The night outside the window rolled by like ink bleeding across parchment—thick, endless, and suffocating.
Aarya sat rigid in the backseat of the sedan, one hand curled tightly around her clutch and the other gripping her phone as if it could anchor her back to calm. But calm had left the building with the screech of skidding tires.
That SUV hadn't missed by chance.
She replayed the moment again and again—the black body of the car emerging like a phantom, no headlights, no warning. Her pulse was still echoing in her ears like a war drum.
Her driver kept glancing in the rearview mirror, muttering a prayer under his breath.
"Aarya ma'am… should I inform the police?"
She hesitated. Then, shaking her head, she said, "No. Not yet."
A part of her wanted to shout yes. But the smarter part knew how these games were played. Public panic would only serve her enemies. And she had no proof—just a dark SUV and a creeping certainty that this war was no longer limited to boardrooms and headlines.
Her phone buzzed, jolting her.
Janhavi: Are you safe? Just saw a weird post online. Someone posted about a "near miss" outside the gala. You okay??
Her fingers flew across the screen.
Aarya: It wasn't random. Call me in 20.
She slid the phone into her bag and leaned back, exhaling slowly. Her fingers trembled before she forced them still.
And yet… even as she thought of Karan and his venomous schemes, her mind spun elsewhere.
To the gala.
To the smooth voice that teased her like silk and steel.
To Shaurya Singh.
He hadn't even flinched when she approached. Like he'd been waiting. Watching.
And the way he'd looked at her—not with hatred, not with pity—but with something more dangerous.
Admiration.
Challenge.
Was it all just performance? A way to lower her guard?
Or was he, too, caught in the middle of something bigger?
The SUV's image flashed in her mind again. No license plate. No hesitation.
Had someone meant to kill her? Or just rattle her?
Either way, it worked.
She reached into her clutch and pulled out a sleek, silver pen. With a twist, the bottom clicked open to reveal a hidden USB.
Just in case.
She wasn't the same girl from five years ago. The one who cried in her bedroom when the company was stolen from her. The one who believed truth alone could win a war.
No. Now she carried her truths in shadows. In secrets.
And she never went unarmed.
----
The car came to a stop outside her estate. As she stepped out, she paused—eyes scanning the darkness.
No sign of the SUV. No strange silhouettes. Just the haunting hush of a city pretending to sleep.
As soon as she was upstairs, she called Janhavi.
"It was deliberate," Aarya said before even saying hello.
"Damn it, I knew it," Janhavi hissed. "Are you sure you don't want to report it?"
"Not yet. Karan's behind it—I can feel it. He's trying to send a message."
"Do you think he knows you're onto the Specter thing?"
"No. Not yet." Aarya walked into her bedroom, bolted the door behind her. "But he will soon."
There was a pause.
Then Janhavi asked, voice quieter, "Do you think Shaurya could've been involved?"
Aarya sat on the edge of her bed, her saree rustling like silk secrets.
"That's the worst part," she whispered. "I don't know."
----
The next morning, the headlines were ablaze with her gala speech. Images of her in the midnight saree were everywhere. News anchors praised her poise. Social media was obsessed.
And still, not one word about the SUV.
Whoever had orchestrated the attack… they didn't want it known.
Which meant it had a purpose. A test. Or a warning.
Or worse—an invitation.
Aarya pulled on her sunglasses and stepped out onto her balcony, coffee in hand, the cold metal of the railing biting into her skin.
Down below, the city moved on, unaware.
But from now on, she wouldn't move blind.
She turned to go back inside—when her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: Hope the rest of your night was safer than your drive. Let's meet soon, Aarya.
She stared at the message. No name. But the voice behind the words—casual, cocky, vaguely mocking—felt achingly familiar.
Shaurya?
Or someone trying to sound like him?
She typed a reply.
Aarya: Is that a threat, a concern, or an invitation?
There was no answer. But in her gut, she already knew—this was just the beginning.
----
That afternoon, at Verma Towers, Aarya stepped into the conference room to find an unexpected guest waiting for her at the far end of the table.
Black suit. Calm posture. Eyes like thunderclouds.
Shaurya Singh.
"How did you get past reception?" she asked coolly, but her spine locked in place.
"I smiled," he said, rising. "And said I was an investor."
"You're not."
"Not yet."
The air thickened.
He stepped closer, sliding a file onto the table. "Thought I'd drop this off. It's a summary of the merger plans Karan's been pitching to board members privately. Thought you might want to get ahead of him."
She didn't pick it up. "Why are you really here?"
A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "Maybe I came to check on you."
The gall of him.
"I'm not someone who needs checking on."
"Maybe. Or maybe last night proved otherwise."
She blinked.
So he knew.
"How do you know about that?" she demanded.
"I have my sources," he said vaguely. "Like you have yours."
Aarya stepped forward, her heels echoing like a countdown. "And what does your source say, Mr. Singh? That I'm fragile? That I scare easily?"
His eyes flickered. "No. Just that you're playing with fire."
"And what about you?" she shot back. "What are you playing with?"
His smile was slow, deliberate. "Matches."
And in that moment, Aarya realized the truth: Shaurya Singh wasn't trying to destroy her. Not yet. No—he was circling. Watching. Studying.
Like a storm waiting to choose whether it would drown or protect.
And she... she couldn't look away.