him instantly. The Station House Officer, a grizzled man in his late forties, stood to greet them with visible hesitation.

"Mr.Rathore… I didn’t expect you to arrive this quickly."

Devraj’s voice was cold but civil. "You arrested the CEO of my company without a warrant and without evidence. You should’ve expected me yesterday."

Before the tension could escalate, Mr. Khatri stepped in. "We’re here to examine the legal grounds of the arrest. I assume the FIR is ready?"

The officer sighed and handed it over. "Yes. We received an anonymous tip about safety violations, and then the collapse happened. That’s enough for probable cause, but—"

"Probable cause isn’t the same as proof," Khatri cut in smoothly. "And detaining her in a cell without bail for a first-time accusation of negligence — that’s a stretch."

Devraj’s eyes narrowed as he read through the document. "Anonymous tip. No name, no verified source. And this is what you built a case on?"

The SHO looked away. "We were under pressure. The media, the casualties—"

"So you made her the face of it all," Devraj said sharply. "She’s not your scapegoat."

Just then, an officer arrived at the SHO's door. "Sir, the lady’s lawyer is here. Should we bring her out for a statement?"

Khatri nodded. "Yes. I want to speak with my client—immediately."

Moments later, the rusted cell door creaked open.

Devanshi looked up slowly, her face pale but composed. Her hours inside hadn’t broken her—instead, they had carved something sharper into her presence. The dried blood on her kurta, the smudged traces of dust on her arms—none of it dimmed the quiet fire in her eyes.

She rose to her feet with practiced grace, like someone who had learned early not to show pain.

Standing just outside the cell was Devraj Kapoor, her father.

Their eyes met—no dramatic tears, no spoken reunion. Just a flicker of emotion in the stillness. His jaw clenched. Her fingers curled.

Then, Mr. Khatri stepped forward, breaking the moment with quiet authority.

"Ms. Devanshi , I’m Advocate Vikram Khatri. Your father has briefed me. We're getting you out of here tonight."

Devanshi’s voice was steady, clipped, but burning. "I didn’t cause this, Mr. Khatri. Someone did. Intentionally. And if I stay in here any longer, they’ll clean up their trail."

Khatri offered the smallest of smiles. "Then it’s a good thing I hate cover-ups."

Devraj stepped closer, his voice lower now—meant only for her. "We're already tracing the structural clearance. Niharika’s pulling the signed reports. There’s something off in the sequence—we’ll find it."

Devanshi looked at him, eyes lingering not just on the words but on the man behind them. The man who had taught her to build empires—and how to survive when they burned.

"You believe me," she said, softer now.

Devraj exhaled. "I raised you, Devanshi. I know what you are—and what you’re not."

She stepped out of the cell. Her posture was still regal, even beneath the layers of grime. Her father's gaze never left her—equal parts pride and pain.

"Good," she said, her voice turning razor-sharp. "Because I’m not walking out just to clear my name. I’m going to drag into the light whoever thought they could bury me under the rubble."

Devraj didn’t smile, but his eyes shone with something deeper—trust.

"That’s my daughter," he said.

Sneak peek- Chapter 10

"I want to take full responsibility for their families. Their children, their parents—whoever they left behind. Education, housing, medical care. It’s mine now."

Vedas blinked, surprised by the immediacy of it. "That's admirable, Ms.Rathore, but you don’t have to decide—"

"I do," she cut in gently. "They died working for something I built. Whether or not I caused it directly doesn’t matter. Their families won’t suffer alone."

There was silence. A weight in the air.

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