CHAPTER 12
ABHIMAAN
The package sits on my desk like it’s always belonged here.
No label. No logo. Just brown paper folded sharp at the corners and taped with too much care.
Aditi found it on her desk this morning and handed it over with a shrug, like she didn’t want to ask questions.
Smart girl. She doesn’t ask questions unless she needs to.
And I—well, I don’t give answers anyways.
I stare at it longer than I mean to. My hand hovers above it for a beat too long before I tear the seal.
Inside, folded neatly between layers of tissue, is a photograph.
It’s old. Maybe fifteen years or more. The edges are frayed, the image yellowed with time. But I’d know it anywhere. Me—fifteen, thin as hell, too much anger in my bones and not enough space in the world to carry it. And beside me, the only person who ever called me son.
Anil.
My jaw tightens.
We’re sitting on an old wooden bench. The kind that belonged in train stations and borrowed playgrounds.
I remember that day. I remember the smell of sweat and diesel in the air, the sticky mango candy in my pocket I’d stolen from a vendor, and Anil’s voice—low, slow, calling me his boy like I was a medal he’d won.
I feel the rage crawl up the back of my throat before I shove the photo back in the envelope.
He’s playing. And he’s getting bold.
I should’ve known the day I got that email. This is just the beginning. Ruin was never going to come in numbers and leaks alone. No. Anil’s too theatrical for that. He wants me unsettled. Off my axis. And this?
This is personal.
I buzz my head of security. “Rakesh, I want the CCTV pulled for yesterday. Especially between midnight and four. Anything unusual. Anything near the reception or fifth-floor hall.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, no questions asked. One of the perks of being feared, I guess.
Fifteen minutes later, the footage lands in my inbox. I tell myself I’m only going to watch the part I need—find who left the package, get the hell out. I don’t have time for anything else today. My schedule is tight, every hour carved with precision. But I click the first file anyway.
The night rolls out in silence. An empty hallway. Security is doing rounds. Lights flickering above reception. A shadow—too fast to make out clearly—enters the frame at 2:13 AM. Hooded. Small frame. Can’t be more than 5'6", maybe 5'7". Drops something at the edge of the desk. Leaves.
No face. No direction.
Frustration coils in my gut like smoke in a sealed room.
I almost slam the laptop shut, but I control my anger, toss the mouse aside, and lean back in my chair, rubbing a hand down my face.
This isn’t the kind of game I like. I prefer problems with data, deadlines, and solutions. Not this... slow, creeping pressure.
I open the next file by accident. I mean to shut the whole system down, but instead, another window loads.
It's from earlier this week. Daytime. Fifth floor.
One of the junior staff members—I think—is struggling to carry a tray of sample packaging through the corridor.
Everyone passes him by. No one helps. Too busy. Too self-important.
Except her, obviously. Aditi’s walking the opposite way, fast, phone in hand, clearly mid-email.
But she stops and turns around. She puts the phone away and takes half the tray from Nikhil like it’s second nature.
Not like she’s doing a favor. Not like she expects anything for it. She just... does it.
They laugh. She says something—there’s no sound, but I see the way Nikhil’s posture straightens. The way his shoulders ease.
She keeps walking after that. Doesn’t pause to tell anyone. Doesn’t post about it. Just goes.
I rewind the clip. Watch it again. It’s supposed to be something simple that you would normally miss, but it’s unsettling for me. Not because she helped him. But because she didn’t think twice.
Because I can’t remember the last time I saw someone do something like that in this building or anywhere without a damn reason.
I’ve spent a decade stripping this place of softness.
That’s what it takes. People think building a company is all vision and drive and tenacity, but they don’t understand what kind of cold you have to become to make it last. You don’t hold hands.
You don’t offer kindness. You build walls, and then you put up more.
Because the minute you let emotion seep through, it spills everywhere. And softness?
Softness gets you ruined. So I stopped being soft.
I stopped when the orphanage stopped feeding us properly. I stopped when Anil taught me to lie better than I could breathe. I stopped when I watched Harsh bleed out in my arms.
But here she is.
Caring like it’s not a liability. Talking back to me like she doesn’t know better.
Helping interns. Fixing my damn schedule.
Whispering sarcasm under her breath and somehow still delivering every single thing I’ve asked from her.
And now this—this moment, frozen in footage, where she gives someone dignity without even thinking.
I sit back in my chair, arms folded, eyes on the paused screen.
What the hell is she doing here? She could literally be anywhere, but why here? Not in this office. Not in this job. In my mind.
She’s loud. Messy. Always pushing. She doesn’t flinch when I raise my voice, doesn’t shrink when I criticize. She’s not afraid of me, and that should irritate the hell out of me.
And yet.
There’s something about the way she moves in this place that feels foreign. Not in the sense that she doesn’t belong—she fits, unfortunately, like chaos in a system—but in the sense that she doesn’t know the rules. Or worse, she does and chooses not to follow them.
That should bother me more than it does.
People like her—bold, bright, and bleeding with empathy—don’t last here. This place isn't made for softness. It grinds it down until there’s nothing left but compliance or burnout. And I don’t know which one she’ll choose. Or if she’ll be stupid enough to think there’s a third option.
Still, she’s proving more difficult to ignore than I anticipated. I never expected her to last more than two weeks. That mouth. That energy. That refusal to blend in. She should’ve burned out by now.
But instead, she’s making me pause a damn security tape.
I lean forward again, fingers twitching toward the keyboard, but I don’t hit play.
My eyes shift to the envelope on the corner of my desk.
That photo.
The past, staring me down like a debt unpaid.
I reach for it again, almost without thinking, and pull the photo halfway out—just enough to see our faces. Mine: young, sharp, hollow-eyed. His: smug. Confident. An arm around me like he owned me.
I hate how familiar it still feels.
I hate that even now, after everything I’ve built, Anil can still rattle me with a piece of paper.
He wants me distracted. Shaken. And worse—he’s not hiding it anymore. Dropping memories on my desk in the middle of my damn office like he owns the place.
I shove the envelope back in the drawer and slam it shut.
I’m not fifteen anymore.
This office, this company, this empire—it’s mine.
Every square foot built with precision. Every division is running on a system I carved out with blood, grit, and absolute control.
And no one—not Anil, not the ghosts he drags with him, not even a too-curious intern with wide eyes and sharper instincts—is going to take that from me.
But still, I can feel it. The cracks he’s trying to find in my armor. The places where the past isn’t buried deep enough.
Security has to be tightened.
I pick up the phone again. “Rakesh,” I say, tone clipped. “I want additional checks at the entrance. Everyone gets logged. No packages without authorization. And sweep the building every night this week after hours. Top to bottom. Don’t skip a floor.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up before he can ask why.
I don’t owe anyone a reason.
But the truth sits heavy anyway.
Anil’s out. Watching. Planning.
And this—this game he’s starting—I need to be ten steps ahead. Not three. Not five. Ten.
Which means no distractions.
Which means Aditi needs to stay in her lane.
But as I glance back at the paused frame of her on the screen—half-smile on her lips, head tilted toward Nikhil like she actually gives a damn—I know that won’t be easy.
Because even if she’s not trying to, she’s getting under my skin. And I don’t know what irritates me more—that she’s doing it...Or that a part of me wants to let her.