Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Aadya
It’s been almost three weeks.
Three weeks since Advik told me about her.
Khushi Joshi is the only public death record I’ve found connected to the adopted children. Maybe she’s the key. Maybe she’s not. But she’s led us somewhere. That’s more than we had before.
Now we know the exit point.
Not a port, technically. Just a hidden ledge spilling into the ocean. If it weren’t for the makeshift concrete bollards and frayed ropes scattered along the edges, we might’ve assumed it was just another stretch of rock—remote, inaccessible.
But the location matched where Khushi’s body had supposedly been pulled from. A sloppy detail left behind by Mehul’s crew. One that let us trace the smuggling trail to its end.
We’re watching that ledge now. Silently. Steadily.
Still, this isn’t just about catching the damn boats. It’s about gutting the whole operation. Root to rot.
I tap my fingers on the desk in front of me. The GenVault’s meeting rooms are polished—too polished. Quietly humming like nothing sinister is happening behind the walls. But today’s the day. The day Mehul Bedi signs the contract.
And we’re handing him a gift-wrapped landmine.
Advik has been... impressive. Watching him work is like watching someone step back into their own skin. He doesn’t hesitate anymore. He isn’t silent like he was that first day.
Dev, wisely, stepped back. Let Advik run point on the deal.
And somehow, he knew exactly how to bait Mehul. I’d told him to give Mehul whatever he asked for. But Advik had a better idea.
“I won’t give him what he wants,” he’d said, smirking. “I’ll give him something shinier. And useless.”
So that’s what he did. Because Mehul is basically a whining toddler in a man’s body.
Buried inside a contract clause—a harmless-looking amendment on information accessibility—sits a clause that will slowly but thoroughly bleed Mehul’s entire hidden infrastructure. Digital and otherwise.
Vir’s running point on Mehul’s security. I’m assigned ‘long-range surveillance’. Just enough to maintain the illusion. So that if I vanish now and then, it doesn’t raise flags with Mehul.
What irks me? This setup was also Advik’s idea.
And for some reason, that makes me... proud.
I fucking hate that.
The door clicks open, snapping me out of my thoughts.
Advik walks in, Dev trailing behind him. My brain short-circuits for half a second.
He’s wearing a suit.
Fuck. I hadn’t seen him today. I forgot it was stupid ritual on contract signing days—he told me that once. Back when we were still... us.
And now?
Now he’s in that slate-gray suit, fitted and sharp, like he was carved to wear it.
Dev’s wearing one too, but it doesn’t matter. It’s him—Advik in a suit—that turns my blood fizzy and annoying.
He glances at me, and I catch it. That twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He knows.
Of course he fucking knows. The bastard.
I sniff and exhale sharply. “So?”
“We got him.”
Advik slaps the thick stack of signed contracts on the desk. The sound echoes more than it should.
I glance at the folder, then up at him. “Any last-minute changes?”
He shakes his head, smiling.
“Nope. Got him trapped.” It’s Dev who answers—far too excited for a man pushing fifty.
Right. Dev’s here too.
I’d... forgotten.
He’s been buzzing like a damn kid all week. I overheard him telling Advik this is the most fun he’s had since joining the security industry.
Fun. Right.
He doesn’t know about the trafficking. Not the real story.
Advik does. Partly.
Because I told him.
God. Why did I tell him?
I wasn’t even supposed to admit I was RAW. Not even GenVault’s CEO knows. Far as he’s concerned, we’re “law enforcement.” He probably thinks we’re CBI.
But when Advik asked—point-blank, three weeks ago—I blurted it out. Just like that.
And the look on his face...
Chagrin. Disbelief. Like he was replaying every moment we’d shared in our year and a half together—only this time with a dark, dangerous shadow hanging over it.
I’d tried to ease him out of that spiral. Told him I was inactive back then. That none of the life-threatening stuff had started yet.
A partial truth.
Just enough to stop him from breaking.
If Vir ever finds out I’ve been leaking operational clearance-level info to my ex? I’m dead. Eh... maybe not.
I sigh quietly and refocus.
“So... Mehul thinks he has full access to GenVault’s security ecosystem, right?” I ask, needing confirmation.
Advik nods. “Yeah. That’s what he believes. We’re already setting up more activity log routes for his brand-new account.”
“And he thinks he has org-level clearance...” Dev chimes in, puffing up with pride, “but it’s actually sub-org dressed up to look like org-level.”
I chuckle darkly. “Perfect. He’ll go sniffing through your other client systems soon. Be ready.”
Dev laughs like it’s a game. “Oh, I’m ready. Any idea which clients he’ll target first? We can isolate the servers. Throw up extra firewalls. Worst case, if he does break in—”
Advik frowns, already slipping into risk analysis mode.
I glance between them.
Here comes the last grenade.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Any client linked to school systems. Daycares. Institutions that house or educate children.”
Both their heads snap toward me.
Dev blinks. “Can I... can I ask why these specifically?”
Advik doesn’t blink. His jaw tightens. He already knows. Or at least knows enough to connect the dots. But I’m still about to make it real.
“Because Mehul wants unfettered digital access to children. Anyone under 18. And GenVault’s client list covers most of those institutions.”
The silence explodes.
“Behenchod,” Dev mutters. “Iski maa ka... that’s what this bastard’s doing?” He looks between us like we’ve just handed him a ticking bomb. “You’re telling me he will be using our system... for that?” (Benehchod = Sisterfucker; Iski maa ka = motherf—)
I nod solemnly. “Child trafficking.”
And then it happens—exactly what I anticipated. Exactly why we waited until the contract was signed to drop the truth.
Dev goes red. His voice rises. “You—you compromised our clients—the children—just to trap this man?! Are you—”
His hands run over his scalp in frustration. “Are you fucking serious?!”
“Your CEO knows—” I try.
“Maa chudaye humara CEO!” he snaps, cutting me off. “He approved this? He let you use our infrastructure to bait a trafficking ring?!” (Our CEO can get fucked!)
Advik moves quickly, placing a firm hand on Dev’s shoulder. “Keep your voice down.”
It works, barely. Dev still looks like he might punch the wall.
I look down at the table, guilt scraping under my skin like broken glass.
We knew the risks.
Knew GenVault’s people would react like this.
And there’s still a non-zero chance that Mehul might succeed—might dig deeper than we thought. Might unravel things we haven’t planned for.
But we had to do this.
Vir’s done things like this before. Not exactly this—but close enough. He knows how to layer digital landmines.
Still.
“It’s highly unlikely Mehul will actually be able to access any other client environments,” I say, quietly. “You’ll be embedding firewalls, redirectors, synthetic data. We will watch him like a hawk. We’ve got this, Dev.”
Dev’s breathing hard. But he’s quiet now.
Still seething.
Still processing.
And yet... still with us. Maybe?
“I have...” Dev swallows hard. “I have a twelve-year-old son. And a sixteen-year-old daughter.”
His voice cracks. “I’m sorry but... I can’t do this.”
“Dev—”
“They go to school here,” he pleads, hand trembling slightly. “Gauri just joined one of those IIT preparation tuitions. She’s excited. I just...”
“Devendra.” Advik’s voice cuts in, low but steady. “Look at me.”
Dev’s eyes slowly lift. Tired. Frantic. Like he’s bracing for some unavoidable horror.
“If we don’t stop Mehul this way,” Advik says, calm but razor-sharp, “he’ll just find another way. You know that, right?”
Dev doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. We all know it.
Advik leans in, his voice firmer now. “So ask yourself this: would you rather help here, where you have control, where we’re watching his every move—and maybe save your kids... or sit this out while it keeps happening anyway?”
I nod quietly. This operation’s already in motion. The risk? Live. The outcome? Uncertain.
Advik glances at me, then back at him and adds, “You’re an expert in cybersecurity, Dev. We need you. I need you.”
Dev stares at him for a long beat. Then, finally, a nod. “I’ll personally oversee the security for all other clients. But keep me out of... of him. Of Mehul. I only care about his digital trail. I don’t want to see that man’s face again.”
“Fair,” I say softly. “We can do that.”
He leaves a moment later. Maybe to ground himself in something real. Something good.
And then it’s just me and Advik.
Silence folds between us. Not the comfortable kind.
“I didn’t think he’d take it that hard,” Advik murmurs finally. “I mean... I get it. But Dev? He’s never angry. Never.”
“It’s a dangerous situation,” I reply, my voice quiet. “Makes anyone a little... unhinged.”
“But you’re not.”
His tone is careful. Almost hesitant. Like he doesn’t want to poke too deep.
“Yeah, well,” I sigh, looking down. “Part of the job. Can’t afford to get emotionally attached.”
But he doesn’t look away. He’s watching me. Tracking me.
I see it.
The ache in his eyes as they flick to faint scar across my cheek.
And something else—fury. Raw, helpless fury.
“Who did that to you?” he asks, voice ragged and unsteady.
I tense. My mind stutters—calculating risk, classification, consequence.
What can I tell him? What should I tell him?
Then I freeze.
Why the hell am I even considering telling him anything?
But the instinct is still there.
This man... he somehow still has a thread wrapped around my heart. And even now, after everything—I keep forgetting which parts of my life are supposed to be off-limits to him.
I swallow and give him a half-truth. “My husband.”
Advik goes completely still.
Well technically, Aadya Gupta isn’t married. And Marzia is dead. But truth isn’t always about paperwork.
“Your...” His jaw flexes. “Husband? Viraj?”
I burst into a quiet laugh. “Vir is not my husband. He’s my handler. Well, partner now. My husband was... a target. I was undercover.”
And fuck me—why do I keep blurting shit out around this man?
Something in his posture loosens. “Oh.”
I pivot quickly. “Speaking of spouses,” I say with mock nonchalance, “I hear someone’s getting married in two months.”
He frowns, puzzled—then realization hits. He rubs the back of his neck, awkward. “Uh... yeah. Aarohi and Lucian. They’re flying in for the wedding. How...?”
I shrug. “Nothing slips past me.”
I wait for a smile. Even a smirk. But instead—I catch it.
A flicker.
A quick, sharp panic flashing across his face like lightning.
What was that?
He blinks it away too fast and offers a half-smile. “Yeah? Oh, and Ishika’s pregnant.”
That catches me off guard. I didn’t know that. “That’s nice to hear.”
I lean forward, elbows on the desk between us. But my mind is spinning. That flash of panic—what was that about? Aarohi?
“Advik, I...” I hesitate, staring at my hands, choosing my words. “I’m sorry she’s marrying someone else. That must’ve been upsetting—”
The screech of his chair cuts me off.
He stands abruptly, dragging a hand over his face, turned away. His shoulders shake with something I don’t expect.
Laughter.
Hollow. Unstable.
What the hell?
“Advik?”
When he turns to face me, his eyes are glassy. Wet. Like something’s finally cracked.
I square my shoulders—trying to stay grounded. He parts his lips and finally speaks.
“I get why you’d think that.”
His voice is low. Steady. But laced with barely contained rage.
“That Aarohi getting married would upset me. But I assure you, I feel nothing about that. Nothing.”
He takes a menacing step toward me.
“What does upset me—what makes me want to fucking scream—”
Another step.
“—is that you left. And then you died.”
My chest tightens. A rare sting burns behind my eyes.
Oh god.
I’m not ready for this.
“The only thing that fucking upsets me,” he grits, “is that I was too blind to hold on to you. That I made mistake after mistake and you still—”
“Advik—”
“No.” His voice breaks as he begs. “Please. Let me just—”
He steadies himself with a breath. Eyes locked on mine.
“I didn’t sort my shit out. I didn’t love you right. And I hurt you. Enough that you had to walk away.”
He presses a hand to his chest, as if trying to calm the ache.
“I’ve lived with your ghost this whole time. But even now, when you’re standing here—alive, real—I still don’t deserve you.”
He exhales, voice crumbling.
“That... is what upsets me.”