Avni's POV:
The fluorescent lights hummed, casting a pale glow on the near-empty conference room. Rahul stretched, a long, satisfied groan escaping him as he leaned back in his chair, the worn cushion a familiar comfort. Beside him, Avni meticulously stacked her notes and printed documents, securing the tidy pile with a rubber band.
"Done," Rahul said, the word a quiet exhale in the sudden stillness.
Avni nodded, a small, tired smile touching her lips. "Finally."
He picked up a stray pen, twirling it between his fingers. "That was a long day."
"Very," she agreed, her gaze sweeping over the now-empty tables. "My brain feels thoroughly used."
Rahul pushed his chair back, the scrape echoing slightly. He slung his backpack over one shoulder. "Ready to get out of here?"
Avni gathered her own bag, a shared sense of accomplishment and weariness in her eyes. "Lead the way."
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Abhimanyu's POV:
The relentless drone of the afternoon session finally faded. My laptop screen was a mosaic of meticulously crafted clauses — each word a calculated weapon, every sentence sharp and precise. Zara had mostly ceased her thinly veiled flirtations, thankfully. We'd completed our assigned section, though it felt like I'd done the work while she merely observed.
"Well, that's it for the day, Abhimanyu," Zara purred, leaning closer as I shut my laptop. "And just when we were becoming such a strong pair. Perhaps a late dinner? To celebrate our…"
My phone buzzed sharply — a discreet, encrypted signal from my secretary. Jaw tightening, I cut Zara off. "Excuse me." I pulled the phone out, irritation flaring. "Yes?"
"Sir, urgent matter regarding the port ," the voice crackled with alarm. "Someone has stolen the new guns which you ordered. The guards have caught the person and he is in the basement."
"I'm on my way." Instantly, my mind shifted gears, leaving committee theatrics behind.I ended the call abruptly, ignoring Zara's confused look.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, brow furrowed.
"No," I said curtly. "I have to go." Without further explanation, I rose and strode away, briefcase in hand, thoughts racing.
Outside, the cool evening air hit my face as I spotted my car, sleek and black, waiting at the curb. I flung open the door, slid in, and started the engine with a low growl. The tires churned through a muddy puddle left by the day's downpour. A violent splash of thick, brown water erupted, arching high and wide. I barely registered it — my focus was elsewhere.
Then — a sharp, sickening CRACK echoed from behind. Something hit the back window, not hard enough to shatter but loud enough to jolt me.
I cursed under my breath and slammed on the brakes. Who the hell would throw a stone at my car?
Swinging open the door, I scanned the street. She stood there, chest heaving, a small jagged stone clenched in her hand.
Avni.
Head to toe drenched in mud. Her navy-blue blazer streaked brown, silk blouse splattered, hair dripping with grime. She looked a mess — furious, disheveled, utterly raw. A cold knot twisted in my gut. This was on me.
"What the hell have I done?" I hissed, voice tight. "Look at you."
Her glare burned. "What do you think you've done?" she snapped, storming forward. Her muddy hand yanked at my expensive jacket, twisting the fabric fiercely. "Driving like a maniac, splashing people, ruining everything! Do you even know how much this suit cost? How hard I worked today? You arrogant, thoughtless—"
Her fury poured out in a torrent, words spilling fast and furious. Her grip pulled me off balance. Yet, beneath the storm, a strange thought flickered: Kitni piyaari lagti hai gussa krte hoye. How lovely she looks when she's angry.
But there was no time to dwell. She was soaked, shivering in the chill, furious beyond reason. Work could wait. She was the priority.
Without hesitation, I reached for her waist and swept her off her feet. She gasped, legs flailing, fists pounding my chest.
"Put me down! What the hell are you doing? Let me go!" she shrieked.
Ignoring protests, I carried her to the front passenger door and eased her inside. She landed with a soft thud, eyes wide with shock and indignation.
"Stay," I ordered flatly.
"I'm not staying! Let me out! Help! Someone!" she yelled, scrambling for the door.
I leaned over, reaching for the seatbelt. My hand crossed her chest, face close enough to catch the flicker of confusion in her eyes — maybe even a brief, mistaken thought that I might kiss her. Her breath hitched.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, voice quieter now, eyes locked on mine as the seatbelt clicked taut.
"Securing you," I said, pulling back, unreadable. Her cheeks flushed deeper despite the mud. A low chuckle rumbled in my chest. How naive she is.
I glanced at her, still fuming, trapped by the seatbelt. A triumphant glint shone in my eyes.
Soon, I won't just secure you — I'll claim you.
Starting the engine, I ignored her screams pounding on the window.
"Where are we going?" she demanded.
"Home," I said simply, pulling away.
"How do you—"
I tuned her out, eyes fixed on the road. Her furious drone filled the car, but I blocked it all.
The car stopped smoothly beneath her apartment. I had memorized the address from registration forms.
I cut the engine, turned to her. Chest heaving, shouting had dwindled to gasps.
"Go," I said, tilting my head toward the building. My tone was calm but commanding.
She stared, shock dulling her fire. "How... how do you know where I live?" Her voice was barely a whisper, vulnerability seeping through. "What... how did you?"
"My contacts," I said, eyes cold but unreadable. "Now go. You'll catch a cold."
She hesitated, then flung the door open with a slam that echoed down the street. Muddy clothes clinging, she marched inside without looking back.
I watched until she disappeared, then shifted into gear and drove away.
The crack in my rear window was a quiet reminder — of her fury, of my responsibility, and of how deeply I was drawn into her chaos.
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Abhimanyu's black mercedes hummed to a stop a respectful distance from the imposing wrought-iron gates of the mansion. Even in its state of disrepair, with overgrown vines snaking across the stone walls and broken window panes staring like vacant eyes, the sheer scale of the property radiated an ominous power. This wasn't just abandoned; it was deliberately forsaken, a relic of a forgotten empire.
He cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the rustling of leaves in the wind. Getting out, Abhimanyu moved with a fluid grace, each step deliberate and exuding an effortless command. He wasn't imposing his authority; he simply possessed it. It was etched in the set of his jaw, the steely glint in his eyes, the way his tailored suit – dark as a moonless night – seemed to flow around him.
As he approached the gates, two figures emerged from the shadows flanking the entrance. They were clad in stark black tactical gear, their faces impassive, and the unmistakable gleam of gunmetal was visible in their gloved hands. They didn't speak, didn't need to. Their rigid posture and the almost imperceptible dip of their heads were a clear acknowledgement of his presence. They melted back into the darkness as he passed, their silent vigilance a tangible shield.
The mansion's driveway was cracked and littered with debris, but Abhimanyu moved with an almost feline awareness, his polished shoes making no sound. He reached a heavy, oak-paneled door, its surface scarred and weathered. Without hesitation, he pushed it open, the hinges groaning in protest, and stepped into the cavernous entrance hall. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight that pierced through gaps in the boarded-up windows, illuminating cobweb-draped chandeliers and decaying portraits on the walls.
He didn't linger, his senses already attuned to the deeper parts of the house. He descended a creaking wooden staircase, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. The scent of damp earth and something metallic hung in the air. He reached a solid steel door at the bottom, secured by a heavy-duty lock. A subtle gesture, and a shadow detached itself from a nearby pillar. A moment later, the lock clicked open.
Beyond the steel door lay the basement. It was a stark contrast to the decaying grandeur above. Concrete walls, dimly lit by a single bare bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling, held an atmosphere of brutal functionality. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and fear.
In the center of the room, tied to a rusted metal chair, slumped a figure. His head lolled to the side, his breathing shallow and uneven. His clothes were torn, and a trickle of dried blood ran from a cut on his lip. He was unconscious.
Abhimanyu moved towards the man with a predatory calm. He picked up a bucket of murky water that sat nearby and, without a word, splashed its contents onto the man's face.
The man sputtered, his eyes snapping open in panicked confusion. He blinked, trying to focus, his gaze darting around the dimly lit space before finally settling on Abhimanyu's imposing figure. Recognition flashed in his eyes, followed by a wave of stark terror.
Abhimanyu stood over him, his expression unreadable, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Who told you to do this?"
The man's eyes flickered nervously. He tried to speak, but his throat seemed constricted.
Abhimanyu leaned closer, his presence radiating a chilling menace. "Tell me. Fast."
The man flinched. Tears welled in his eyes. "They… they threatened my family," he stammered, his voice hoarse.
"Who?" Abhimanyu pressed, his patience wearing thin.
The man took a ragged breath. "The… the Spanish Mafia. They… they said if I didn't… if I didn't steal your new guns… they would…" He choked on his words, fear gripping him. "They knew about the shipment… everything. They threatened me… my wife… my children…"
His confession tumbled out in a rush of fear and desperation, painting a clear picture of coercion and threat. The Spanish Mafia. They were bold, venturing this deep. And they wanted his new arsenal. Abhimanyu's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing within their depths. This wasn't just about stolen goods; it was a blatant challenge. And challenges to him were never taken lightly.