Chapter 117 Secrets of the Black Empire
My face is drenched in tears. My eyes are red, filled with an ocean of pain and helplessness. In front of me, Samar sits on the chair, head bowed, as if every word he has spoken has fallen heavy to the ground with the weight of his heart.
His voice is breaking, yet he lays everything bare before me. The man who is stone-hearted and ruthless for the world stands stripped of every guard in front of me his emotions, his secrets, his pain, all exposed.
Samar gently places his hand on Ayansh’s head and whispers, "But it doesn’t matter… I have my son, don’t I? And Viransh too is our son. Pihu, Vikram they’re all ours. So why should I worry?"
His words pierce my heart. I look at him, torn between pain and a strange admiration. This man bears so much pain, and yet he never tells anyone. He carries the burden all alone in his heart.
My voice trembles, broken by sobs. "...And this Black Empire? What is it?"
His eyes deepen. He looks at me, then lets out a cold sigh before speaking. "In the Black Empire, there is no organ smuggling, Ishani. Instead, the smugglers are punished.
Those who betray the nation are hunted down and executed from there. The entire business world is controlled from that point. Every country has connections, and those who misuse their power, the mafias who enforce their own rules they are given only one punishment: Death.
The ones who assault women, the ones who traffic them—they too have only one end Death."
His voice is cold, but there’s a fire in it that shakes me to my core.
"Vihan…" he pauses before continuing, "is the King of the mafia world. All mafias follow his orders. Every plan is his creation. And reaching them and delivering punishment that is my work.
From the beginning, Vihan and I never got along. But for our work, we were both loyal. That’s why we were always connected."
His gaze drifts into the distance, as though he can see images of his past unfolding before him. "We were both undergoing soldier training in the underworld. He was only 20 when he claimed leadership. And I… I became a King at just 18. That’s when this path began."
I keep staring at him, my eyes brimming with tears. My heart trembles. For a moment, it feels like the man sitting before me isn’t just my Samar, but an entire world of blood, death, and justice intertwined.
His voice grows darker. "Drishti… she knows everything. She’s in my custody now. But soon, she will face justice too."
I widen my eyes in shock. "You mean… you will…?"
He meets my gaze, lips curving into a cold smile. "Yes. I will kill her. And Ishani, don’t you dare ever interfere in my work. I’ve always kept you away from that world. That world is not for you. And I’ll never let you become a part of it. I hope you understand me."
I lower my head, tears refusing to stop. He moves forward to embrace me, but I step back. His heart sinks for a moment. He says softly, "If you stay upset with me… then I’ll leave."
He stands up, ready to turn away. But before he can walk off, I rise quickly, catch his hand, pull him back, and land a sharp slap across his face.
He freezes. He stares at me in utter shock, unable to decide if that slap carries anger or love. And in the very next moment, I throw myself into his arms—shaking, breaking, crying as though my entire world has crumbled.
I am the Black King’s wife, the same one who just slapped him. Otherwise, there’s no one in the world who would even dare to look him in the eye. He has already dedicated himself entirely to me, and even my slap doesn’t bother him at all.
In that moment, the burden on his heart lightens. He tightens his arms around me, holding me close as if never wanting to let go.
After a long silence, he takes a deep breath and asks softly, "Now tell me… who said all this to you?"
Through my trembling voice, still broken by tears, I reply, "I got a message from an unknown number. I even asked who it was, but he didn’t say. He just kept saying, 'You don’t know the truth about your husband.' Then he sent me a PDF—it had the abortion report and some information about the ‘Black Empire.’"
He thinks to himself, Now you’re finished, Vardan Khanna.
He wipes away my tears with his fingertips, his voice gentle and steady. "My love, I have many enemies. Never talk to an unknown number, okay? Whatever it is, just tell me directly."
I nod in silence. My lashes are still wet, but the warmth in his voice reaches deep into my heart, easing the ache a little.
He lifts me into his arms—as if cradling a broken bird that he wants to protect—and lays me down softly on the bed. "My little crybaby," he whispers with a faint smile, "you cry so much."
I don’t reply. I just keep looking at him quietly. My eyes still hold traces of complaint, but beneath them is a childlike relief that says as long as he’s here, everything will be fine.
He adjusts my pillow, dries my damp hair with a towel, then pulls the shawl gently over my shoulders. Taking my cold hands into his warm palms, he rubs them lightly until my heartbeat begins to calm.
"Have a little shame at least… you’re a father now," I murmur, my tone carrying a playful taunt, just enough to lighten the heaviness in the moment.
Suppressing a laugh, he replies, "If I had that much shame, how would I have become a father, my love?"
I give him a long look, caught somewhere between shock and affection. How can this man be so shameless and yet feel so much like my own at the same time?
He brushes aside a wet strand of hair resting against my forehead, then kisses the droplet that lingered there for too long. He softly closes my eyelids with his fingertips, kissing them gently.
Then he leans closer, so close that words are no longer needed. Complaints, fear, anger all of it slowly drifts away like mist disappearing through the window.
It is morning, and I, Karan, have gotten ready and arrived at my office. My life is simple, routine, and wherever I go, people can’t help but notice me especially women because I’m handsome enough that no one can take their eyes off me.
But those who only see my face could never realize how broken I am inside. I have a very sensitive heart, yet most of the time I bury myself in work. At home, I spend time with my children Pihu, Viransh, Ayansh, and Vikram. I rarely sit with anyone else because people immediately start proposing marriage, so I guard my time and personal space carefully.
Even today, I follow my usual routine and arrive at the office. After a brief period immersed in meetings and emails, my manager comes to my cabin, handing me some files.
“Here you go, sir, these are your files,” he says.
Curious, I ask, “Shivi didn’t come today?”
TO BE COUNTINUE...!!!