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I practically leap towards the laptop, my eyes scanning the footage, tracking her every move.

The footage shows Simran slipping out of the building five minutes ago.Alone. She’s heading down the street. No guards. No protection. Just her.

Relief washes over me that she isn’t in immediate danger, but it is soon replaced by an unadulterated fury. She’s walking around completely vulnerable, coolly defying all the protocols I’ve set to keep her safe. She knows damn well there’s a threat, knows what’s at stake. Still, she’s out there on her own, risking everything.What the hell is she thinking?

“Abhay, find her!” I snap through the phone. “Search every block in the vicinity. I’m coming there.”

I storm out of the apartment, my blood boiling. Every step I take feels like I’m dragging a freight train of fury behind me. I stop at the elevator just long enough to bark orders at the guards stationed there to keep an eye on Veer, before stabbing the elevator button repeatedly, as if sheer force could make it arrive faster.

I try calling Simran’s number, muttering a curse when it goes unanswered.

“Simran’s phone is still in her cabin. She left it behind,” Abhay’s voice comes through the line again.

“Damn it!” I slam my fist against the elevator wall as I step inside, my mind already racing with possibilities of where Simran could have gone, of what could happen to her. My gut clenches as I imagine the worst.

The elevator doors slide open to the parking level, and I stride toward my Ford F-150 Raptor—a beast of a machine, all raw power and muscle, perfect for someone my size, and exactly what I need right now. I throw myself into the driver’s seat and rev the engine, its deep roar echoing my own fury. I need to get to her. Now!

The wheels screech as I hit the accelerator, my foot heavy on the pedal as I tear through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic. Abhay is still on the call, but none of his updates are positive yet.

“We’re checking every block,” he informs me. “She couldn’t have gone far.”

But I barely hear him.

My hands grip the steering wheel tighter, and the panic inside me mounts.

This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this kind of terror.

Six years ago, I was at a public event with my father, Pratap Walia.

I was his personal bodyguard back then, keeping him safe from the countless threats that came with being a politician. It was a crowded event, and suddenly, out of nowhere, a deafening crack of a bullet echoed through the air.

The bullet missed my father by inches, hitting the wall behind him instead. I remember the chaos, the screaming, the surge of anger and adrenaline as I spotted the sniper in the adjacent building.

“Target at two o’clock!” I’d shouted to my team, my eyes locked on the shooter.

But it was too late. I saw the glint of the scope, the subtle shift in his position, and I knew. He had pulled the trigger again. In that split second, there was only one choice. I lunged forward, my body becoming a shield between the bullet and my father.

But now, as I tear through the streets, trying to find Simran, the same cold, gut-wrenching fear courses through me. The scar on my shoulder throbs with the memory, but the fear I felt at that time pales in comparison to what I’m feeling now. Still, that was different. Then, I was in control. I could act. I could protect. But now? Simran is out there somewhere, alone, vulnerable, and I have no idea where to find her.

I can’t lose her. Not now, not ever. And certainly not because she’s too damn stubborn to follow my orders.

My hands clench the steering wheel tighter as I take a sharp turn, the truck’s tyres squealing in protest. Every second she’s out there alone is another second something horrible could happen to her.

“Vishnu!” Abhay’s voice cuts through my spiralling thoughts. “One of our men has spotted her heading toward Carlton Street.”

I immediately change direction, the truck’s powerful engine responding instantly to my command. My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts, but I barely notice. All I can think about is finding her, getting her to safety, and then... Then, we’re going to have a serious conversation about what she’s done.

The rage building inside me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s not just anger at her recklessness—it’s fear, raw and primal, mixed with something else I’m not ready to name. Something that makes this fear so much worse than what I felt when I took that bullet for my father.

Because this isn’t just about duty or responsibility anymore. This is about Simran, and the thought of anything happening to her makes my blood run cold. I’m not just afraid of failing to protect her—I’m afraid of losing her.

I slam my fist against the steering wheel.Damn her stubbornness.She has no idea what she’s putting me through.

“She’s not in Block 42 or 43,” Abhay’s tense voice comes through the line. “That leaves us with two options: Block 57 and Block 60.”

My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I veer into the traffic.

“I’m five minutes away from Block 60,” I reply.