The Reign


That day was the beginning of a new chapter in my life. The fear that had been gnawing at me since the police visit had only grown, especially when I realized Swapna knew about Mr. Singhania's death. But the most terrifying part wasn’t just that she knew—how did she know?

I couldn’t shake the unease as I sat down with Swapna that evening. I had to understand what had happened. “Swapna,” I began, trying to keep my voice calm, “how did you know about Mr. Singhania?”

She looked at me with those same innocent eyes, but there was something unsettling about her calmness. “You told me last night, Dad,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “When I came home, you were crying. You told me everything—about Mr. Singhania, about your business.”

My heart sank as her words washed over me. The memory of last night was a blur, and I couldn’t recall what I had said. I had been too deep in my despair, too lost in the alcohol to remember. “And… how did you feel when I told you all that?” I asked, dreading her response.

Swapna’s expression didn’t change. She looked at me with a steady gaze, her voice unwavering. “Whatever you do, it won’t change my feelings towards you, Dad. You’re always the best, and this doesn’t change anything.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief, but her next words caught me off guard. “You’re sending me to Australia because you don’t want me to know about all this, aren’t you?”

Her insight stunned me, and I couldn’t deny the truth in her words. It was true; I wanted to protect her, to keep her away from the darkness of my world. But how could she see that so clearly?

I hesitated before asking the question that had been haunting me all day. “But Swapna… how did you know that Mr. Singhania was dead?”

She looked at me with a calmness that unnerved me. "Dad, there's something I need to tell you," she began, her tone steady. "My mom knew black magic. It was true that she killed my dad. I don’t know how, but I’ve inherited some of those abilities."

I stared at her, unable to process what she was saying. Was this my innocent daughter talking? The one who I thought I knew so well?

"That day when you took me to my mom's grave," she continued, her voice soft yet clear, "I saw my mom there. She told me that I must never leave you."

My breath caught in my throat. Swapna was speaking as if this were the most normal thing in the world. I wanted to dismiss it as a child’s imagination, but there was something in her eyes—something that told me she believed every word.

"Last night," she went on, "when you told me about Mr. Singhania and everything you’ve done… I wanted to change things. I wanted to help you. So, I called Mr. Singhania from your phone and made him take his life."

I could barely comprehend what she was saying. Black magic? Did that even exist? Was I really listening to my child confess to something so impossible, so terrifying? I felt a cold sweat break out across my forehead. "Swapna… what are you saying?" I whispered, more to myself than to her.

She looked at me with the same unwavering gaze. "I just wanted to protect you."

I was at a loss for words. This was beyond anything I could have imagined. The reality of my situation had just shifted into something far more complex, something far more terrifying. I wanted to ask her how she had done it, how any of this was possible, but the words wouldn’t come. The truth was, I was terrified—terrified of what I might hear, and of what my innocent daughter had become.

My thoughts raced, but my voice remained trapped in my throat. I could feel the fear showing in my eyes, betraying the turmoil inside me. Swapna must have noticed, because she quickly moved closer, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug.

“Dad,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet urgency, “I’m not evil. I’m still your Swapna. I did this only for you. Please… don’t look at me like that.”

Her words were soft, but they cut through the fear that gripped me. I wanted to believe her, to see her as the same little girl I had always known. But the reality of what she had done, and the power she had somehow inherited, left me shaken to my core.

It was all too much to process. The fear, the uncertainty, the revelation of Swapna’s powers—it weighed heavily on my mind. I looked at her, trying to find the right words, but all I could manage was a simple, “This is a lot to take in, Swapna.”

Just then, my phone rang. It was my aunt. “Arjun,” she said, her voice tinged with pain, “I’m unable to move. Last night, I slipped and fell down the stairs. My leg is fractured.”

I quickly turned to Swapna, her innocent eyes watching me closely. “It’s okay, Aunt,” I said into the phone, forcing calm into my voice. “The situation here is under control for now. I’ll call you if I need anything. Take care of yourself.”

As I hung up, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought in my mind. I looked directly at Swapna and asked, “Did you do this?”

“Do what, Dad?” she asked, her expression innocent and confused.

“My aunt,” I said slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. “She slipped down the stairs and fractured her leg. Did you… did you do something?”

Swapna’s eyes widened, and she shook her head firmly. “I swear, Dad, I did nothing.”

Her denial was immediate, but I couldn’t help but wonder. The timing, the suddenness—it all felt too coincidental. Yet, there was no trace of deceit in her voice, nothing that suggested she was lying. I wanted to believe her, but the uncertainty gnawed at me.

As days passed, my relationship with Swapna became increasingly strained. The recent events—Mr. Singhania’s death, my...