UNKNOWN TO HER (Ongoing)

PART 8

Vansh's heart raced as the devastating news reached him. His assistant's grim report echoed in his mind: "Boss, the old man is no more... it's a murder."

Mukund's death was no mere accident; it was calculated, deliberate. The elderly man had been silenced, permanently. Vansh's thoughts spun, connecting the dots. Riddhima's uncanny resemblance to the late Hema couldn't be coincidental. Questions multiplied, swirling like a tempest as he delved deeper into Riddhima's enigmatic past.

Determined, Vansh vowed to unearth the truth, no matter how sinister. His investigation unveiled an unsettling reality: Mukund had fallen victim to a professional assassin. Someone had meticulously ensured that the old man would never divulge his secrets. Now, Riddhima's life hung in the balance. Vansh bolstered security at the VR mansion, yet her hostility towards him intensified. Still, she clung to the mansion, unwilling to forsake Sia's critical treatment.

The web of deception and lethal secrets thickened with each passing moment. Time slipped through Vansh's fingers as he raced against shadowy forces, desperate to shield Riddhima before they struck again. 

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Riddhima's blood boiled with every glance at Vansh.
"He cannot imprison me and torture me as he pleases," her inner voice seethed. No one had the right to control her life except herself. The time had come for her to devise a plan of escape from the gilded prison of the VR mansion.

As Riddhima observed from the shadows, Vansh conversed with a young man in the grand foyer. The visitor's uniform and stern demeanor identified him as a police officer.

"I have evidence, Mr. Vansh Raisinghania, that you murdered the old man, Mukund," the officer, Kabir, declared with conviction.

Vansh's response was dismissive. "Oh, come now, Kabir. This evidence is baseless. Just zoom in on the shoes - there's no VR stamp on them."

Riddhima watched the exchange with bated breath. Was Vansh truly involved in the old man's death? If Vansh was the culprit, then perhaps her path to freedom lay in cooperating with this determined young cop.

Carefully, Riddhima began to formulate a plan, one that would allow her to escape Vansh's clutches and uncover the truth about Mukund's demise. The VR mansion may have been designed to imprison her, but Riddhima was determined to turn it into the key to her liberation.

Her heart pounded as the truth settled in: she was shackled to a ruthless murderer. The weight of her realization threatened to suffocate her.

Inspector Kabir, his face contorted with anger, pointed an accusatory finger at Vansh. "I'll put you in jail," he spat, "keep rotting there. People will beat you until you can't escape."

The family members huddled together in the dimly lit hall, their collective tension palpable. Vansh, the enigma at the center of it all, leaned against the peeling wallpaper. His eyes held a dangerous glint.

But Vansh was never one to back down. He smirked, his voice dripping with defiance. "Oh, c'mon, Inspector," he drawled. "I ain't got time to bleed."

Kabir's jaw clenched. "Your dialogues aren't gonna save you," he shot back, determination etched into every line of his face.

And so, in that shadowed room, the battle lines were drawn. Riddhima wondered if she was trapped in a twisted game—one where survival meant dancing on the edge of danger, and love was a luxury they couldn't afford. 

Inspector Kabir stood there, his stern expression barely masking the frustration simmering beneath. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the cracked walls. Vansh, the enigmatic figure at the center of it all, leaned casually against the worn-out table. His eyes glinted with mischief as he drawled, "Life's hard, man... but it's harder if you're stupid."

Kabir's jaw tightened. He had dealt with enough criminals to recognize defiance when he saw it. "I'm sure there are many suits like mine," Vansh continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe you're wearing one too."

The inspector's gaze shifted to the woman standing by Vansh's side. Riddhima, her eyes a stormy mix of curiosity and apprehension, met his stare. "I've never seen you here," Kabir remarked, his tone probing. "New addition to the family?"

Before Riddhima could respond, Vansh cut in, his possessiveness palpable. "She's my wife," he declared, emphasizing the possessive pronoun. Riddhima bristled; she wasn't anyone's property. Not even Vansh's.

"Vansh," Kabir's voice hardened, "you've escaped this time. But how long can you keep running?"

Vansh's smirk widened. "Frankly, Mr. Kabir," he retorted, "I don't give a damn. The way you entered is the way to exit. Not that difficult, unless you have a habit of 'forgetting your way'." His words hung in the air, a challenge thrown down.

The defeated inspector turned away, but determination glinted in his eyes. He wouldn't give up easily.

"Dadi," Vansh addressed his grandmother, "it wasn't brains that got him here." His wink hinted at secrets only they shared.

Meanwhile, Riddhima grappled with her own truth. She was trapped with a man who left no room for compromise. A man who played by his rules, and everyone else be damned.

She remembered Vansh's words on their first night together: "It's my way or the highway... to hell, sweetheart." And now, standing in this dim room, she wondered if she'd made a deal with the devil himself.