Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Advik
My head snaps up when I hear her boots approaching. We’ve been silent roommates ever since her nightmare a couple nights ago.
I still feel the residual fear of discovering the violent thrashes through the door. How she clung to me as she chanted stop—over and over and over again.
I didn’t know what to do so I just held her through it. Eventually she had relaxed. But it didn’t last long. She had her knife on my throat within a second. Her expression blank yet combative.
Even though I didn’t want to leave her alone, I did. Because she asked me to. But within a few seconds I realized I couldn’t be anywhere but near her. Because how the fuck do I leave her alone after that?
Has this been happening the whole time? Every night while I slept in the next room, did she wrestle demons I couldn’t see?
But the worst part—the one I can’t stop circling—is wondering what she saw.
What the hell did she dream about that had her paralyzed? What made her feel so utterly helpless that instead of actually stopping it with action—she had to voice it. Whimpering.
She walks in, fully dressed, eyes unreadable.
Monday snuck up on us. I’m dressed for work too, but not sure I’m actually ready for this week. Not with this heaviness sitting in my chest.
She sits across the kitchen counter without a word.
I slide a plate of onion omelette across it. Her favorite, as far as I remember—still spicy enough to make her nose twitch.
I turn to grab the sugar for her coffee, but her voice stops me. Flat.
“I’m fine without it.”
I pause, fingers on the sugar jar. Then I place it back without a word. Watch her sip her sugar-less coffee, just like she used to.
And for one fucking second—my idiot heart flickers.
She’s here. She’s drinking the same type of coffee from years ago. Maybe she’s coming back to me?
But I don’t let myself hope. Not again. The glimmers won’t help when I know I don’t deserve this.
We eat in silence. She clears the plates when we’re done, and grabs mine too like it’s nothing.
“Thank you,” I murmur, not thinking.
She freezes.
The tension cuts through the kitchen like a wire pulled too tight.
Her back is still to me when she speaks, voice low. “I’m going to need you to not... thank me. For a few days.”
She turns slightly, her jaw locked. “Just... don’t say the word. At all. Got it?”
I frown, but nod still.
Half an hour later, we’re walking into the conference room to meet Dev. He’s holding some reports he compiled over the weekend.
He spots me and immediately breaks into a relieved, brotherly smile. “You’re okay?”
Before I can even answer, he rushes toward me and pulls me into a careful hug. “Advik, bhai, thank god, you’re okay. I’m so glad.”
I chuckle and pat his back. “I’m fine, Devendra.”
Greesha skirts around us and sits at the head of the table, straight-backed and all business. That’s our cue.
The meeting is grim. Dev goes over Mehul’s account activity. It’s not him directly, obviously—it’s his team, more tech-savvy than he is, and far more dangerous.
He’s targeting education portals. Medical and engineering exam prep institutions for young kids.
And suddenly it clicks.
Dev’s daughter just enrolled in one of those academies. Of course he’s been panicking.
These centers are barely protected—ripe for manipulation. Kids aged fourteen to seventeen, under immense pressure, often emotionally isolated.
Suicide rates are high.
And if Mehul gains access, he won’t just exploit those statistics—he’ll engineer them. He’ll make disappearances look natural. Like stress-induced tragedies.
By the time we close the meeting, we’ve built in a few more security barriers and decided to wait.
Mehul hasn’t breached the systems yet, but if he does, he’ll have a goldmine of vulnerable data.
The students’ personal information, along with their academic performance.
He’ll connect the damn dots and know exactly which students to frame for disappearance.
Dev seems particularly unhappy about things not moving forward. I know he wants this to end. I also know he’s been told that he has to run point in this account because apparently Mehul Bedi doesn’t trust me.
I sigh as we leave the conference room—only to be nearly tackled by an overzealous figure at the door.
A soft chest collides with mine. My one good arm wraps around instinctively. A dull ache shooting through my shoulder.
The scent is too floral. The hair—wrong length.
What the hell?
I push back gently to see Gitika. My executive assistant. No—the assistant for all the senior partners. Her eyes are watery, her hands lingering on my arm.
“Oh god. You’re back. You’re okay,” she says breathlessly.
I step back quickly, plastering a polite smile on my face. “Thanks, Ms. Gitika. Yeah. I’m... fine.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Dev quietly retreat to his office. I wish I could do the same.
Then I feel it.
A stare.
I glance sideways—and there she is.
Greesha. Watching. Silent. Her face unreadable, but her eyes... they’re fire. She’s trying to keep it together, but I see it. The sting.
The jealousy?
I turn back to Gitika, trying to shift fast. “Do you have those reports I asked for, last Thursday?”
She flinches at the abrupt tone but nods. “Y-yeah. You’ll have it in ten.”
“Great.”
I nod and almost make a run for it. Gitika has never hugged me before. Let alone feel so passionate about me returning from a leave. I guess me getting shot has everyone a bit emotional.
But I’m not stupid. I clearly see the signs now, even when they’re subtle. And this was not subtle.
She’s never been this unprofessional before. But I know it’s not going to be her last attempt, given the tiny expectant smile creeping up her face as I walk away.
Fuck my life.
I make my way to my office and Greesha follows.
She shuts the door behind her. I barely sit down when I feel it—that scalding heat in her glare.
What did I do now? I think, frustrated.
I try to pivot. “Hey! Maybe we should ask your team to arrange some physical security for the targeted institutions. Mehul might not succeed but... just a layer of—”
“Perhaps your executive assistant can send over the updates soon. Because she’ll tell you we don’t need more security,” she cuts me off with a smirk, “since she seems so invested.”
My jaw ticks. “She’s not my executive assistant. She supports all four senior partners.”
She says nothing. But I can see the war in her eyes. That itch.
I try to keep my thoughts to myself. This sounds absurd but she seems pissed as though she’s jealous. It doesn’t give me the hope I thought it would. Instead it makes me think is that I’m causing another issue by not addressing the lack of Gitika’s professionalism.
I’m about to speak up when I hear a knock on my door. Gitika?
I sigh.
But instead of just a smiling Gitika, Viraj enters right after her. Dressed like he’s ready for battle somehow.
Hell! This is going to be a long fucking day.
We’ve got one gunshot victim, an oblivious woman, and two armed combat operatives in the room. Fuck.
Viraj is quick to spot Gitika’s eager walk around my desk. I don’t miss his amused expression.
Gitika is holding a folder, instead of emailing the damn report. She printed it out? Fucking hell.
Viraj smirks. “Didn’t know we were back to hard copies.”
I shoot him a look, but it’s too late. Gitika’s already trying to slide the folder toward me. Her body leans in closer than it needs to.
I lock my eyes on Greesha, who’s leaning casually against the far wall, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A quiet smirk dancing on her lips like she’s watching a soap opera.
I stand abruptly and round my desk before Gitika can get any closer.
“Thanks,” I say coolly, taking the folder from the desk and stepping away. “This could’ve been emailed?”
Her face twitches. Not enough to count as offense, but enough to signal that she thought this was going to go differently.
Viraj snorts softly behind me.
Gitika shifts awkwardly but recovers. “I just thought—since it’s your first full day back—you’d prefer a walk-through in person.”
I nod tightly. “I’ll go through it myself. I’ve got a meeting right now.”
I gesture toward my other two guests.
Greesha lets out a barely audible breath of amusement, and Gitika’s eyes flick in her direction for a split second. Then she turns back to me and, in the most audacious move of the morning, places a hand lightly—deliberately—on my shoulder. The injured one.
I flinch for two reasons.
Her voice is sugarcoated concern. “Advik, do you need me to take minutes for the meeting?”
Mr. Advik. Isn’t that what she usually called me?
I step back immediately, jaw tight. I’m trying not to make this a scene, but she pushed it.
Yeah. I’m done.
“No,” I say flatly. “And you’re no longer on my accounts. Starting today.”
She blinks with a faltering smile. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ll be supporting the other senior partners. I’ll assign someone else to my projects. Effective immediately.”
Her hand drops, but her voice dips into something almost petulant. “I don’t—I’m your only executive assista—”
“You were my executive assistant. Now you’re not. I’ll be getting someone else. Do you understand?”
That silences her. Almost.
She tries to laugh it off, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh. Of course. Just let me know if—”
“Please leave the room, Ms. Gitika,” I cut in, my voice suddenly razor-sharp. “Now.”
She stiffens but finally walks out, but not before casting a look over her shoulder. One that lands straight on Greesha. She closes the door a little too softly.
The room is quiet.
Viraj lets out a low whistle. “Well damn. Do we need an HR rep next time or...?”
I shoot him a glare, but he only grins and takes a seat across me. “Nice to properly meet you, kid.”
I frown at the ridiculous statement. Kid?
I suddenly realize it’s meant to demean me. That’s when I see it, the tiny flicker of longing when he looks back at Greesha.
‘Of course I would’ve been okay with you moving on. I did.’
Was it actually with him? Are they really together? I swallow down the rise of jealousy.
Across the room, Greesha finally pushes off the wall and moves to the chair beside me. Her eyes never leave mine as she settles in.
“Interesting choice in assistants,” she says, voice light but eyes blazing.
“Didn’t choose her. And she isn’t anymore,” I say absently. My mind is still gathering and piecing together this interaction between these two. They aren’t giving anything away.
Sure, he once called her Jaan. But she’s been living with me this whole time. Was I really just a mark?
“I noticed,” she mutters, flipping open the folder Gitika left like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“If we’re done with the damn tug of war, may I chime in?” Viraj’s cold voice grabs my attention. Even Greesha drops her perusal of the folder and looks straight at him.
I frown.
“I have news,” he says grimly—looking straight at Greesha. “And you won’t like it.”