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I return his gaze, refusing to flinch, even as I feel the burn of his intense gaze sweeping over me. When his gaze suddenly falls on my lips, I can’t stop the involuntary parting of my mouth, the air suddenly thick between us. His stare lingers there, heavy and dark, making my skin flush. For a brief moment, he looks like he’s fighting against every impulse not to close that gap, not to give in to whatever’s simmering beneath his anger.

Then, he finally drags his gaze back up to meet mine, a flash of irritation masking his desire.

“Why are you testing my patience so much?” he asks, frustrated. “You are making it so much more harder than it already is to keep you safe, Simran. I have enough on my plate without you throwing tantrums and defying every safety measure I put in place.”

“You can’t just lock me up and expect me to handle my business from here. I need to work,” I scoff, straightening my shoulders, refusing to back down.

“Oh, really?” he snaps, cutting me off. “I allowed you to go to your boutique and conduct your business as usual, and what did you do? You ignored every protocol, risked your life, and turned my day into a nightmare. I don’t trust you with your own safety anymore, Simran. I want you safe and alive.”

His words hit me with an unexpected force. Safe and alive.

“For Veer,” he adds, the sting in his words, undeniable.

My stomach twists painfully.

“For only Veer?” I manage to ask. I know the answer, but I ask anyway, hoping for something—anything—that shows he cares beyond that.

Vishnu’s grip on my arm loosens, and though he doesn’t reply, his silence says more than any words could. And it cuts deep, a harsh reminder of the boundaries he’s set between us.

“Go back to the apartment, Simran, and forget about leaving today.” His voice hardens.

A surge of anger wells up inside me.

“I’m not going to sit at home doing nothing. I can’t, and I won’t. I’m going to the boutique, but I’ll take every precaution, follow all the rules.” I step back, giving him a defiant look. “For Veer,” I add pointedly, turning to leave.

But before I can take a single step, Vishnu grabs my wrist again and pulls me towards the couch, gesturing to me to sit as he turns the laptop screen in my direction. There on the screen is the image of a car—a familiar black sedan. The sight of it sends a chill down my spine.

“Do you recognise this car?” he asks, his tone no longer harsh but edged with something darker.

My blood runs cold as I realise it’s the same type of car that followed me on the night of the awards event.

Vishnu’s gaze pierces mine, as if assessing my reaction.

“That’s what I’ve been working on for the past three days, Simran. We’ve managed to track this car by using the past footage of the CCTV recordings from your boutique and the café you visit daily. It’s been following you for three months. We ran the number plate. This car belongs to a man named Jack Thompson. Does that name ring a bell?”

I think hard, then shake my head. “No... I don’t know anyone by that name.”

He continues, his face tense.

“Jack Thompson died six months ago. No family, no close connections. His house has been locked up for months. But when we searched it, we found photos. Photos of you. Spanning the last three months.”

My jaw drops, and the fear that takes hold of me is almost paralysing. He clicks to another photo on the screen—a close-up of me entering my boutique, another of me laughing with friends at the café. I can feel myself trembling as I stare at the photos.

“Alongside the photos, we found bullets, two guns, and a stash of drugs in that house,” he says, his voice low. “If you don’t know this man, then someone else is using his identity to track you. Whoever it is, he’s dangerous, as he’s been following you closely for months.”

I swallow hard, my hands shaking as I try to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Vishnu fists his fingers as if holding himself from reaching out and soothing my fear.

“This is real, Simran. This is why I can’t let you wander off alone. I need you to understand the seriousness of this. Stay home until we get to the root of whoever’s behind this.”

Vishnu’s eyes remain fixed on the screen as he continues.

“Now that we’ve identified the car and traced its license plate, finding this man should be straightforward. The next time he chases you, he’ll be caught. He may have evaded us so far, but he won’t be able to hide much longer.”

A sense of relief flutters in my chest, but the tension doesn’t leave my shoulders completely. I know that whoever is behind this isn’t going to back down easily, and looking at Vishnu, I know he seems ready for the fight.

The hiss of a spray can echoes through the air in a dimly lit, isolated garage, far from the bustling streets of New York City. A tall man, wearing a long black coat, moves with a slow, calculated grace as he coats the sleek black sedan in layers of stark white paint. He whistles a haunting tune as he sprays, a melody laced with sorrow and something darker.

Within minutes, the glossy black finish of the car gradually disappears, replaced by a cold, pristine white. He pauses occasionally, inspecting his work, making sure every inch of the car is perfectly covered, every detail transformed to conceal its former appearance.