The Cracks in Control

Aaryan can’t sleep.

It’s not insomnia. It’s her.

He sees her every day now. In meetings. In corridors. Her soft voice echoing faintly through his memory. She doesn't demand attention, she drips into the cracks of his mind — without force.

That’s what haunts him.

He’s met thousands of women. Models. Heiresses. Princesses. None of them ever made him feel watched without actually being watched. With Meher, he feels like she knows something he doesn’t.

It gnaws at him.

“Find me something,” he tells Kabir, pacing in his study late at night. “A mistake. A lie. A break in her story.”

Kabir watches silently. “Or maybe she’s exactly what she looks like.”

Aaryan’s eyes flicker with frustration. “No one is exactly what they look like.”

Meanwhile — in a secret high-rise office guarded by facial scanners and retina locks, Meher watches Aaryan’s latest boardroom footage on mute. She studies his micro-reactions. His temper. His disinterest in shallow flirtation. His control.

She leans back in her chair. A 100-foot digital screen shows the rise and fall of stocks — hers and his.

He’s climbing faster. His company is catching up.

“Dangerous,” she whispers. “But still mine.”

At Zara’s apartment, things are also shifting.

Zara and Kabir meet again — unintentionally. A UN charity event. Kabir, dressed in black, speaks on the silent trauma of war veterans. Zara listens, surprised by the depth in his words.

After the event, they walk to their cars together.

“I thought you were just muscle with a suit,” Zara says lightly.

“And I thought you were just noise with heels,” he replies.

But then, a pause.

“Why are you really here?” Kabir asks, turning serious.

Zara exhales, biting her lip. “Same reason you are. To protect someone who doesn’t want protection.”

They don’t say more.

But something starts to bloom.

Back at Rathore Empires, Aaryan watches Meher through the glass wall of his office. She's presenting to foreign investors with fluent French, cool poise, and unsettling elegance. The contrast between her soft outfits and razor-sharp analysis baffles him.

When the presentation ends, he calls her in.

She enters, expression unreadable, holding her tablet.

“Why are you here?” he asks suddenly.

Meher doesn’t blink. “You assigned me to this project.”

“No. I mean here,” he says, eyes narrowing. “In this world. In this company. You don’t belong with the rest of them. You think differently. You walk differently. Like you’re hiding something.”

Meher’s lips twitch slightly.

“Maybe I am,” she says softly.

That silence burns between them like a wire waiting to snap.

Aaryan leans forward. “Are you a threat?”

Meher, still calm: “Would you be excited or terrified if I was?”

Aaryan’s voice drops: “Both.”

She leaves the room with her pulse steady. But once she’s alone in the elevator — her hand tightens around the railing. Not out of fear. But because he’s noticing too much.

And that’s dangerous.

-TBC-

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