CHAPTER 54
ARYAN
The office feels wrong. It’s the first thing I notice when I walk in. Not quiet—there’s still movement, voices in the distance, keyboards clicking, phones ringing somewhere down the corridor. Work hasn’t stopped just because my head is somewhere else.
But it still feels…off.
Empty in a way that has nothing to do with space.
I pause at the entrance of my cabin for a second longer than necessary, my eyes drifting—automatically—to the glass panel across the hall.
Her usual spot. The one I’ve gotten used to glancing at without thinking.
She’s not there. Of course she’s not. She’s at home.
My home. Recovering and she’s safe. The word should settle something inside me.
It doesn’t. I exhale slowly and step inside, loosening my tie as I walk toward my desk.
There’s a file waiting, neatly placed. My laptop screen lights up the second I sit down.
Everything exactly where it should be. Everything normal. Except it isn’t. Because the last time she was here, she was pacing barefoot across the carpet, pencil between her teeth, muttering something about proportions while ignoring the food I had practically forced into her hands.
I can still see it. Too clearly. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes for a brief second.
Get a grip.
This is not the time to spiral into…whatever this is. Because there’s something else sitting at the back of my mind. Something heavier. Something that hasn’t left me since last night.
The brakes don’t just fail.
Not like that. Not suddenly. Not in a car that was perfectly fine a few hours ago.
My jaw tightens. I reach for my phone.
“Ajay.” He’s at my door within seconds. Always is.
Five years and the man still manages to show up exactly when I need him to, without me having to repeat myself.
It’s one of the reasons I’ve never even considered replacing him.
He steps in, shutting the door behind him, expression already shifting the moment he takes in my face.
There’s no joking or unnecessary commentary today. Just focus. Good.
“The car was messed around with,” He says, cutting straight to it.
I like that about him. Getting right to point.
“I knew this couldn’t be random,” I reply, my voice steady even though something underneath it is anything but. “I need you to look into it.”
His nod is immediate. “Already started pulling records from the service logs,” he says. “I’ll get the vehicle inspected again—properly this time. Not just surface damage.”
“Good.”
“I’ll also check CCTV from the parking area near her place and your building,” he adds, already thinking ahead. “See if anything unusual shows up.”
I study him for a second. This version of Ajay—quiet, efficient, already moving three steps ahead—is the reason he’s still here. “Discreetly,” I say.
“Of course.”
I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on the desk. “And Ajay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If someone touched that car—” I pause, choosing my words carefully, even though the anger is already there, simmering just under the surface. “I want to know who. And why.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I’ll find out.”
I nod once. That’s all I need. He leaves without another word.
The door shuts softly behind him. And the silence that follows feels heavier than before.
I pick up my phone again. This time, I don’t hesitate.
Siddhant answers on the second ring. “Birthday hangover or are you just missing me?” he drawls.
Normally, I would have something ready. A comeback. A jab.
Today—Nothing comes. There’s a pause on the other end. “What happened?” he asks, tone changing instantly.
I don’t waste time. I tell him everything. The car. The brakes. The way it felt wrong from the start. The SUV Ishika told me about. The crash. The hospital. There’s silence when I finish.
“I trust your gut, bro.” He says, after a beat of silence. No questions, no doubt in his voice. Something in my chest steadies just a fraction. “Let’s meet at mine,” he continues. “We’ll figure this out properly. I’ll call Rudra too.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he adds, quieter now.
“I know.”
And I do. Because if there’s one thing about us—We don’t let things go when they matter. And this? This matters.
“Give me an hour,” he says.
“I’ll be there.”
The call ends. I drop my phone on the desk and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. My mind doesn’t quiet. If anything, it sharpens. Because now that I’ve said it out loud—Now that someone else knows—It feels more real. More deliberate. Her voice echoes in my head.
I felt like someone had been inside my house.
At the time, I brushed it off. Didn’t want to feed into her fear.
But now—Now it lines up too well. Too cleanly. My hand curls into a fist against the armrest. This isn’t coincidence. This isn’t bad luck. Someone is watching her. Or was.
And the thought of that—of someone getting close enough to touch her life like that—makes something dark settle in my chest. I push myself up from the chair abruptly.
I can’t sit still. I move to the window, staring out at the city below, but I don’t really see it.
All I see is her. Her face when she realized the car wouldn’t stop.
Her voice when she said she didn’t want to die like that.
The way she said—
I don’t want to lose you too.
My throat tightens. I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.
No. We’re not doing that. She’s fine. She’s safe. At my house. With Ma hovering over her like she’s been waiting her whole life to adopt her.
A faint, unwilling smile pulls at my mouth.
I can already picture it.
Ma feeding her like she hasn’t eaten in days.
Ishika pretending to be annoyed but not actually pulling away. Letting herself be taken care of.
That thought—That image—does something to me. Softens the edges just enough to breathe. But it doesn’t last.
Because underneath it all—there’s still this. This unease. This certainty.
I pick up my phone again.
Open our chat.
Her last message is from an hour ago.
Sunshine: Your mother is trying to feed me for the third time in thirty minutes.
I huff out a quiet laugh. Type back before I can overthink it.
Me: Eat it. She’ll take it personally otherwise.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Sunshine: I am being held hostage.
Me: You look cute when you’re held hostage.
There’s a pause and I can sense her rolling her eyes.
Sunshine: I regret liking you.
My smile lingers longer this time.
Me: Too late, Sunshine.
I stare at the screen for a second after the conversation settles. Then lock it.
Because as much as I want to stay in that space—that easy, light space where she’s safe and sarcastic and within reach—I don’t have that luxury right now. Not when something—or someone—tried to take that away.
My jaw sets.
Whoever did this—whatever this is—They don’t get a second chance. Because I don’t lose people like that. Not when I can do something about it.
And this time—I will.