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“Why not here?” I counter, gesturing towards the apartment. “In the house?”

“I have work at the boutique. We can talk there.” Her reply is firm, almost dismissive.

I can tell by her expression that she’s ready for this conversation, but not here, in her house. I wonder why?

“Until this threat is sorted, I’m not letting you step out of the house,” I say firmly. “You’re safe here, Simran. Cancel all your appointments. Work can wait.”

A spark of anger flashes in her eyes.

“You can’t house arrest me like this,” she snaps. “First of all, don’t start dictating what I need to do about my business commitments. I haven’t given that right to anyone. I’m not going to follow your every command, Vishnu. Besides, the detective and sergeant handling this case haven’t told me to stay indoors and abandon all my work until they find that ‘Masked Man.’ They’ve asked me to continue my normal routine.”

I step closer, trying to keep my frustration at bay. “There’s a difference between them and me, Simran.”

She falls silent, her eyes locked on mine as I continue.

“For them, this is just another job, another duty to perform. But you and I both know that for me, this is more than just a duty.” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “And you know that when I offer my protection to someone, I don’t let them decide what I need to do to protect them. Just ask my father or Meher; they’ll tell you how strict I am about these things.”

As I move to enter the apartment again, Simran blocks my way, her palms pressing against my chest. A jolt of electricity courses through me at the contact, and I feel her hands trembling. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the outside world fades away. I want to grab her wrists and pull her closer, to tangle my fingers in her hair and mess up her perfectly done hairdo, and to tilt her face and kiss her passionately, but before I can fully process that thought, she quickly pulls her hands away as if burned.

“Look, Vishnu,” she says, her voice slightly unsteady. “Yesterday, I couldn’t work and had to stay at home. But today, I have to go to the boutique. I run a business here, and I can’t just sit at home until this is sorted. I need to keep things running. So please, let’s talk there. We can multitask.”

I take a few seconds to consider her earnest request, weighing the risks in my mind.

“What about your... your baby?” I ask, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

Nervousness flickers across her face. “Claire will look after him. She’s used to taking care of the house and my son when I’m at work.”

My heart constricts at the casual way she says‘my son,’another reminder of the life she’s built here.

“Alright,” I concede, pushing aside the tumult of emotions. “I’ll take you to the boutique. But we’re going to have a serious discussion about your security measures after that.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she replies before making her way out to the elevator.

Unable to resist, I steal glances at her. She walks with purpose, her heels clicking against the floor, exuding an air of confidence that feels both familiar and new. This is Simran in her element—a successful businesswoman, a New Yorker, and now a mother. She’s evolved from the woman I once knew in India, and yet, underneath it all, I can still see the glimpses of her old self.

In the elevator, the tension between us escalates. Simran keeps her gaze fixed on the changing floor numbers, while I struggle to find the right words to break the silence. But the words just don’t come.

As we exit the building, I instinctively scan our surroundings, my protective instincts on high alert. I guide her towards the sleek black vehicle I’ve rented, but Simran comes to an abrupt halt.

“I have my car...” she says, hesitating for a moment. She seems ready to say more, but I interject.

“One of my men has retrieved your car from the store parking lot where you left it that night. It’s now parked at its usual parking spot here.”

She looks both relieved and surprised. “Hold on. How do you know all this? About where I left my car and all? I haven’t even shared anything about that night with you,” she remarks. “Nor have you asked me anything either.”

“I got the details from the NYPD based on your statement yesterday,” I explain. “Unless there’s something you didn’t tell them.”

I pause, studying her reaction. “Are there any secrets you’re keeping from me, Simran?” I ask.

She tenses visibly before swallowing hard, and then composes herself. “I’ve told the NYPD everything necessary about the threat. Nothing was hidden.”

“Good,” I nod tersely, hoping she’s being truthful. “So, while I’m here, you’ll travel with me wherever you need to go,” I add.

She wants to argue but, for now, she accepts it and allows me to take the lead.

As we approach my car, I notice her eyes widen in shock again. Her gaze is fixed on the four armed guards standing vigilantly beside a car parked behind mine.

“Now who are they?” Simran demands, her voice a mix of confusion and irritation.