The car sped down the dimly lit highway as the city lights of Mumbai faded behind them. The evening's chaos still lingered in the minds of everyone inside.
Silence sat heavy for a moment before Pratap Rajput finally exhaled and leaned back into the plush leather seat, rubbing his temple. The streetlamps cast fleeting shadows across his aged face, revealing the tension still held in his features.
"Sorry, Mr. Das… you became the target of those mad women," he said with a hoarse voice, filled with guilt and fatigue.
Das, who sat beside the driver, glanced back through the rearview mirror. His eyes were calm but sharp. "You don't need to apologize to me, patriarch," he said coolly. "I just did my duty. Protecting you was the reason I was hired. Besides, I'm not someone those women can harm so easily. But I do wonder, if they dared to attack you in front of so many witnesses—if they truly believe they can act without fear—then what's the point of hiring me for such high fees?"
