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.
CHAPTER 13
ADITI
The sun is brutal today. It beats down on the construction site like it has a personal vendetta. Dust clings to everything—my jeans, my lungs, and the strands of hair that keep slipping from my bun. The air tastes like concrete and sweat, and every few seconds, there's a shout or the clatter of metal against metal.
“This was your idea,” I remind myself under my breath, swiping the back of my hand across my forehead. “Be involved. Be curious. Learn how the empire is built.”
Abhimaan walks a few steps ahead of me, clipboard in hand, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t look like the heat touches him. He’s in black slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, expression carved from stone. Focused. Sharp. Like he belongs here. Like he’s carved out of the same steel beams rising behind us.
I follow him past a row of scaffolding and steel rods piled high, stepping carefully between wires and planks. The ground is uneven, and I glance down just for a second—
Big mistake because my foot catches on something—a loose coil or maybe air, I don’t even know—and my ankle twists. Sharp pain shoots up my leg, and before I can fully react, my handscrapes hard against a jagged concrete edge as I try to stop my fall.
I hiss and land hard on one knee.
