Mr. Singh stood on the top floor, his silhouette framed against the glittering cityscape.
Beyond the glass stretched the industrial district—a maze of power and commerce. Broad shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, he radiated quiet dominance.
A faint echo of footsteps broke the stillness.
Mr. Raj entered with deliberate, careful steps.
Without turning, Mr. Singh's senses caught him.
A slow pivot brought those dark, unyielding eyes to lock on Raj—demanding news without a word.
"Master," Raj began, voice steady.
"The clients have arrived. Arun will meet them within the hour."
Silence pressed in.
Mr. Singh studied him for a beat, then turned back to the skyline. His fingers tapped lightly against the glass.
"I want to know if he can handle this without me."
Mr. Raj's answer came without hesitation.
"He can, Master."
But a flicker crossed Mr. Singh's face—hesitation, almost doubt.
"He's still an inexperienced boy. He cannot yet read the duality of people."
Mr. Raj's eyes narrowed, the ghost of something unspoken flashing through them—fear, perhaps, or defiance.
"Children stay inexperienced if we never let them learn on their own."
The words landed heavy between them, truth laced with quiet challenge.
---
[Meanwhile, Singh Mansion]
Arun fastened the last button of his crisp black shirt, smoothing the fabric before taking the blazer from the waiting servant.
He checked his watch—still time before the meeting, yet his mind was already turning over the weight of responsibility in Mr. Singh's absence.
The moment his polished shoes touched the stone pavement outside, a strange stillness slid into the air.
His gaze swept the dew-kissed fields, the lone road winding away from the main gate.
Everything looked normal—yet his instincts whispered otherwise. His jaw tightened. Something was wrong.
A thought struck hard—Ayan would be okay?
He pivoted sharply, unease clawing at him, and strode back inside.
In the dining hall, Ayan was still seated, napkin in hand, his lean frame relaxed. He looked up as Arun's voice cut through the quiet.
"Get dressed. You're coming with me."
The tone was firmer than Arun intended, but he didn't soften it.
Ayan's brows knit slightly, curiosity flickering in his warm brown eyes. He sensed something was off, but didn't press.
Instead, he rose, disappearing up the grand staircase without a word.
Arun exhaled slowly, running a hand through his neatly styled hair, fingers lingering at the back of his neck.
He moved to the sofa—but froze halfway, pulling out his phone.
Unread message.
"What makes you so busy that you can't answer me now?" He murmured to himself.
Last night's texts to Abhi still sat unopened.
Abhi was never this unresponsive.
A dull weight settled in his chest. He scrolled through their last conversation, searching for clues that weren't there.
...
Fifteen minutes passed before soft footsteps drew his eyes to the staircase.
Ayan stood there, dressed in pale formals, shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers. His wavy hair was combed back, still damp from a quick rinse.
"I'm ready," he said, adjusting his shoes.
Arun gave a brief nod. Without another word, they stepped out together.
...
The morning sun stretched long shadows across the pavement, but as Arun and Ayan walked toward the car, a chill prickled at the back of Arun's neck.
Someone was watching. He could feel it.
They slid into the car.
The soft click of the doors broke the silence.
Arun buckled his seatbelt in one swift, practiced motion. Ayan mirrored him—calm, sweet, unaware.
The engine roared to life.
Arun's hands tightened around the steering wheel, his eyes flicking to the side mirrors, scanning the periphery. Every instinct stayed on high alert.
Ayan sat relaxed, earphones in, scrolling through his phone—blissfully oblivious to the tension coiling around his elder brother like iron.
As the car rolled out of the mansion gates, Arun's gaze swept over every passerby, every moving shadow.
Then he saw it—a black, unmarked car.
Keeping distance, yet never too far. Too deliberate.
His pulse quickened. We're being followed.
He glanced at Ayan from the corner of his eye.
The younger boy remained unaware.
Arun kept his face neutral and pressed down on the accelerator.
The black car matched his speed.
So it wasn't a coincidence.
Testing them, Arun veered onto a less busy side road, weaving into the morning traffic.
The black car followed without hesitation.
Arun's jaw clenched. Not random.
Without a flicker of panic, he reached for his phone and dialed.
Annaya instantly answered.
"Main Street. Black car. Number 1521. Send rescue. Immediately."
The line went dead.
Easing his foot off the accelerator, Arun manipulated the traffic, preventing the car behind from overtaking. It stayed locked on them.
Then—flashing lights cut through his rearview mirror.
A few vehicles boxed the black car in, bringing it to a halt.
Arun exhaled quietly. His grip on the wheel loosened. No fuss. No confrontation. Just handled.
He checked Ayan and then turned his eyes forward, guiding the car smoothly back toward their real destination.
---
[Singh's office—After the Meeting]
In the waiting room, Ayan and Annaya sat side by side, laughter spilling easily between them.
The moment the door opened, the mood shifted.
Arun stepped in—posture slightly slouched, fatigue etched into his sharp features. Without a word, he sank into the seat beside them and exhaled deeply.
Annaya crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Ah… someone doesn't look happy even after seeing his girlfriend. At least greet properly."
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank your men for this morning."
"No gratitude for me? I'm the one cleaning up after you," she shot back, half teasing.
Ayan frowned faintly, his gaze flicking between them.
He could feel the weight of a conversation he wasn't meant to hear. And, as always, he stayed silent—choosing the routine of not asking.
Arun's mind, however, wasn't still.
He straightened, masking the heaviness in his voice. "We should go home."
Ayan nodded quietly and followed.
---
[Then—Parking Lot]
Under the cool glow of the parking lot lights, Ayan offered Annaya a polite farewell before sliding into the car.
Arun stayed behind.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the city's hum in the background.
"It's not safe to take him everywhere," Arun said at last, voice low. "But leaving him home without Papa… isn't safe either."
Annaya's brow furrowed. "My place isn't safe for him either. There are guns everywhere."
"Should we send him back?" The question left Arun's lips with urgency.
Her eyes sharpened instantly. "Are you heartless? He finally started smiling again."
The words hit him hard. His breath caught, gaze lowering as the war inside him deepened.
"But his life is more important than anything else," he whispered. "I don't want to lose him too."
Her anger softened at the fear in his voice.
She stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "There's a place we can keep him safe. But you have to be brave enough to choose it."
His eyes locked on hers. Reason urged him toward safety. Emotion begged him to keep Ayan close.
Could he make that choice?