Chapter 9
NINE
Aadya
This doesn’t seem like the Advik I knew.
When Vir nodded behind me, I expected someone more composed. Sharp. Put-together.
After all, he was supposed to be a senior partner at GenVault. The one man holding accounts that could bring this entire operation crumbling down.
But instead, he looks... hollow.
Gaunt.
I force my smirk to hold steady, but it’s a hard battle.
My head tilts slightly—calculating. Assessing.
Come on, Advik. Show some sign of life. Unlock your damn body and move.
But he doesn’t. He just stands there, face pale, skin graying like he’s seen a ghost. Which he has, I guess.
His eyes are pinned to the scar on my cheek—never quite meeting mine. Understandable, I guess. It’s not every day your dead ex-girlfriend resurfaces at your workplace like a hallucination.
Still, I’m prepared. I won’t let any of it get under my skin.
So I step forward, deliberate and controlled. I pluck his office ID straight from his frozen fingers, careful not to touch him.
A glance at it confirms what I already know: Advik Sharma, Senior Partner.
I hand it back to his trembling hand, impassive.
“You can head in, Advik. Mr. Bedi is ready for you,” I say, voice clipped and clinical. No inflection. No softness.
He flinches.
Actually flinches. Huh.
And for a second—a fraction of a second—I feel something like concern flicker in my chest. I hate it.
When he still doesn’t move, I open the door myself and gesture for him to enter. My hand instinctively hovers near my gun.
His eyes drop to the gesture, lips parting in some silent disbelief. But he obeys, brushing past me with unsteady steps.
I almost laugh.
Is this the guy who’s supposed to land Mehul as a client?
Maybe. Advik’s persistent. Dogged when he wants something. He probably will.
Dev rounds the corner—we check his ID and both Vir and I follow them into the conference room. We’re Mehul’s personal security. Embedded. Trusted—almost. Two weeks into the assignment and still nothing from Mehul. But we’ll find it. Eventually.
Dev kicks off the pitch, polished as always. He keeps glancing at Advik, whose silence screams. I can tell those slides were supposed to be his domain. But now, with a ghost across the table, he looks one inch from unraveling.
I don’t stare at him the entire time.
But it annoys me that I have to remind myself not to.
He still looks like the man I left behind.
I just didn’t expect this reaction. Last I heard—from the tail end of Sahil’s surveillance—he’d told his brother he was in love with me. That was a year ago. After that, I called the job off.
I don’t know what’s happened since. I do know he didn’t change companies. Didn’t get promoted either. Failed his performance review window.
Vir made sure I knew the basics before we went in.
And honestly? It was boring.
Professional stagnation at best. No drama. No headlines. Just... existing.
Now, here he is—visibly shaken. Not saying a word. Not even attempting to look me in the eye.
The least he could do is flash that pretty little smile of his. A nod. A flicker of recognition. Something.
But maybe I’m being unfair.
I forget, sometimes, that I don’t look like me anymore. Not the way he remembers.
The curves are gone. My skin is darker, weathered. Hardened.
And the scar—yeah, the scar’s doing a lot of heavy lifting now.
Wait...
Did I scare him? Oops?
I study him again. He looks more rattled than I expected. More than what should happen when you see a ghost.
Maybe I overestimated him. Or maybe I’ve lost the ability to read people.
I’ve grown used to facts. To clarity. To mission outcomes.
Not this messy swirl of human emotion. That’s on me.
So fine. Let him take this hour to recalibrate.
God knows he’s not doing anything useful with his silence.
And I’m not going anywhere. I’m... back.
The meeting ends with Mehul’s usual posturing.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Let me run this by my CFO.”
Vir and I both know it’s bullshit.
He’s laying the groundwork—making himself seem indispensable, inflating his worth, drawing Dev and Advik closer to desperation. The typical power play of a man used to being obeyed.
As the room clears out, I catch Vir’s eye. He gives the faintest nod and peels off to shadow Mehul. That was the plan. He handles the pig.
I handle the ghost.
Vir had asked me earlier if I was sure.
If I could really face him. The ‘object of your trauma—or heartbreak?’ he’d asked.
I didn’t answer. I just said this was necessary.
Because it is.
If we’d switched places, if Vir had stayed behind, Mehul would’ve clocked it instantly. He’d get suspicious because he’s a misogynistic asshole. This—me staying—makes sense.
Even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I trail behind Dev and Advik, silent. Observing.
Honestly, they should’ve noticed me by now. Where the fuck is their situational awareness?
Look behind you, Mr. Advik. Have some self-preservation left in that broken brain of yours.
They don’t. I sigh inwardly.
When they enter the room labeled Serenity Room, I nearly snort.
Serenity is about to take a nosedive.
They both jolt when I walk in after them, finally realizing I’m still here. Dev blinks rapidly. I turn to him first.
“You’re the lead on this, I assume?”
My voice is clipped. Even.
“I—what? Sorry, but aren’t you—”
“I’m the lead.”
Advik’s voice is low. Controlled. Still staring somewhere between my chin and collarbone. Anywhere but my face.
Look up, baby. See your ghost.
“Right...” I drawl. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”
That gets their attention. Dev straightens. Advik stiffens. Their bodies practically hum with discomfort now.
“My name is Aadya,” I say.
Advik flinches like the word hit him in the ribs. His eyes finally meet mine.
There you are.
“I’m one of Mehul Bedi’s ‘bodyguards,’” I continue, air-quoting the word with two fingers.
“But that’s just the cover. My partner and I are undercover, and we’re investigating Mehul.
You don’t need to concern yourself with the details.
Your job is simple: land him as your client. Do that, and we won’t have a problem.”
Advik’s lips part, just slightly. His lower lip quivers.
I look away from him.
Back to Dev.
“If you fail...” I sigh, voice still calm. “Well. Mehul doesn’t like being told no. Give what he asks. No questions. Because I won’t be in a position to intervene if things get messy.”
Their breathing picks up. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Security consultants, huh? Weak.
I thought their CEO gave them a heads-up. Clearly not enough.
“Do you understand?” I ask, scanning between the two of them. They’re both taller than me.
Advik—barely.
But right now they look like boys caught playing with matches.
I shift slightly, letting my posture relax. Soften. Pretend warmth. It helps get the message across sometimes.
“Look,” I say, tone gentler. “I know it’s a lot. But Mehul is not who you think he is. You can confirm everything with your CEO—he’s been briefed about our credentials. Right now, I need both of you to step the fuck up. This operation depends on you securing him as a client. So again...”
I let the words hang, sharp and deliberate.
“Do. You. Understand?”
They both nod. Mutely.
Good.
I turn to Dev. “Do you mind giving Mr. Advik and me a moment? I need to clarify a few things... privately.”
Dev doesn’t hesitate. He practically sprints out of the room, grateful to escape the awkward tension.
That leaves just me and Advik.
Alone.
For the first time in three years.
He looks like hell. Still trying to piece reality back together. Still trying to decide if I’m flesh or hallucination, I guess.
Silence stretches between us. Heavy.
It’s weird. I’ve prepared for this moment a thousand times.
Prepared to be cold. Efficient. Maybe even cruel.
But now?
I didn’t expect him to look like this.
Didn’t expect him to still carry me in those tired eyes.
I’m about to break the silence when he finally speaks. Voice cracking with disbelief.
“You’re alive.”
Ah. Fuck.