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I keep my tone matter-of-fact, hoping to diffuse her tension. “They’re your security guards from now on. They’ll be following you everywhere.”

Simran’s brow furrows, her eyes darting between me and the guards. “I’m not a VIP to warrant that level of security from the police here.”

“They’re not police,” I explain calmly. “They’remyassigned guards.”

“Your—” Her expression hardens. “This is too much, Vishnu. You’re crossing lines here. Maybe the threat isn’t even as serious as you think. I don’t need to be so heavily guarded all the time. You’re overthinking this.”

I feel my jaw clench, but I force myself to remain composed. “This is non-negotiable, Simran.”

I move to open the front passenger door for her, but I can see the frustration radiating off her in waves.

“Who’s driving?” she asks, her tone clipped.

“Me,” I reply, gesturing for her to get in.

Simran rolls her eyes—a familiar gesture that, even amid the tension, brings a flicker of warmth to my chest. She shuts the passenger door firmly and turns to face me, her chin lifted in defiance.

“If you’re going to have these guards protect me and follow me everywhere, then I get to drive the car,” she declares. “Andthat’snon-negotiable as well.”

Before I can object, she slips into the driver’s seat. I stand there for a moment, caught off guard by her assertiveness. It’s clear that unlike Meher and my father, whom I’ve protected in the past, Simran isn’t going to just comply with my authority. I’ve always had the final say in how to safeguard those under my protection, but with Simran, I realise I’ll have to rethink my strategy.

Suppressing a sigh, I move to the passenger side and get in. As I settle into the seat, I can’t help but feel a small sense of victory beneath my frustration. It’s a tiny step, but at least she’s allowing me to protect her in this small way.

As we begin to drive through the bustling streets of New York, my mind races back to the NYPD briefing. Simran’s statement echoes in my head—her fears of being stalked for over two weeks. The pieces of this puzzle don’t quite fit yet, but I’m determined to solve this mystery. A new strategy forms in my mind, a way to draw out this elusive shadow that’s been haunting her. It’s time to turn the hunter into the hunted.

“You’re going to keep your normal routine today,” I say, turning slightly to face her. “When you drive to the boutique, what do you usually do?”

Simran glances at me, surprise flickering across her face at my unexpected concession. “I usually grab a coffee and a croissant on my way to work,” she says after a moment. “From Bella’s Brew on 5th Avenue.”

I nod, pleased that she’s engaging. “Then that’s where we’re heading first.”

Confusion flashes across her face.

“But I already had breakfast at home today,” she protests. “Besides, I’m getting late.”

“Do as I say.” I fix her with a stern look.

She groans in frustration but ultimately complies, steering the car towards the next lane. Ten minutes later, we pull up outside Bella’s Brew. As we step out of the vehicle, my guards immediately fan out, securing the perimeter. Simran’s discomfort is back, evident in the way she glances around.

“This is a bit too much,” she hisses, her eyes darting nervously around. “This is my regular place. I come here all the time. The guards don’t need to come inside. I don’t want these people to suspect something’s wrong in my life and create a scene.”

I turn to her, my voice low and firm. “Just because this is your regular place doesn’t mean it’s safe. And a scene of your life was already created the moment you opened up about this threat to Meher - which I’m glad you did.”

Simran throws her hands up in frustration but doesn’t say anything more as she walks inside. I follow her, instructing the guards to remain outside. As she places her order, chatting amiably with a couple she seems to know, I quickly scan the café, making a mental note of the camera positions and assessing potential threats.

As I’m surveying the area, something catches my eye across the street. There’s a black car parked in the opposite lane. Even with the tinted windows, I can feel someone’s presence inside. It is positioned in a way that gives its occupant a clear view of the café’s entrance—a perfect vantage point to monitor everyone coming and going from this place.

I make a mental note to keep an eye on that vehicle to see if it follows us from here. Its presence here, coinciding with our visit to the café, feels far too perfectly timed to be a mere coincidence.

“Do you want something?” Simran’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

I shake my head, but she orders me a black coffee anyway. I don’t tell her about the suspicious car yet, not wanting to alarm her further, but I discreetly signal one of the guards outside to watch out for that vehicle.

When she returns, she hands me the coffee and a croissant.

“I assumed you needed one,” she says, gesturing to the coffee. “And the croissant’s for you too. I bet you haven’t eaten anything today.”

I’m taken aback by her perceptiveness. How did she pick up on that? Without a word, I accept the coffee and croissant, still processing her attentiveness as she checks her watch.