Bonus Epilogue One
Advik
TWO YEARS LATER
I hear a knock on my office door.
“Come on in,” I say to my uninvited visitor after hanging up on my Gree. It has been two blissful years with her and I constantly find myself wanting to be near her still.
Fuck. I miss her.
“Hey, Advik.” The GenVault CEO himself enters. “You got a minute?”
I thought he’d simply walk in. Manoj Bakshi was the one person who saw me struggling after the Mehul Bedi takedown. And how Dev’s death had affected me. He had suggested that I take a few weeks off to regroup and decide whether to resume my role at GenVault or not.
At first I respected his advice. Then I came around to admire his empathy. He knew there was a balance between the fame the firm was getting and overworking his employees. And he’d taken me up on that out, when I told him I wanted to shift to a part-time position instead of a full-time employee.
I had reduced my client portfolio two years ago. Balancing GenVault and High on Happy—the bar I owned with Vikram.
“Manoj sir. Yes, of course.” I gesture at the chair across my desk. “How can I help?”
He smiles and settles down. An uncomfortable silence takes over.
“There’s... no easy way to say this but...”
Dread iced my veins. I was anticipating this would happen. He’d given me an offer once—last year. But I refused it. I still handle over 13% of the company’s clientele. However, that can be redistributed.
And now that I think about it—High on Happy was taking up more of my time and energy.
Shit. Had I slacked off?
Was my productivity down?
I swallow hard, waiting for him. A reluctant sense of relief spreading through. I wanted to be at my bar more than I wanted to be here. But this job did provide a level of financial security. Fuck.
He smiles softly at my possibly frightened expression. “We’re going to have to let you go.”
The room tilts. My brain already calculating budgets and mortgage. Expenses like car insurance and the contribution to mine and Greesha’s joint savings account. Can I do it?
Then he chuckles and adds, “And... then offer you an independent contractor position.”
I frown. “I’m sorry. Did you—?”
“Listen, I can see this job is draining you. Handling clients is becoming harder with the way our firm has positioned itself in the market. Your expertise is needed, but you don’t need to handle clients.
The only reason we want you around is to help them.
But you don’t need to be a part-time partner to do that. ”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “But... who’s going to handle the clients? I can surely move to a consulting position but... I have—”
“We’re going to start looking for candidates.
And if you’re okay with still providing the support at a reduced consulting capacity, then that’s okay with me.
I don’t... listen.” He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
“Everything that happened with Mehul Bedi—loss of Dev—I don’t think it’s healthy for you to remain here.
I commend you for trying for three years.
But I’ve seen you withdrawing. We want to keep you, but not when it’s. .. hurting you.”
“I...” don’t know what to say. Fuck. This man is the best boss I’ve ever had. I’ve spent over nine years in this company, and I never thought I’d get an option of this much flexibility.
I tell him I’ll think about it. That I’d need to talk to Gree first and then decide.
I was rarely at the office—coming in once a week—so I was glad we were able to talk face-to-face. But something in me was shaking with excitement.
This felt like a new chapter. And if Gree agreed, it’ll give us more time for the next step in our relationship.
When the clock hits five, I start packing up. A permanent smile pasted on my face. Gree usually works from home. Her job at SentinelOne has been a steady fixture that she genuinely enjoys.
Just as I’m about to head out, my office door opens. I pause, frowning, already annoyed because no one knocks these days—apparently.
Then I see her.
Gitika.
My ex–executive assistant. And an unshakeable presence who refuses—flat-out refuses—to take a hint.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, with that irritatingly intimate tone that always makes my skin crawl.
“Uh... yeah,” I say, eyes still on my laptop as I pack. “It’s five. So.”
I hear her step closer. Too close.
“No, I mean...” she lowers her voice, like we’re sharing some secret. “I heard from Neha that you—are you leaving GenVault?”
My eyes snap to her, narrowing sharply. “I’m not sure how you heard that, Ms. Gitika. But that’s between me and our CEO.”
She flinches at the ‘Ms.’—good—but still persists.
“B-but why?” she presses, looking visibly concerned.
My eyebrows shoot up. “This is genuinely none of your business. And you’ve already been given a warning, so getting into my personal space is not the way to go. Understand?”
She takes a small step back. Finally some sense.
I glance at the clock. Maybe if I pretend time is moving faster, she’ll disappear. She usually doesn’t corner me like this. Then again, office gossip spreads faster than a damn virus. And I want no part of it.
She sighs dramatically. “I... I don’t understand why you have to leave. I’ll do better. I’ll keep us on the down low—”
“...I’m sorry—what?”
Has this woman lost it?
I’ve said maybe two words to her in the last three years. Where the hell is this delusion coming from?
She frowns, confusion and disbelief warping her face. “I’m just saying that... I know there’s a non-fraternization policy. And I’ll do better. I’ll hide us better.”
“...Hide what?”
And suddenly a dozen odd moments click into place. The weird looks. The whispered conversations that fell silent when I walked by. That one partner telling me he was “disappointed” in me.
I’d assumed he meant my reduced workload. But no.
Apparently I’m starring in a romantic fantasy that I did not sign up for. Has she been spreading rumors?
Fuck.
While my brain is busy unraveling this idiocy, Gitika uses the opportunity to move in. Close enough that her perfume punches me in the face.
I step aside to create distance, but she reaches out—her hand sliding over my chest like we’re on the set of a rom-com.
“Us,” she breathes. “It’s been three years, baby. Don’t make us wait longer.”
What. The. Fuck.
Everything happens in three horrifying seconds—she rises onto her toes, leaning in—and I launch myself three feet away like she’s holding a live grenade.
My heart is pounding. My brain short-circuits.
A laugh bubbles out of me. Not amused. The ‘I’m in danger and my body has chosen hysteria’ kind of laugh.
“It was... okay knowing you, Ms. Gitika,” I say, deadpan.
She blinks, somehow still purring. “What?”
I check my watch, calculating casually. “I doubt you’ll be in one piece in... an hour? Maybe less?”
Her face blanches. “W-what?”
I smile—kind, sympathetic, almost gentle.
“My wife,” I say simply. “Is going to kill you.”
??????
“You’re late.”
The second I step into the house, that voice—her voice—slices through the air.
There she is.
The love of my life.
Greesha Pathan-Sharma-My-Freaking-Wife.
Standing in our foyer with her arms crossed, a brow arched, and judgment radiating from her five-foot-six frame.
“Hey, baby,” I say, trying my most disarming smile, dropping my keys and bag onto the console like I’m not on the verge of a panic spiral.
I step forward to pull her into my arms.
Bad move.
She steps back and raises a hand—halt sign. Then sniffs. Her nose wrinkles in pure disgust.
“Who?”
Fuuuck.
Why is it so hot when she gets like this? Lethal. Clinical. Scary as hell.
But I need to explain first. Lust later.
“Don’t get mad.” I raise both hands like I’m under arrest. “I was... with HR. Filing a formal complaint.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Against Gitika,” I clarify.
She gives me the look. That ‘keep talking before I throat punch you—again’ look.
So I launch into it. All of it. The delusion. The perfume. The tragic chest touch. The whole ass novella Gitika has apparently been writing in her head. And probably telling others at the office.
“She thought we were building something, baby. Like—‘us.’ Can you believe that?”
I finish as we sit on the couch. She’s silent. Processing.
Then, slowly, she smirks. “She didn’t know you were married?”
I wince. My smile dies.
“Well... technically? No? But she knows now. I hadn’t—uh—exactly told anyone that we got married a few months ago. Just the CEO. Since we’ve been low-key and I wasn’t at the office that often—”
Her eyes are scarily calm.
“So she’s getting fired?”
I exhale, relaxing a little. “Yeah. HR said this was her second warning. She’s done.”
She nods slowly. Then she smiles.
And stands.
“I’ll be right back.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
“Baby.” I spring up. “Baby—baby wait! Greesha, no, please!”
But she’s already walking toward the door like she’s heading into battle. Like she’s about to find a war she can win.
“Let me handle it!” I say, grabbing at her elbow. “My company has a process. An HR-approved, policy-driven process. With appropriate consequences!”
“Oh, sure,” she chirps, sweet as sin. “I’m just going to... add a few extra consequences.”
“NO! No extra consequences! No side quests! This isn’t one of your missions, Gree—”
“Exactly. Because those end in jail time. Or worse. I’m far more efficient.”
“That doesn’t help me feel better!”
She rolls her eyes, almost exasperated. “Fine.”
Then she pulls out her phone.
“Baby, what are you doing? Who are you texting?!”
She smiles—serenely. And then sends something. Too quickly.
I lunge to peek. “Who was that? What did you just do?”
“Nothing,” she sings, sliding her phone back into her pocket like a serial killer.
Then she skips—yes, skips—back to the couch and plops down.
“Greesha,” I whisper, horrified. “You didn’t—like—put a hit out on her, right?”
She bursts into manic laughter. A full cackle. I take a cautious step back.
“Of course not,” she wheezes, wiping a fake tear of amusement. “God, Vik. You’re hilarious.”
Then she stops laughing. Instantly. Her voice drops into terrifying softness.
“She’ll just need to find a different country to live in.”
I blink. Swallow. Then choke out a dry, wildly aroused laugh. “What the hell, woman?”
I’m already walking toward her, helpless. A man seduced by her unhinged brilliance. I grab her by the face, her smirk still dangerous, and crash my mouth to hers.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim. Our lips collide like fire. Her fingers twist into my shirt, and I groan into her mouth.
“You’re scary,” I pant between kisses. “You’re so scary, my warrior ghost.”
She smirks. “You like it.”
I kiss her harder. But she’s only half right. “I love it.”
She’s unbothered. Unapologetic. Unhinged. Utterly, irrevocably mine.
And God help me…
I’m so in love with this woman who just exiled someone with a text.
My wife.
My. Fucking. Wife.
And may the universe have mercy on anyone who ever crosses her. Because I sure as hell won’t.