SAANVI'S POV

“Come.”

I glance sideways. Rudra stands by the car, holding the door open, palm extended as if expecting I’d place my hand in his. I grab my phone, step out, and brush past him without acknowledging the gesture.

Then I see it and stop.

A quiet wow escapes under my breath before I can stop it. The residence in front of me is unlike anything I expect. The entire exterior is black sleek, sharp, and bold. Golden lights run along the edges like they were poured into the walls, glowing gently in the dark. The structure carries depth, 3D patterns etched into the surface and the black mirrored windows shimmer like liquid obsidian. Nothing can be seen beyond them.

“Let’s go.”

I follow him in without a word. The moment I step inside, I’m struck again. The interior carries the same deep palette, black, but not cold. It’s refined. Long tinted mirrors line the hallway, and from their angle, I catch a glimpse of the garden outside. Strangely enough, though, I realise no one can see in from there. It’s a one way reflection.

He stops in front of a door and pushes it open. “This is your room.”

I walk in, eyes drifting around. The room is spacious and minimal. A low bed with deep grey covers, a vanity table tucked in the corner, and a couch with a glass coffee table. My trolley is already beside the bed. I head straight to it and start unpacking. From the corner of my eye, I notice Rudra sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You have your own room. Why are you here?” I ask, not even looking up as I pull out folded clothes.

“Did you like the place?”

I pause, glance over my shoulder. “You talk like you designed it.”

He leans back on his elbows, half smirking. “Kabir did.”

I frown slightly. “Kabir?”

He nods once. “This isn’t a regular house. It’s a Surveillance-Protected residence. One of Kabir’s firm’s high end projects. He builds secure properties like this, for people who need to stay off the radar. Not just in India. Globally.” He gestures behind me, toward the glass sliding doors. “The windows you’re looking at they’re bulletproof and fully reinforced. No matter what someone tries, they're not breaking through.”

I turn, glance at the doors, then face him again. “You think someone could try to break into this place? Brilliant. Then remind me why the hell are we in the middle of nowhere with no one around for miles? Honestly, do you think before you act, or is dumb your default setting?”

He just stares at me, then looks away, exhales through his nose, and mutters with a tired shake of his head, “Do you ever give your brain a return ticket, or is it permanently on leave?”

I narrow my eyes, fingers tightening on the clothes in my hand.

“I’m serious, don’t tell anyone about this place. It stays between us. And stop wandering off alone like you're invincible. You’re not. Things aren’t safe right now. So don’t pull some main character move and disappear into the city. Understood?”

I scoff under my breath. “Stop giving lectures and leave the room.”

He doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes land on the photo frame I just pulled out, before I can react, he reaches for it.

“Is that you?”

“Give it back,” I mutter, reaching for it immediately.

He leans away slightly, still looking at the picture. “Wow…” his voice softens, brows creasing as something flickers across his face. If he says one wrong word about that photo—

“You look familiar,” he murmurs, glancing between the frame and me.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t. If you’re going to make one of those weird flirt lines again, spare me. Seriously.”

“I’m not joking. I’ve seen this face somewhere before—”

“Rudra, get lost.”

He exhales and leans back against the headboard, gaze still on the photo. “How old were you?”

“Nine.”

He smiles. “My wife looked adorable.”

I blink. “What the actual hell?”

He looks up, confused. “What?”

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? Did you just call a nine year old your wife? Are you a freaking pedo? That’s disgusting. I should call the cops.”

His expression snaps into horror as he springs off the bed. “What?! What are you even saying? You seriously need help. I'm just saying you looked cute as a kid, not in some weird way. You twisted that into some bizarre headline.”

I glare at him, arms crossed. “You need to learn how to phrase your compliments before someone sues you.”

He throws his hands up, completely exasperated. “Unbelievable. I swear you have a talent for warping reality. But fine, let me fix this before I end up on a government watchlist.”

He disappears into the hallway without waiting for a response. I blink, momentarily thrown off, then return to folding my clothes. A few seconds later, he walks back in holding another photo frame. This one’s of him, maybe nine or ten years old. Round cheeks, soft features, a shy smile tugging at his lips. His hands clasped behind his back, and he’s looking sideways with a slight tilt of his head. His eyes curve into a gentle smile, the kind that feels warm without trying like a sunshine boy caught mid blush.

He approaches the nightstand and places my frame first, adjusting the angle slightly. Then he sets his own beside it, on the opposite end tilting it. From where I stand, it genuinely looks like the younger version of him is staring at the younger me.

He steps back, folds his arms, and nods once, like he’s accomplished something significant. “Boom. Ten year old Rudra looking at his nine year old pearl.”

I stare at the two frames. Then at him. “Fantastic. Now it looks like childhood stalking. Congratulations. You managed to make it worse.”

He lets out a low laugh. “I call it consistency. But look at the symmetry,” he says, gesturing between the frames with both hands. “Even as a kid, my eyes were only on you.”

I clear my throat. “Alright. You’ve done enough interior designing for the night. Get out.”

He nods once, like that’s fair, then turns to leave without another word.

✿✿✿✿✿

“It’s already 6:15, Pearl…”

His voice filters in through my sleep fogged brain.

“Wake up. You’ll be late.”

I pull the comforter tighter, refusing to move.

“You can’t skip your workout—”

“Shut your damn mouth, fucking Singhania.” I snap, yanking the covers off and sitting up abruptly, teeth gritted. My gaze lands beside the bed and there he is. Towering. Fully awake. Already dressed in his gym fit.

I groan. “Khandaani bimari hai kya tumhare ghar mein? (Is this a generational illness in your family?) Seriously, how the hell do you and OG manage to wake up this early without dying?”

He just smiles. “Good morning, Pearl,” he says, and ruffles my hair like I’m some grumpy child. I swat his hand away and drag myself up, sliding into my slippers with a sigh.

I stretch, arms reaching overhead as a yawn escapes. My neck cracks slightly when I tilt my head, and just as I’m about to grab my hair tie, something odd hits my nose. I pause, frown, lean slightly toward my own shoulder, and sniff. It’s cologne, his cologne. That expensive, distinctly masculine perfume.

Why the hell do I smell like him?

“Why do I smell like you?” I ask, glancing at him suspiciously.

He raises an eyebrow, his Adam’s apple shifting slightly as he swallows. “Really? Let me check.”

He takes a step toward me.

I instinctively step back, and land on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath me. My breath catches from the sudden movement. He bends down, and before I can process what’s happening, he  leans dangerously close. My fingers curl into the bedsheet at my sides, tension building inside my chest like a tightening string.

His eyes flicker to mine before lowering, and then he dips his head his lips and nose graze the side of my neck. I suck in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering shut. My hands shoot up on reflex, clutching the fabric of his shirt, just to anchor myself.

“Rudra,” I murmur, but something is seriously wrong with me, my heart’s racing, skin tingling, stomach twisting in ways I can’t explain. It didn’t use to be like this… but lately, it is. And I hate how much I’ve started liking the way he makes me feel.

“You’re right,” he breathes near my neck and his warm breath skims across my skin, and I go still. “You do smell like me… especially here.”

His fingers trail lightly over the spot, and I know I’m trembling now. Goosebumps ripple across my arms. He pulls back just slightly, just enough to meet my eyes as he cups my cheek, thumb grazing the corner of my lips.

“Maybe in dreams, I pull you into my arms and hold you close the entire night with my face buried right here, against your neck."

He says it like a confession, and I wish he didn’t. Because I’ve had those dreams too, every night. Ones where he’s right here, close and warm, holding me like he means it. I don’t want them. I don’t need them. But they come anyway, maybe deep down, I’ve wanted it to be real.

I look away, jaw tightening as heat creeps up my neck. My body’s betraying me every nerve alive, hands unsteady, chest rising faster than it should.

“I love you so much, Pearl.” He says it suddenly. I turn to him, and everything inside me stills. He’s looking straight at me. “You’re not alone in this, I’m here. With you. No one touches you, not when I’m around. I’ll keep you warm, I’ll keep you safe. Always.”

My skin burns where his eyes land, like I’m too exposed under his attention. He leans forward just enough to press a slow kiss to my forehead, tender, quiet, and completely disarming. Then he straightens, holds out his hand without saying anything.

Instead, I rise on my own, inhale slowly deeply and walk past him toward the bathroom without saying a word, refusing to look back. But just as I cross him, I feel his fingers wrap gently around my wrist.

“Yesterday… I was lying on your bed while we were talking, maybe that’s why it smells like me. Don’t overthink it.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s that simple. But maybe it’s not. And the problem is my mind isn’t exactly a reliable place right now. Not when I can still feel the echo of his breath on my skin. Not when my body reacts before my thoughts can catch up.

I slowly slide my hand out of his hold without a word. Then walk the rest of the way and shut the bathroom door behind me. Not because I’m angry. Not because I want to run. But because I don’t know what to do with the way he makes everything inside me feel like it’s waking up all at once.

✿✿✿✿✿

“Uh… can I say something?”

I threw him a look, already knowing this won’t be anything useful.

“Eh… you’re supposed to run at least six to seven minutes, but it’s been barely two and you didn’t even run, you just… walked. So can you maybe—”

“Shut up and do your workout,” I scoff, veering off toward the pergola and dropping onto the chair. Dumbfuck thinks he can order me around now? I sigh and lean back, arms crossed, legs stretched out.

Still… I miss OG.

I miss his yelling, his relentless nagging, the way he actually made me push limits without pretending to be polite. He even taught me a few basic combat moves, nothing fancy, but enough to land a clean hit. Just as the thought crosses my mind, my phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down. It’s OG.

A smile spreads across my face before I even hit answer. I press the phone to my ear. “I was literally just thinking about yo—”

“You stupid nurse!”

I yank the phone away from my ear and nearly topple off the chair. “What the hell, OG?! Why are you screaming?!”

“Shut up!” he snaps. “You spoiled brat! You started skipping workouts?”

I scoff, rubbing my ear. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Rudra.”

My eyes snap sideways. He’s standing near the tree with a smug little smile, pretending to be busy with his bottle but clearly listening. This piece of shit actually snitched.

“I’ll call you later,” I mutter, hanging up before OG can roast me further. I toss the phone on the table and yank off my jacket, left in just a black sports bra and track pants. My eyes narrow as I step forward. He catches the shift instantly.

“Don’t,” he warns, backing up, but it’s too late.

“You dickhead! How dare you call him?! You’re dead!”

He panics and bolts. “What was I supposed to do?! You only listen to him!”

I chase him through the grass, yelling threats I mean with every step. He laughs, dodges, picks up pace. By the time I stop, I’m doubled over, gasping for breath, hands braced on my knees, sweat dripping down my spine. I glance up, chest heaving. He slows, sees me, and walks back.

“You okay?” he asks, slightly breathless but far less wrecked than I am.

I glare, but before I can speak, he checks his wristwatch and grins. “Congratulations, Pearl. You just finished your running session.”

Suddenly Brownie comes charging toward us, barking. Of course he’s running, he’s always ready when there's drama.

He leaps up at me, and I catch him mid air, his paws landing against my chest. I grin, pressing a quick kiss to his furry face as his tail wags.

“Is this really necessary? Because this is borderline cringe.”

I glance over at Rudra and give him a deadpan look. “Not more than your entire existence.” Then I shift Brownie in my arms slightly, holding him close. “And don’t even think about insulting my Brownie.”

He narrows his eyes at the dog. “I wouldn’t dare insult him. This stupid furball might cry if you’re not holding him every two seconds.”

Brownie growls low in his throat and barks at him.

“There, there,” I whisper with a sweet smile, rubbing his head. “You’re more intelligent than him, baby. Don’t even bother wasting your energy. He doesn’t deserve it.” I shower his face with soft kisses until he practically melts in my arms.

“Alright, enough,” Rudra mutters, stepping forward. “Go freshen up. I’ll make breakfast and—” Before he finishes, he reaches out and lifts Brownie out of my arms.

“Hey!” I snap, blinking as he sets Brownie on the ground.

“You go too,” he says, pointing a finger at Brownie like he’s some kind of tiny soldier “I’ll give you your dog food.”

Brownie stares at him for a moment, unimpressed. Then calmly, with the elegance of someone fully aware of their power, he lifts one paw and nudges Rudra’s finger away without a single bark. 

I burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “Oh my—he just dismissed you like a servant.”

Rudra straightens with a scowl, brushing his hands together. “Both of you are impossible.”

He mutters something under his breath and walks back into the house. I watch him go, still laughing, hugging Brownie close again as I whisper, “You really showed him, didn’t you?” Brownie barks once, triumphant.

✿✿✿✿✿

I step out of my room, eyes glued to my phone, not really paying attention to where I’m going and the moment I open the door and walk out, I crash straight into something. Or rather, someone.

Pain shoots through my breast, sharp and immediate. I gasp, stumbling a step back, hand flying to my breast on reflex. “Ow—”

I glance up and freeze, it’s him, Rudra. He stands stiff, eyes wide, completely frozen. His elbow had jabbed into my chest, and worse, his palm... is still there.

We both look down at the same time. His hand lingers right over my chest.

His gaze snaps up, horrified. “Shit—” he breathes out, jerking his hand back like he just touched a flame.

Before reason catches up to me, my palm connects with his cheek in one swift motion. The sound echoes and his head turns with the impact.

He stumbles slightly, blinking in disbelief, one hand pressed to his face. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to—my hand just ended up there—NO, wait—not like that—I didn’t intend for it to be there—I’m not some creep—oh God—”

“Don’t. Speak.” My face burns hotter with every word he fumbles.

“I didn’t see you,” he blurts. “I mean—I saw you, but not like that. I wasn’t trying to touch—yes, okay, I did touch, but it wasn’t deliberate—I swear I’m not some perv—”

I storm off, my heart pounding and my breast still sore. The heat crawling across my skin isn’t just from embarrassment, it’s mortification.

“Pearl! Wait—just let me explain—no, wait—not explain that—I mean, yes, but not in a weird way—ugh, this is coming out all wrong!”

I make a beeline for the kitchen, pacing like a lunatic, hand in my hair, “I want to evaporate. Disappear. Sink into the tile. Just die.”

A few seconds later, I hear footsteps behind me. “Pearl,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain. Or... trauma.”

I slowly turn my head, eyes narrowed. “Trauma?”

“No—no! Not actual trauma—I mean—like, not deep psychological trauma! Just... like, mild distress? Temporary discomfort? I’m not saying you’re emotionally unstable—I mean, if you are, it’s totally valid—but I didn’t mean to cause—what am I even saying—?”

“Rudra.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut. Up.”

His mouth opens again anyway, because of course it does. “I just panicked and I didn’t even realise where my hand landed until—until it did. And then I died. Internally. Maybe externally too.”

I turn toward the counter and press my hands to my face, groaning into them. “Please. Just stop.”

“I just want to know if you’re okay. Like—is your... uh—” he waves his hands vaguely in front of my breast like it’s some haunted object. “That... area. Still hurting? I can grab ice? Or painkillers? Or call someone medically qualified?”

I lower my hands, blinking at him in disbelief.

“I mean—it's a sensitive area, right? Not that I know from personal experience! Biologically speaking. I read about it! Once. In a health magazine! It said breast tissue bruises easily—I wasn’t googling breasts or anything weird like that—”

I rub my temples, slowly. “Rudra.”

“Yes?”

“If you say breast one more time, I’m slapping you again.”

He nods like he’s in a courtroom. “Understood. The forbidden B-word.”

The silence that follows is bliss. For maybe ten seconds. “Is it really hurting though?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What, are you planning to massage it if I say yes?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I freeze. My eyes widen. What the actual hell did I just say?

His face turns red, like actual crimson. His lips part, then close again, “Eh... if you want I can—”

Before he can finish, my hand flies up and smacks him again, hard. “You disgusting—”

“—take you to the hospital.” he completes slowly, clutching his cheek, wincing.

Shit.

Why the hell didn’t I let him finish? What is wrong with me today?

I run a hand down my face, completely mortified. “Listen, this is already the most humiliating moment of my life. Can we just not make it worse?”

“I—I didn’t mean anything weird by it,” he blurts quickly. “I was just—”

“Shut your mouth, Rudra,” I mutter. “And leave. Me. Alone.”

Before he can say anything else, Rudra’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and answers, glancing briefly in my direction. “Send him in,” he says, then hangs up. “Dhruv’s here.”

At the sound of that name, something lifts in me. A quiet warmth settles in as I walk out of the kitchen and head toward the hallway. The doorbell rings, and I pull the door open.

“Dhruv,” I smile, immediately wrapping my arms around him.

He returns the hug gently, a small smile tugging at his lips, though something in his energy feels quieter, a little off. There’s a guitar case slung over his shoulder, and he looks... pale.

“Come inside,” I say, slipping my hand around his wrist and pulling him in, shutting the door behind us.

We walk to the living room and sit on the couch. He glances around, taking in the space before settling his gaze on me.

“Bear claw donuts?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He gives a soft smile and shakes his head. “No, Di, I’m okay.”

There was a time when he’d throw a tantrum if I didn’t give him those donuts first. Now… he looks like a completely different boy. The charm’s still there, but the light feels dimmer.

I call out, “Excuse me?”

The house help enters. I nod politely. “Can you please get some bear claw donuts? They’re in the refrigerator.”

She nods. “Sure, ma’am,” and walks off.

I turn back to him. “So? How’s everything going?”

He shrugs. “You should tell me. I heard from Vikram bhai about everything. What’s going on, Di?”

I exhale slowly, gesturing around the room. “Honestly? I don’t even know. Rudra just said we needed to shift, and here we are.”

He nods once, but his eyes are still searching. “He’s not bothering you, is he? You okay being alone here with him? What if he hurts you?”

I let out a tired breath. “I don’t really have much of a choice, Dhruv. And no, he hasn’t. Let’s not worry about me right now.” I glance at him again, concerned. “Why do you look so pale? Are you even eating properly?”

He shakes his head, brushing his hair away as it bounces slightly over his forehead. “I’m fine. Just... working on too many projects. It’s been exhausting.”

My gaze shifts to the guitar beside him. “So... what’s with this? Didn’t know you were carrying your studio with you now.”

He smiles. “I had a recording today. Thought I’d stop by. It’s been a while.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I really missed you, Dhruv.”

“Um... Di?” he shifts, suddenly nervous.

“Yeah?”

“I... actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

There’s a hesitation in his voice that tugs at me. I reach forward, gently taking his hand in mine. “You can tell me anything, Dhruv. Always.”

He nods, exhales. “It’s not something recent... it’s just—something I’ve felt for a while. Especially after my breakup with Arina, I...” His words falter.

Before he can continue, the house help returns with a tray. He instantly goes quiet.

“Thank you,” I say, turning to her with a polite nod. “You can go back to your work.” She leaves, and I turn back to him.

“Yes, Dhruv?”

But he’s already pulled himself back behind a smile. “It’s nothing. I was just going to say... I’m heading back to New York soon.”

I pause, studying him. There’s something he’s not saying. But I don’t want to push. “If you ever want to share anything,” I tell him gently, “you don’t need to hesitate.”

He squeezes my hand, offering a smile that almost reaches his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

I pass him the plate of donuts. He takes one and bites in with a quiet, grateful hum.

We start talking again, random things, old memories, some jokes.

“Why don’t you sing something?” I ask, leaning back with a smile.

He laughs softly. “You really want me to?”

I nod with mock pride. “Of course. My brother is an international pop star, after all.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course he is.” He pulls the guitar case open and takes it out.

“But wait, weren’t you a drummer? Since when do you play guitar?”

“I am a drummer,” he says, adjusting the strings. “But I’ve always liked the guitar. Picked it up properly during lockdown. Just self learned.”

He strums a few chords before glancing up. “Which song?”

I think for a second, and something old floats into my mind. “There’s this one Dad used to sing for Mumma. I don’t know the name... just a few lines. Something like—Woh nahi sunta usko, jal jana hota hai... har khushi se, har gham se begana hota hai...”

He smiles and without missing a beat, he starts strumming.

“Pyaar deewana hota hai, mastana hota hai, har khushi se, har gham se

Begana hota hai...”

My heart softens hearing the tune. There's a gentle rasp to the way he sings, soft, slightly throaty, I close my eyes for a moment, letting the nostalgia wash over me. But as I open them again, my gaze catches someone else.

Rudra.

He walks slowly across the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, completely unaware that he’s just walked into the middle of a war inside my chest. His sleeves rolled to his elbows, the black fabric clinging to his frame just enough to show the tension in his forearms as he gestures mid call. Something subtle and unfamiliar stirs in my chest, like the air inside me has changed density, and I forget how to breathe the way I used to. My heartbeat picks up, not in panic, but in a quiet, rhythmic disturbance, like a soft knock on a door I’ve kept locked for too long. My stomach folds into itself with a fluttering that’s both warm and uncomfortable, and I don't understand why the simple sight of someone standing across the room is making me feel like something fundamental in me is shifting.

I can’t look away, and that scares me.

I curl my fingers into my lap, grounding myself. But even the air around me feels different. He’s not even looking at me, yet I feel like I’ve been seen.

I don’t know what’s happening to me but I know what it feels like. It feels like waking up inside a dream I didn’t know I was having. It feels like losing balance while standing perfectly still. It feels like I’m being unraveled one heartbeat at a time.

Am I in love with Ru—

No, I can't afford to believe that. Not about him.

This is not love. This is not real. This is a chemical misfire, a consequence of proximity, of time spent under the same roof and shared glances in moments of silence. It's nothing more than a misplaced feeling trying to survive where it doesn't belong. He is still Rudra Singhania, the man I’ve hated, the man I’ve clashed with, the man who has done everything to stand on the opposite side of every line I’ve drawn. I can’t feel this way about him. I refuse to.

How can I even love him? That's impossible.

I close my eyes and exhale, but it doesn’t settle anything. The feelings are still there, lodged between ribs and reason, quietly expanding.

“Aa hi jaata hai jis pe, Dil aana hota hai, Har khushi se, har gham se, Begana hota hai...”

My heart doesn’t just drop, it sinks like an anchor in the middle of an ocean I didn't know I was drifting in. Because those lines, those lyrics are cruel. Too cruel, timeless lines are telling the story I’ve been trying not to write. They sound beautiful in Dhruv's voice, but they stab like glass. They are a mirror and I’m not ready to see what’s being reflected.

What an awful thing it is, to feel yourself slowly unraveling in the presence of the one person you promised to resist. To realize your heart has started scripting sonnets for someone you only meant to tolerate.

Because what if it’s true?

What if love doesn’t ask for permission before it plants itself inside you? What if it blooms quietly in the spaces between fights and glances and accidental moments? What if you don’t get to choose who you begin to ache for?

Just then, he turns mid call and looks at me. His gaze finds mine with ease, and there it is again, that half smile he gives like it’s second nature when he sees me. He doesn't even know he's doing it. And I hate how it lands inside me like a stone in still water.

No. I’m not in love.

I’m not some fool who loses her grip over a few shared moments. Love doesn’t bloom from irritation. It doesn’t rise from the ashes of disdain. This is not love. It’s confusion. It’s nothing but a trick of the heart, misinterpreting safety for affection, curiosity for connection.



✿✿✿✿✿

I step inside my cabin, shutting the door behind me. Avyaan’s seated comfortably on my chair, a laptop open in front of him. Kabir stands beside him, arms folded, a slight impatience in his stance.

I walk around the desk and stop beside them, eyes landing on the screen.

“What time exactly did you get that call?” Avyaan asks without looking up.

“12:17 PM,”

He scrolls through the CCTV feed, pauses at the timestamp, and hits play. The footage rolls. My eyes instinctively find her, seated in the far corner, head bent over her phone. My pearl, oblivious to the world around her.

In the background, the café looks moderately occupied, but only three people are seated directly behind her table two men and one woman. Kabir leans in slightly, squinting. “How the hell are we supposed to figure out who made the call? They’re all talking.”

“Play it again,” I say. Avyaan rewinds, presses play once more.

The first man, grinning, relaxed, throwing glances at Saanvi, definitely not discreet. The woman beside him looks agitated, rubbing her forehead while talking. Then there’s the third man, face half hidden behind a black mask. Calm, too calm. His eyes flick repeatedly toward her.

“It’s the guy with the mask,” I murmur.

Kabir nods. “Agreed. The way he keeps looking at her, it’s not casual.”

I glance at Avyaan, who’s been silently watching the masked man. “What’s your read?”

He tilts his head slightly, “None of them.”

I frown. “What?”

Kabir scoffs, crossing his arms tighter. “You just like saying the opposite of whatever we say.”

Avyaan ignores him. “Rudra, give me your phone. Call history.”

I hand it over, unlocked, with the call history open. He scrolls, eyes scanning the screen for a few seconds, then clicks his tongue and leans back in the chair.

“Told you. It’s not the guy with the mask,” he says flatly.

My brows pull together. “Explain.”

“You said the call came at 12:17 and ended at 12:20, right?” He turns the phone screen toward me. “That’s what your log shows.”

“Right.”

“Now look at this,” he says, playing the footage again. “Watch him closely.”

He replays the clip. At the 12:20 mark, when my call ends, the masked man is still talking. Not winding down. Avyaan pauses the footage. “See that?” I look. The timestamp says 12:25.

“The call ends up at 12:20,” he continues calmly, “but he’s still pretending to talk.”

Kabir clicks his tongue. “Smart. Real smart.”

“That man didn’t call you,” Avyaan says, “but he’s working with the one who did. A distraction. Designed to make us look in the wrong direction.”

“How do you know it’s a setup?” I ask, though I’m already starting to believe it.

“Look at his body language. He keeps glancing at the CCTV cameras almost like he wants to be seen. That’s not someone being cautious. That’s someone playing a role.”

I drag a hand over my face, frustrated. “So someone deliberately planted a decoy to mislead us.”

“Exactly.”

“Whoever it is,” I mutter, “they’re playing a clever game.”

Avyaan nods once, his expression unreadable. “And they know exactly where to strike.”

I exhale slowly, grounding myself again. “Thanks,” Avyaan gives a slight nod.

I straighten, grab my phone from the desk, ready to leave when Kabir pipes up behind me. “What about Alfred? You’ve been dodging him like he’s some side affair you're too embarrassed to admit.”

I turn, “He can rot in hell. I have a wife to look after.”

Kabir whistles low under his breath. “Cold.”

Avyaan stands. “Keep putting her above the mission, and you’ll be out before you even realise it. Silas isn’t covering for you, he’s tolerating you. And that tolerance has an expiry date. You’re getting reckless, Rudra, and for what? A woman who doesn’t even know half of what you’re involved in? You’re risking your position. And whether you like it or not, someone else will take that seat if you keep ignoring protocol and chasing personal priorities like this.”

I tuck my phone into my pocket, “If Silas has a problem, he knows where to find me, until then, I’ll be exactly where I need to be. But if anyone even thinks of touching her they’ll find me first.”

Then I turn and walk out, the door clicking shut behind me.

✿✿✿✿✿

I park my bike in the garage, and step inside the entrance. The house was quiet as I step inside. I glance toward the living room, it was empty. I make my way to her room. She’s not there either.

My brow furrows. I check the kitchen next, but it’s just as silent. No trace of her. I pull out my phone and call her. No answer. A sense of unease starts to grip my chest.

Switching to another contact, I call the guard on duty. “Has my wife left the premises?”

“No, sir. Ma’am is still inside,”

I hang up and step out again, scanning the outer stretch of the house. It’s dimly lit, only the warm glow from the garden lamp spilling light across the side yard. I move quietly around the corner and there, my heart exhales, there she is.

She stands beneath the dark sky, looking up. The moonlight bathes her in silver, and her arms are folded tightly.

I approach slowly and stop just behind her. The night air clings to her bare skin, and I notice the rise of goosebumps along her arms. I slip off my jacket and drape it gently over her shoulders.

She doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, still as stone. And after a few seconds, her fingers move to slip the jacket off her shoulders. I gently catch her wrists before she can.

“Leave it on. It’s cold,” I murmur, as I hold her from behind.

She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t brush me off. Just stays there, unmoving beneath my touch.

That’s when I know something’s off.

If this were any other day, she would have shoved me away, snapped something under her breath, maybe glared at me like I was an inconvenience in her perfectly controlled world. But right now… she just stands there. Like something inside her has shut down. And that silence, her silence, rattles something in me far more than her anger ever could. I step around to face her, studying her expression. Her eyes meet mine but there’s no spark, no resistance.

“What’s going on?” I ask gently, trying to read the emotion behind her silence.

She stares at me for a moment, then whispers, “Don’t do it.”

I frown. “Do what?” I ask softly.

Her gaze drops to the ground, and I instinctively reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.

“Come,” I whisper, “let’s walk a bit. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

She doesn’t resist. Just follows as I lead her toward the garden path, moonlight guiding our steps.

“You know, this… it’s always been on my list. Walking under the stars with the woman I love, her hand in mine, just… being.”

But then, I feel her tremble. I glance at her and I freeze. Tears spill silently down her cheeks, and the sight stops me in my tracks.

I stopped immediately, turning to her in alarm. “Hey, hey—what’s wrong?” I cup her face, trying to wipe the tears with my thumbs, but they keep coming.

“Pearl…” I whisper, guiding her gently to the wooden bench nearby and lowering myself in front of her, kneeling on the grass, helplessly watching the way her hair veils her face as she breaks. I reach out again, brushing the strands back. Every sob feels like a knife to my ribs.

“Talk to me,” I plead, lifting her chin so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “Did I do something? Is it because of me? I'm sorry pearl.” Her eyes meet mine, watery and red, her lips trembling. “Tell me, please… did I hurt you?” I take her hands again. They’re cold. I rub my palms over them, trying to warm her, to do something, anything to ground her.

“You’re scaring me, Pearl. If I’ve hurt you in any way, even unintentionally, I need to know.” I stroke her cheek with my thumb. Her shoulders tremble, and more tears spill from her eyes. And it kills me.

What have I done this time to bring those tears back? I promised myself I’d never be the reason again yet here she is, breaking in front of me. So where did I go wrong?

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