CHAPTER 29
ADITI
I stare at the black screen like it might magically fix itself. The cursor blinks, mocking me, on a completely blank desktop. No folders. No files. No bookmarks. No applications. Nothing.
My heart lurches painfully against my ribs.
“This cannot be happening,” I whisper, my voice strangled.
I tap the keyboard again and click on File Explorer, desperate.
Nothing. I try the C drive, search every damn corner I can think of, and run a few basic recovery steps I’d learned from a YouTube video.
Still nothing. My pulse climbs higher with every passing second.
Formatted. My entire work laptop has been wiped clean.
And I didn’t even touch it. I sit back on my chair, clutching the edge of the laptop like it’s suddenly become heavier. I close my eyes and inhale. Exhale. Once. Twice. It does nothing to stop the rising wave of panic pushing up my throat.
Everything was fine last night. I was working past midnight—forwarding the HR documents to Abhimaan, checking the gala schedule, and replying to pending emails. There’s no way I’d miss something as massive as this. Unless… unless someone else did this. But how? And why?
There’s a sharp knock of anxiety somewhere behind my ribs. Because this isn’t just a technical issue.
This is my work laptop.
Abhimaan's laptop, technically.
And now it’s a glorified paperweight.
I glance at the clock. Ten past ten. The office is buzzing by now.
The weight in my stomach grows heavier. There’s no way I can explain this over an intercom call.
"Good morning, Sir, the laptop you signed off on for me—the one with confidential files and months of work—yeah, that one? It decided to die. No idea how."
Great.
I chew my bottom lip, then stand abruptly and start pacing.
The carpet muffles my footsteps, but the panic is loud in my head.
I can’t hide from this. I have to tell him.
But after the way I left the dance floor last night—chest tight, heart cracked open, his words chasing me like shadows—walking into his cabin feels like walking into a storm barefoot.
I pause, laptop clutched to my chest like some pathetic shield. My reflection in the mirror catches my eye. I look… wrecked. Eyes puffy from lack of sleep, hair tied in a messy bun, my kurti slightly wrinkled. I look like someone who’s both heartbroken and professionally screwed.
Which, ironically, I am.
“Okay,” I whisper, taking a deep breath. “Okay, okay, okay. Just go. Say it fast. Don’t cry. Don’t stutter. Get it over with.”
With trembling fingers, I get up and say a quick prayer as I walk towards his office. I hover. Staring at the door like it’s going to swallow me whole. My stomach churns, and my fingers tighten around the laptop.
You can do this, Aditi. You’re a grown woman. You’ve handled worse. You’ve worked hard. This isn’t your fault. But it was at your home. You are the only suspect.
Shut up, brain. Don’t make it worse. Please. Another breath.
I knock and don’t wait for his answer as I walk in. His head snaps up. His eyes scan me. “What’s wrong?” He frowns, getting up as if he has sensed something, and that makes my heart ache. Okay, no time for romance; he is going to fire you anyways once he finds out about this issue.
“I—uh.” I close the door behind me and take a step forward, then another. “Something happened. With the laptop.”
His eyes flick to the device in my arms. “Go on.”
I stop in front of his desk, swallowing hard. “I opened it this morning to resume work, and... everything’s gone. All the files. Drives. Applications. Even the wallpaper. It’s like—like someone formatted it completely.”
His brows knit slightly. He leans back in his chair, hands steepled. “And you didn’t do that?”
“No! God, no. Why would I?” I rush out, then wince at my tone. I lower my voice. “I swear, last night everything was there. I was working till around midnight. The last thing I did was forward you the HR files... before the—" I stop myself before saying charity gala.
He knows.
His expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes sharpens. “Before the event,” he says smoothly.
“Yes. That.” I shift awkwardly. “After that, I shut it. Didn’t even open it until this morning.”
His jaw clenches. He looks at the laptop as if it had offended him somehow. I almost squeeze my eyes shut, wondering when he will say those three words: You. Are. Fired.
He nods once, then reaches out. Leave it here. I’ll have the tech team check it.”
I hesitate a moment, then set the laptop on his desk. My fingers brush the edge of the wood, and for some reason, that small contact grounds me. That’s it? He’s not going to say a word to me?
There’s a silence. A familiar one. The same one that crackled between us on the dance floor.
“I didn’t mean to barge in,” I say softly, not quite sure why I’m still standing here. “I just... didn’t know how else to explain it.”
“You did the right thing.”
I glance up at him. There’s something in his voice—that quiet reassurance he rarely lets show.
I nod. “Thanks.”
Another pause. He doesn’t look away. “Are you okay?”
No. Yes. Maybe.
“I’m fine,” I say too quickly.
He looks through me, but doesn’t say anything, and his silence is killing me. Dammit. Is this what people call karma? Because if it is, I hate it already.