Chapter 8
The war room in the Singhania mansion was thick with tension. Maps covered the table, marked with red pins showing Kapoor territory gains. In the past two weeks, they'd lost three warehouses, two shipping routes, and a dozen men.
Someone was feeding the Kapoors information. Real-time intelligence that shouldn't exist outside the family's inner circle.
"They knew about the shipment before we even moved it," Vikram said, his voice hard. "Knew the route. The timing. The security detail. Everything."
Raghav stood at the head of the table, his jaw tight. "Which means the leak is someone with access to operational details. Someone in this room or close to it."
Ranveer leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral. "Or someone you've brought into your confidence recently. Someone you trust who perhaps shouldn't be trusted."
The implication was clear. All eyes turned to the empty chair where Akriti usually sat during family meetings.
"Say what you're thinking, Uncle," Raghav said, his voice dropping to something dangerous.
"I'm thinking," Ranveer replied smoothly, "that your wife has intimate knowledge of our operations. That she's in your bedroom, your study, your most private spaces. That she hears things, sees things—"
"Finish that sentence and you'll regret it."
The room went silent. Raghav's eyes had gone cold—that dead, empty cold that preceded violence.
"I'm simply being practical," Ranveer continued, undeterred. "You've been... distracted since the accident. Obsessed with her. Perhaps she's using that obsession against you."
"Get out."
"Raghav, I'm trying to help—"
"GET OUT!" The roar shook the windows. "Before I forget you're family and put a bullet between your eyes."
Ranveer stood slowly, his expression tight. "You're making a mistake. Your judgment is compromised. The family sees it. Our allies see it. And the Kapoors are exploiting it."
He left, taking several family members with him. The fracture lines were becoming chasms.
Vikram waited until the door closed. "He's positioning himself."
"I know." Raghav's hands were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. "But he crossed a line. Akriti is off-limits."
"Then prove him wrong. Find the real leak before he convinces the family it's her."
Raghav nodded, his mind already racing. He knew—absolutely knew—Akriti wasn't the leak. She didn't care about mafia politics or territory wars. Her world was the shelter, her charity work, the women she helped.
But proving her innocence required finding the real traitor.
And he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly where to start looking.
*
Alina appeared at the mansion the next afternoon, her expression grave.
"I need to speak with you," she told Raghav when he answered his study door. "Privately. It's urgent."
Every instinct screamed at him to refuse. He'd told her never to come back. Had made it brutally clear she was unwelcome.
But something in her tone—desperation mixed with fear—made him pause.
"You have five minutes."
She slipped inside, clutching a manila folder. "I didn't want to bring this to you. I hoped I was wrong. But—" She opened the folder, spreading documents across his desk. "I think Akriti is the leak."
Ice flooded his veins. "What?"
"Look." She pointed to printed emails. "These are from her account. Communications with known Kapoor associates. Details about shipments, routes, security protocols—"
"Impossible." He grabbed the papers, scanning them. They looked legitimate. Akriti's email address. Technical details that matched their operations.
"There's more." Alina pulled out phone records. "Calls from her mobile to Kapoor numbers. Times that correlate with our losses. The evidence is—"
"Fabricated." The word came out flat, certain.
Alina blinked. "What?"
"You're lying. Get out."
"Raghav, look at the evidence—"
"I don't need to look at anything." He swept the papers off his desk, sending them scattering across the floor. "I know my wife. She's not the leak. Which means you're either incompetent or complicit. And I'm betting on the latter."
Alina's face paled. "You can't be serious. The proof is right there—"
"The proof is bullshit." He moved around the desk, and she backed up instinctively. "You thought I'd doubt her. Thought you could plant evidence and I'd turn on my wife. You miscalculated."
"I'm trying to help—"
"You're trying to destroy her because you can't accept that I chose her over you." His voice was deadly calm. "That I've always chosen her. That you were never anything more than an employee."
"That's not—you can't just dismiss evidence—"
"I can when it's obviously fake. And when it comes from someone desperate enough to commit treason to get revenge." He pulled out his phone. "You have one chance to tell me the truth. Are you working with the Kapoors?"
"No! I would never—"
"Then who fabricated these documents? Because someone did. Someone with access to Akriti's email, her phone records, our operational details." His eyes narrowed. "Someone who was in my inner circle until I fired her."
Understanding dawned on Alina's face—along with fear. "You think I'm—"
"I know you are. The only question is how much you've given them and why."
"This is insane. You're choosing her over logic, over evidence—"
"I'm choosing her over lies." He opened his study door. "Security!"
Two armed guards appeared immediately.
"Escort Ms. Mehta to the secure room downstairs. She's not to leave until I say otherwise."
"What? You can't—" Alina's panic was palpable now.
"I can do whatever I want. This is my house. My empire. And you just committed treason." His smile was cold. "You should have left when I told you to. Now it's too late."
As the guards dragged a protesting Alina away, Raghav gathered the fabricated documents. His mind was already working through the problem.
Alina had made a critical mistake—she'd underestimated how completely he trusted Akriti now. How thoroughly his wife had claimed his loyalty.
But proving the documents were fake required someone with intelligence and insight.
Someone exactly like Akriti.
*
Raghav found her in the library, curled up in her favorite chair with a book. She looked up as he entered, her smile brightening the room.
"Hey. How was the meeting?"
"Frustrating. Ranveer chacha is making moves. And we have a bigger problem." He sat beside her, showing her the documents. "Alina brought these. Claims they prove you're the leak."
Akriti's eyes widened as she scanned the papers. "These are—this is my email address. But I never sent these."
"I know."
"Raghav, I swear—"
"I know," he repeated, pulling her against him. "I told Alina they were fabricated. That I trust you absolutely. But we need to prove it."
She relaxed into his embrace, relief evident. "You didn't doubt me? Not even for a second?"
"Not even for a fraction of a second." He kissed her temple. "You're my wife. I know you. I trust you. Nothing Alina says will change that."
"Most men would have at least questioned—"
"I'm not most men. And you're not most women." His hand slid possessively along her thigh. "You're mine. I protect what's mine. Always."
She turned in his arms, studying his face. "You really trust me."
"Completely."
Something in her expression shifted—wonder mixing with desire. "I love you."
The words hung in the air. The first time she'd said them aloud. The first time she'd given voice to what had been growing between them.
Raghav's hands tightened on her. "Say it again."
"I love you, Raghav."
He kissed her, deep and possessive and infinitely tender. When he pulled back, his eyes were blazing. "I don't deserve you."
"Probably not," she agreed with a small smile. "But you have me anyway."
"Forever." It wasn't a question. It was a vow. "Now, help me prove these documents are fake so I can make Alina pay for trying to frame you."
Akriti's smile sharpened a little. "With pleasure."
*
They worked through the night in his study, documents spread across the desk, laptops open, diving into digital forensics.
Raghav sat in his chair, Akriti perched on the desk beside him, her leg brushing his shoulder as she worked. His hand rested possessively on her calf, thumb tracing idle circles that were anything but idle.
"The email headers show they were sent from my account," she murmured, scrolling through code. "But look at the IP address."
He leaned closer, his other hand sliding up her thigh. "What about it?"
"It's not mine. My laptop has a static IP that our IT assigned. This IP is—" She typed rapidly. "—registered to a device that was accessing our network from Singapore last month."
"When Alina was still working for me."
"Exactly." Akriti pulled up more records. "And the phone records—these calls were supposedly made from my mobile. But the cell tower data—" She highlighted sections. "—shows my phone was here, at the mansion, during these times. Not near the towers these calls pinged."
Raghav's admiration grew with every word. "How do you know all this?"
"I taught myself digital security for the shelter. We handle sensitive information about abuse survivors. I needed to know how to protect it." She glanced at him. "Why? Did you think I was just pretty?"
"I think you're brilliant." His hand slid higher up her thigh, beneath her saree. "Stunning. Mine."
"Raghav—" Her breath hitched as his fingers found the edge of her panties. "We're working—"
"We're proving your innocence. And I'm celebrating the fact that my wife is smarter than everyone who tried to frame her." His fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding her already wet. "Seems like you're celebrating too."
She gasped, her hand gripping his shoulder. "Someone could come in—"
"Door's locked. And I don't care." He pulled her off the desk and onto his lap, positioning her so she straddled him. "I want you. Right here. Right now."
"We should finish—"
"We will. After." He pulled her on his lap. His hands were already pushing her saree up, bunching it around her waist. "After I remind you exactly who you belong to."