(Anaya's POV / Kabir Mehra interludes)
The gala at Mr. Khanna's office had been billed as a networking event, a celebration of strategic wins. But for Anaya Kapoor, it felt like walking into a minefield. Polished floors, glinting glasses, and conversations laced with invisible judgments.
She had dressed meticulously, keeping her nerves tucked beneath calm composure. Yet Aryan Mehra's warning echoed in her mind:
"Kabir will only hurt you."
And now, Veer Malhotra had subtly ensured her presentation — a small project overview — was highlighted on the event's main screen. Not deliberately humiliating, but just enough for her mistakes to be visible to everyone.
Her pulse quickened. Every pair of eyes felt magnified. She rehearsed her explanation silently, but the numbers she trusted seemed suddenly brittle under the scrutiny of the room.
"Anaya?" A familiar voice pulled her from spiraling thoughts. Kabir Mehra had appeared beside her, unannounced, composed as ever. But there was an edge — a protective, taut line in his posture that made her stomach tighten.
"They've highlighted my slides," she said quietly, gesturing toward the projection screen. "I… I misaligned the quarterly figures."
Kabir's gaze swept across the room, taking stock of the murmurs, the stifled smirks. His voice was calm, precise, but carried authority that no one could ignore: "The alignment is correct. The error is in the formatting, not the numbers. Let's clarify before assumptions are made."
A few colleagues opened their mouths, but his presence — sharp, undeniable — shut them down.
Veer Malhotra appeared from across the room, smile effortless, leaning against the bar with the perfect casual air. "Looks like the system's working as intended," he murmured under his breath, though there was no malice in the delivery — just that subtle, unsettling manipulation Kabir had warned himself against.
Kabir didn't respond. Instead, he guided Anaya subtly toward the center of the floor, giving her space and authority over her work. "Explain it," he said. His tone was controlled, neutral — yet the weight of it cleared the room faster than any raised voice could.
Anaya took a deep breath. The words came carefully, measured. She felt his gaze on her the entire time, not judging, but shielding, containing, making it possible to speak without faltering. By the time she finished, the murmurs had softened into nods, some even impressed.
Later, as the room thinned and the gala lights dimmed, Anaya found herself walking alongside Kabir. She tried to formulate a question — something about Aryan's warning, about Veer's interference, about the tension that always hovered between them.
Before she could speak, he said quietly, almost as an observation: "You don't need their approval. But you do need boundaries."
She glanced at him. "Boundaries?"
"Mine are clear. Others'… not always." His eyes flicked toward the edge of the room, where Veer lingered, still smiling. "I will protect what matters — regardless of the system, the optics, or the calculations."
It wasn't a promise. It wasn't affection. It was something more precise — a line drawn in invisible ink, one she could feel brushing against her skin.
Anaya swallowed. For the first time in weeks, she realized that navigating Aryan's warnings, Veer's subtleties, and her own instincts would not be enough alone. She had Kabir Mehra — and whether that made her safer or more exposed, she couldn't tell.
But the slow burn between them had finally acquired a tangible warmth, a current under the cold logic — fragile, but undeniable.