The humid air of Africa clung to everything — the scent of dust, danger, and money.

In the heart of the desert, behind guarded steel doors, the Syndicate Meeting was in full motion.

Men who ruled empires sat around an obsidian table — faces cold, voices calculated.

And at the head of it all, Veeresh Deewan — silent, composed, radiating authority that didn’t need words.

The chandeliers shimmered above him as he leaned back in his chair, his dark shirt rolled to his elbows, a half-burnt cigar between his fingers. His eyes held the kind of calm that could terrify entire nations.

“India’s ports are under our control,” one of the men said. “Your deal with the Russian sector went through. You own forty percent of the East routes now.”

Veeresh nodded slightly. “Make it fifty,” he said quietly. “I don’t share space with amateurs.”

The room went silent. No one argued —no one ever did.

Meanwhile, in Mumbai — chaos.

Inside the Deewan estate, Veeresh’s guards and informants were on their phones, trying desperately to reach him.

The message was urgent.

“Boss, the girl — Poornima Chowdary. Simon Roy proposed. Engagement in two days.”

But all they got in return was static.

“Signal’s dead again,” one of them cursed, pacing. “The meeting’s underground. We can’t reach him until he’s out.”

“Try the secure line.”

“Already did — it’s jammed. African syndicate zones are blocked.”

Every attempt failed.

Every message undelivered.

Back in the desert, Veeresh’s phone sat on the table beside him — screen lighting up, flickering once, then dying again. No notifications came through.

He exhaled smoke slowly, his focus unwavering as the meeting continued.

Gentlemen,” he said, eyes sharp, “let’s talk about expansion. Africa is just the beginning.”

If only he knew that while he was planning to conquer continents, someone else was planning to steal what had unknowingly become his.

The world outside thought Veeresh Deewan feared nothing.

But fate was quietly setting a trap — one he didn’t even know existed yet.

And miles away, Poornima Chowdary was being dressed in a soft saree by her mother, her eyes hollow and heart numb, as her family prepared for the engagement she never wanted.

Two worlds moving on parallel tracks.

About to collide — again.