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“If you respect her so much, then why did I find these things in your possession?”

“Because someone is clearly trying to frame me!” Zane yells in frustration.

Simran places a hand on my arm, her voice softer now. “Vishnu… maybe he’s telling the truth.”

I shake my head, unable to let go of my suspicion.

“Prove it,” I challenge, my voice hard as steel. “Show me proof that your car was stolen.”

Zane’s face twists in anger as he quickly pulls out his phone, his fingers jabbing at the screen before shoving it in my face. “Here’s the police complaint. Call Sergeant Mike O’Malley, who returned my car three days ago. He’ll confirm everything.”

I nod to Abhay, who steps aside to make the call. Meanwhile, I fix Zane with a penetrating stare.

“Where were you on the 16th, between 8:30 and 9:30 AM? That’s when someone wearing a cap with the letter ‘Z’ delivered that package to Simran’s boutique.”

Zane glares at me, his jaw clenched.

“I was in my office with my Australian client,” he fires back. “From 7:30 to 10:30 AM. And before you accuse me again, I have CCTV footage to prove it.”

My jaw tightens as he pulls out his phone again and put it on speaker.

“Sandra, I need the CCTV footage from the 16th between 7:30 and 10:30 AM. Have security send it to my phone immediately.”

“Right away, Mr. Miller,” Sandra, probably his secretary, responds.

A tense silence hangs in the air as we wait. Abhay returns, his expression telling me what I don’t want to hear.

“Sergeant O’Malley confirmed everything. The car was reported stolen and recovered four days ago on the outskirts of Manhattan, damaged, just as Zane described. They handed it back to him just three days ago.”

I watch Zane’s shoulders sag with relief, but my mind is still racing. Have we been played? Did someone want us to suspect Zane, using his possessions to deliberately frame him? Which means the real masked man is still out there, watching, lurking even now?

Just then, a ping from Zane’s phone draws our attention. He opens the email and shows me the footage, complete with date and time stamps. Through the glass walls of his office, there he is, clear as day, sitting with his client during the exact time the package was delivered.

“Abhay,” I order, “take our men to his company. Verify this footage personally. Make sure it hasn’t been fabricated.”

“I can’t believe this,” Zane explodes, wiping the blood from his nose. “Simran, I’ve tolerated this because of our long standing friendship, but this is unacceptable. Your husband’s men broke into my home! If it weren’t for you, I’d have filed a complaint against Vishnu and his men for breaking into my home and accusing me of crimes I didn’t commit.”

Simran steps forward, her face stricken, guilt pooling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zane. This shouldn’t have happened. I didn’t know—”

“Damn right, it shouldn’t have,” he snarls, cutting her off. “And let me make one thing clear—I haven’t done anything that Vishnu is accusing me of. Whatever he’s decided in his head about me is completely baseless. I’ve had enough of this nonsense, Simran.”

Her hands tremble as she reaches out as if to placate him. “Zane, please—”

“No,” he cuts her off coldly. “I’m done. I can’t work with you anymore, Simran. Not after this. Your husband has crossed too many lines, and I’m not going to stand by and let this continue. Consider our professional relationship over.”

Simran’s shoulders sag as his words sink in. “Zane, I—”

“There’s nothing more to say,” he interrupts, his voice final.

I see the hurt flash across Simran’s face. I can practically feel her anger, now directed at me, but I’m beyond caring.

“Don’t play the victim here,” I say sharply. “Until we have concrete answers, you’re not off the hook. If anything you’ve said turns out to be a lie, I’ll make sure you regret it. I’m Vishnu Walia. I’ll dig up the truth even if I have to drag your family into this mess.”

The change in Zane is instantaneous and savage. His face flushes dark red, his nostrils flaring as he steps toward me with such menace that Abhay quickly moves in to intervene.

“Don’t you dare, Walia,” he growls. His sudden, jerky reaction catches me off guard.

“Enough, Vishnu!” Simran shouts, stepping between us. “You’ve insulted him enough. Let it go!”