It was night.

The rain had stopped, but the world still wore its scent. A heady mix of wet earth, damp wood, and blooming wild grass lingered in the cool breeze.

The trees stood tall and glistening under the faint moonlight, their leaves dripping rhythmically — one drop at a time, as if nature herself was counting breaths.

Puddles dotted the uneven mud path outside Maya’s small forest-side home, catching dim reflections of shifting clouds above.

The air was still. Too still.

No vehicles passed. No dogs barked. The crickets had gone quiet, and even the wind seemed to whisper rather than howl. The forest had gone into a hush — like it, too, sensed someone’s pain and dared not disturb it.

Inside, Maya stood at the window, gripping the cold, iron bars with both hands as she gazed up at the sky.

The grey clouds drifted slowly, their bellies swollen with leftover rain, veiling the moon in a silvery haze. The world looked calm. Too calm. As if mocking the storm still raging inside her.

She hadn’t moved in over twenty minutes.

The silence in the house pressed against her skin like a weight. Her shirt stuck lightly to her back, damp from the sweat of anxiety more than heat.

Her shoulders trembled occasionally — not from cold, but from the silent sobs she had swallowed all evening.

The scenes from the boardroom flickered behind her eyes like a cursed slideshow — the glitch, the horrific images flashing across the screen, the collective gasp, the shame, the accusation, the helplessness.

And above all, Ajit's voice — calm, composed, but cutting.

She closed her eyes tightly as another tear slipped down her cheek. Her throat ached from holding it all in.

Her body was exhausted from the fight to keep herself together, but she hadn’t eaten anything since the rushed lunch in the office, her appetite consumed by the weight of the day’s events.

Just a few minutes ago, her phone had rung.

Prachi.

Her sunshine in a world of shadows.

Maya had wiped her face hurriedly and cleared her throat before picking up. Prachi's voice was chirpy, full of youthful energy even from miles away.

She talked about how the power had gone out in the school during the rain, how she and the younger kids lit candles and told ghost stories until the lights returned.

She giggled while narrating a moment when a kid screamed after seeing their own shadow on the wall.

Maya had smiled. Or at least tried to. She had laughed at the right parts, hummed in agreement, even teased Prachi gently — all while digging her nails into her own palm to hold herself together.

Not once did she let it slip.

Not once did she tell Prachi that the job she had clung to like a lifeline had just slipped away, unjustly — suspended,  her scarred face once again turned into a cruel spectacle.

She couldn't tell her. Not tonight. Not when Prachi’s voice sounded so light, so free.

So Maya had ended the call with a

“Take care, silly girl,” and a broken smile, before placing the phone face-down on the nearby table.

Now, she stood once more in the quiet dark, staring out at the clouds that refused to move quickly — just like time, which tonight, felt frozen.

Her fingers slowly loosened around the cold bars.

Her knees gave way.

With a soft thud that no one heard, Maya sank to the floor beside the window.

Her back leaned against the wall, her legs folded loosely, and her head dropped forward, strands of damp hair clinging to her tear-streaked face.

The breeze still floated in, cool and damp, brushing her cheeks like a ghost of comfort. But it couldn't reach the ache inside her.

She didn’t cry loudly.

She hadn’t made a sound all day.

Her eyes simply overflowed — again and again — while her face stayed blank, tired of reacting, exhausted from staying strong.

Her stomach growled faintly, a hollow protest she ignored. She hadn't eaten. There was no strength left to move. No reason strong enough to stand up.

She clutched her knees to her chest, breathing in slow, uneven intervals. The wooden floor was hard beneath her, cold against her thighs, but she didn’t care.

At some point, her tears quieted. Her breath evened out. And her exhausted body surrendered to sleep — not the peaceful kind, but the kind where sorrow drags you into unconsciousness just to give your soul a break.

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The house lay swallowed in silence, wrapped in the scent of post-rain earth and the soft rustle of wind through the forest trees.

The clouds above parted just enough to let in a pale moonlight, falling in broken beams through the iron-barred window.

And there she was.

Maya.

Lying on the floor — not on the bed,  — but the cold, hard floor. Her white shirt clung to her like defeat, her trousers wrinkled and tight from a day that broke her in silence. She hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t changed.

And he had seen it all.

She had no idea he was there. Watching. Breathing her in from the shadows.

She didn’t know someone existed whose love for her had long passed the threshold of sanity.

Prashant.

He stepped in, the door whispering open behind him. The room stayed still — except for her, breathing lightly in sleep. But her brows were furrowed even in rest, as if her pain hadn’t left her even in dreams.

He knelt beside her, his fingers curling slightly as he took her in. His Maya.

Not the world’s.

Not anyone else's.

Only His.

He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her into his chest. Her warmth against him made his breath catch.

Her scent — rain, faint perfume, and exhaustion — seeped into his skin like an addiction. She fit in his hold too perfectly.

As he carried her, something dark twisted inside him — a vow, an obsession.

He would burn the world for her.

Tear skin from bone for anyone who dared to hurt her again.

He laid her on the bed, gently, reverently — like a worshipper laying down a goddess in exile. His eyes lingered. Her lips were slightly parted. Her lashes fluttered with the echoes of silent tears.

He leaned closer. His voice was barely a whisper in the air.

"You’re mine, Maya. You just don’t know it yet."

Then, he kissed her.

A soft brush on her forehead — not sweet, but possessive.

One on her eyelids — claiming even her dreams.

And then her nose — because even the most delicate places on her face belonged to him.

She didn’t stir. But that didn’t matter. She didn’t need to see him tonight.

Not yet.

His eyes drifted downward. Her trousers were too tight — how long had she worn them like this? How long had she suffered in silence?

He unhooked the clasp, fingers slow, jaw tight. Then slid the zipper down with practiced care. Not to see — just to ease. Just so she could breathe.

His palm hovered at her waist for a second too long.

Next, he undid the top buttons of her shirt — one, two, three — until her collarbone peeked through. Vulnerable. Breakable. Beautiful.

Mine.

He whispered nothing more, but the energy in the room shifted — thick with a kind of silent danger. A man who doesn’t need consent to love, only an excuse to destroy.

Pulling the blanket over her, he tucked her in gently, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His gaze burned with something primal, something consuming.

He stood then, but not to leave. He stayed in the shadows. Watching her chest rise and fall. Etching the moment into memory.

She didn’t know him yet.

But she would.

And when she did,

there’d be no going back.

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Morning arrived quietly.

A soft golden light filtered in through the iron bars of the window, casting striped shadows across the room.

Birds chirped faintly in the distance, their melodies gentle against the stillness that lingered from the night before.

The forest outside was calm, fresh with the scent of wet leaves and damp earth.

Maya stirred.

Her lashes fluttered, eyes slowly opening as the ceiling above came into view. A few seconds passed before confusion etched onto her face. She blinked again, lifting her head slightly from the pillow.

The pillow?

Her brows drew together.

She was on the bed.

Not the floor where she remembered breaking down. She tried to piece the memory together — the window bars in her hand, her silent cries, the gnawing emptiness in her chest.

That was the last thing she remembered before sleep dragged her down like a stone in deep water.

But now... she was here. Tucked beneath the blanket. Her trousers loosened. A few buttons of her shirt undone, exposing the gentle line of her throat and collarbone.

Her hand moved instinctively, clutching the edges of the blanket tighter.

A chill ran down her spine.

Had she done this? Had she moved herself in her sleep?

No. She would have remembered that. She never slept this deeply — never so peacefully after a breakdown. Something felt off, too neat, too cared for.

There was a lingering scent in the room, unfamiliar and faint — almost like sandalwood and musk, but fading.

She sat up slowly, her heart beginning to race. Her eyes scanned the room, then settled on the window.

The bars were still fogged from her breath the night before. Nothing looked touched. Nothing looked disturbed.

And yet...

She knew.

Something had changed. Something — or someone — had been here.

Her hand drifted to her forehead, where her skin still felt slightly warm, as if kissed by heat that wasn't hers.

She swallowed hard.

No sign of a break-in. No doors left ajar. No footprints on the floor. Only that strange, unnerving sense of being watched.

She told herself it was exhaustion. Maybe she had moved in her sleep. Maybe her mind was still replaying yesterday’s trauma, messing with her perception.

But deep down, in the quietest part of her soul —

she felt it.

A presence.

A shadow.

An unseen pair of eyes that had looked at her not with kindness… but obsession.

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The room buzzed faintly with the low hum of machines, but it was the tension that made the air suffocating. Screens lined the wall — each showing live feeds from PSR’s many corridors and restricted zones.

But one screen was black.

Ajit stood in front of it like a storm about to break. His silhouette was sharp, predatory — barely human in that moment. His eyes locked onto the screen with a stillness more terrifying than rage.

Kavin stood beside him, equally disturbed. A tech assistant hovered nervously behind them.

“Playback. Hallway outside Conference Room 3,” Ajit commanded, voice cold and deathly calm.

The footage rewound. Time ticks backward. The scene flickers — employees walking, a janitor wheeling a trolley… then—

Darkness.

The screen went black. Cleanly. Silently.

“Pause,” Ajit said.

“Sir,” the technician gulped. “This camera… was shut off manually. No system error. No glitch. Someone disabled it. Clean code execution.”

Ajit’s fingers twitched slightly at his side.

“How long?”

“Five hours. From 11:56 AM to 4:47 PM.”

Five hours. The exact duration of the Singhania presentation. The exact window in which Maya’s career was ripped apart.

Kavin whispered, “Someone planned it. Someone knew exactly when to strike.”

Ajit didn’t answer. His mind was racing—cold calculations, hot fury. This wasn’t random. This was a hit. A precise, cruel blow meant to break Maya in the most public, humiliating way.

And someone had covered their tracks. Deliberately.

“She didn’t even defend herself…” Kavin murmured under his breath.

Ajit’s jaw flexed.

He could still see the quiet tears in her eyes, the way she’d lowered her gaze, too proud to beg — too shattered to speak.

He turned to the technician with a sudden snap in his voice:

“Pull every entry log. Every retinal scan, every manual override access from that day. I want the names of every person who touched a goddamn switch in this building between 11 and 5.”

The tech stumbled to obey.

Ajit looked to Kavin — his expression unreadable but his eyes pure ice.

“Someone's playing a game.”

His lips twisted into a dark smirk.

“They forgot I play to finish it.”

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1 WEEK LATER.

A week had passed since Maya's suspension — seven long, bruising days of silence, solitude, and a storm she couldn’t escape.

The rains had paused, but the ground was still wet, the trees heavy with dew. Inside her quiet house nestled in the forest, Maya moved like a shadow — slow, muted, as if her body had finally begun to match the exhaustion in her heart.

She hadn't stepped out all week. Her white shirt from the day of the incident was now buried deep in the laundry basket, like a memory she didn’t want to face. Her eyes had sunk slightly; sleep had come in fragments, and food was still a reluctant guest.

But today was different.

A knock echoed softly against the wooden door.

She paused at the sink, wiping her hands on her kurta before walking toward the door, heart slightly wary. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Not here.

She opened the door slowly — and blinked.

Rachi stood there, drenched slightly from the morning mist, holding a tiffin box in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

Her smile was warm, disarming. “I brought halwa,” she said. “And no, you don’t get to say no. I’ll cry right here on your porch.”

Maya's lips twitched faintly — the first flicker of emotion in days.

“Rachi…” she whispered, a little stunned. “What are you doing here?”

Rachi stepped in, uninvited but welcome, slipping off her shoes like she belonged.

Rachi embraced Maya, her voice filled with regret.

"I'm sorry, Maya. I can't come to meet you often. There's just so much workload after the chaos with the Singhanias."

Maya, though clearly disappointed, gave her a soft smile.

"It's okay," she said gently.

But Rachi, never one to suppress her emotions, burst out with frustration.

"But this is not fair! You're not the one who did anything wrong with the pendrive, so why are you getting punished? If I ever find out who did this, I'll pray to God that the person slips in the bathroom and breaks his nose. And if that doesn't happen, I'll break his nose myself. What do you think?"

Her words tumbled out like an indignant child mourning the loss of her favorite chocolate, her concern for Maya blending with her fiery temper.

Maya chuckled, charmed by Rachi's passionate defense.

"Ooo my sweet child, now don’t be angry. At least spare that guy," she said playfully. "Since it’s your first time at my place, let me make some coffee for you. You stay here."

With a graceful nod, Maya walked into the kitchen. The soft clinking of utensils and the rich aroma of brewing coffee soon filled the cozy little home, wrapping it in a comforting warmth.

Meanwhile, Rachi wandered about the room, her eyes scanning every corner.

It was a small place, but there was an undeniable homely charm to it—something she deeply missed while living alone in her rented flat.

The silence and solitude in her own place often reminded her of the absence of family and childhood laughter.

As her gaze drifted, a photo frame caught her attention. Drawn in, she stepped closer and picked it up.

Her breath hitched. In the frame was a radiant woman with a dazzling smile, holding a cheerful child on her lap.

Rachi gasped softly.

"She’s beautiful…" she whispered to herself.

It was Maya—before the acid attack.

Her flawless face, glowing with joy, reflected a time untouched by pain.

Sitting on her lap was little Prachi, their smiles captured in a moment of pure happiness.

Rachi found herself staring at the picture, mesmerized. To her, Maya's strength had only amplified her beauty—something far beyond skin-deep.

Just then, Maya entered with a tray of coffee and cookies. She noticed Rachi standing still, staring at the frame, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Rachi, what happened?" Maya asked softly.

Startled, Rachi quickly wiped her eyes and turned toward her with a weak smile.

"This is Prachi, right?" she asked, her tone now lively.

"She’s so cute! When is she coming here?"

Maya’s face changed slightly, a quiet mix of emotions flickering in her eyes.

"Yes, that’s Prachi," she said with a sigh.

"But I haven’t told her what happened here. I don’t want her to come until everything is sorted."

Rachi fell silent for a moment. Then, shifting the tone, she asked seriously,

"Maya, do you know anything about Priya?"

Maya’s brows furrowed in concern.

"Why? Is something wrong with her?"

"Actually," Rachi began, "she hasn’t come to the office since the day you got suspended. It’s like she disappeared. I’ve called her so many times, but she never picks up. I even went to her flat before coming here. It was locked. Her neighbors said they haven’t seen her either."

Maya grew tense.

"That’s strange… What if we file a missing report? As far as I know, she doesn’t have any family."

"I think we should," Rachi agreed.

"At least when friends go missing, someone should notice, right?"

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The fans spun lazily above, creaking softly in the otherwise quiet police station.

A sleepy constable yawned behind the desk as Maya and Rachi entered, their expressions a mix of worry and determination.

They approached the officer on duty. A stout man with a thick mustache looked up from his newspaper.

"Yes? What brings you here?" he asked, folding the paper.

Rachi stepped forward.

"Sir, we want to file a missing person report."

The officer straightened slightly.

"Who’s missing?"

Maya answered,

"Her name is Priya Dey. She’s around 26 years old. She lives alone in her flat near Sunview Apartments. She hasn’t been answering calls or showing up to work for the past few days. Her neighbors haven’t seen her either."

The officer scribbled quickly. "Relation?"

"She’s our colleague. And a close friend," Maya added.

"Any fights, issues, threats, or anything suspicious lately?" the officer asked, his eyes flicking between them.

Maya and Rachi exchanged a glance.

"Actually," Rachi said slowly, "the day she went missing was the day Maya was suspended from work. Everything started with a pendrive—some confidential project data got leaked. Priya was... acting a bit odd that day. Nervous."

Maya placed a calming hand on Rachi’s arm.

"Please, sir. We’re just worried for her. We don’t know if this is connected or not, but she wouldn’t vanish like this without telling anyone. Something feels wrong."

The officer sighed and picked up a fresh form.

"Alright. We’ll file the report. Do you have her photo?"

Rachi pulled out her phone, showing a clear photo of Priya smiling, taken in the office cafeteria.

The officer noted the details.

"We’ll start by checking her last known location and pulling any nearby CCTV footage. But if this is related to your company’s case, things might get a little... complicated."

Maya stood firm. "Then let it get complicated. We just want her to be found."

And deep down, Maya knew this wasn’t just about a leak or a suspension.

It was something far more dangerous.

Far from over.

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𝙏𝙊 𝘽𝙀 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙐𝙀𝘿..