Aryan's mansion was unlike anything Meera had ever seen. The massive iron gates opened slowly, revealing a path lined with white marble statues. As the car stopped, a butler opened the door for her. Meera stepped out, her heart still racing. Aryan didn't speak; he just walked ahead, his long black coat flowing behind him.
"Where am I, Aryan?" Meera asked, her voice trembling. "Why did you bring me here?"
Aryan stopped in front of a giant wooden door. He turned around, his sharp eyes pinning her to the spot. "This house holds secrets that your family has been running from for twenty years, Meera. You didn't just 'happen' to be on that street tonight. I was waiting for you."
He led her into a dimly lit study room. The walls were covered with old books and expensive paintings. On the center table lay an old, dusty leather diary—the same one his assistant had mentioned on the phone. Aryan picked it up and handed it to Meera.
"Open the first page," he commanded.
Meera's hands shook as she opened it. On the first page was a photograph of her grandfather, but he wasn't alone. He was standing next to a young man who looked exactly like Aryan, but the man was covered in blood. Below the photo, a single line was written in her grandfather's handwriting: 'The debt must be paid by the blood of the innocent.'
Meera gasped, dropping the diary. "What debt? What did my grandfather do?"
Aryan stepped closer, the smell of expensive cologne and mystery surrounding her. He leaned in, whispering near her ear, "He promised me your life to save his own. And now, Meera, you belong to the shadows of this mansion... and to me."
Suddenly, the lights flickered and a loud crash came from the hallway. Someone was trying to break in. Aryan's face turned cold as he pulled out a small silver gun from his pocket. "Stay here," he ordered. "Don't move if you want to stay alive."