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Next Day – Night time

I hold Veer closer as he shifts slightly against my chest, his small body finally relaxed after days of fussiness. The gentle sway of my steps and the soft hum of my voice seem to be doing the trick tonight. Claire had offered to take him earlier, but there are some things—like holding my son as he drifts off to sleep—that I can’t hand over to anyone else, not even to our trusted nanny.

I hum softly, my steps slow and measured as I pace the living room, cradling him close. The faint sound of his quiet snores tells me he has finally fallen asleep. Without making a sound, I turn toward the nursery, but a slight movement from the bedroom catches my eye.

Peeking through the doorway, I can see Simran at her desk, her face softly illuminated by the glow of her laptop screen. She’s deep in conversation with a client over a video call, gesturing animatedly as she speaks, completely absorbed in her work. Even at this hour, the energy she exudes is magnetic.

I pause in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her. Memories of what happened at her boutique yesterday flood my mind. That black saree... God. The way it draped over her curves, the dangerous glint in her eyes when she challenged me—it was f*cking sexy. She knew exactly what she was doing, teasing me with promises of what our married life would bring. It was a preview of the life we were about to begin—a life I’m determined to make ours, no matter how much of a challenge she may prove to be.

Veer makes a soft whimpering sound against my shoulder, and I instinctively pat his back gently. He settles quickly, his breath evening out again. Looking between my sleeping son and the woman who will soon become my wife, something tightens in my chest.

Yesterday’s argument replays in my mind—the fire in her eyes, the determination in her jaw as she poked my chest, her blatant refusal to back down.“Your alpha male routine will not work on me all the time,”she had said. And then there were her promises—those delicious threats about sending me distracting photos during my meetings and making sure she was the only thing I could think of.

She didn’t need to wait for marriage to accomplish that.

And the kiss that followed... Damn. The way she matched my passion instantly, like she’d been holding back just as much as I had. Her body melted into mine, arching perfectly, and those little sounds she made when I touched her—it undid me completely. We’d both been fighting this overwhelming need between us for so long.

Two days.Just two more days until I’m legally Veer’s father, until Simran is officially my wife. But truth be told, I’ve already been hers since that night—even if I’m not ready to admit that out loud. As I think about her, I smirk to myself, imagining the chaos she’ll bring into the Walia family. She’s going to shake things up like no one else, no doubt about that. Devika follows Aksh’s lead without question, and even Meher’s rebellion against Ayaan stays within the limits.

But Simran? She’s pure fire. She’ll fight me on every decision and demand explanations for every command. She’ll turn our lives upside down. I mean, she already has… right from the moment she walked back into my life again with news of Veer’s existence. My perfectly controlled world hasn’t been the same since.

Veer makes another small sound, and I resume my gentle swaying, rocking him with practiced ease. With one last look at Simran, who is still engrossed in her call, I make my way to the nursery.

I carefully lay Veer in his crib, making sure he’s comfortable before stepping back. As I watch his peaceful face, it’s hard to believe how much my priorities have shifted. Everything I do now is for him, for Simran, and for our future together.

Once I’m certain he’s deeply asleep, I quietly head for the door. I need to check on the status of the investigation on the masked man. He has been silent for the past few days, but that silence feels ominous. I need answers, and I need them soon.

I cast one final glance toward the bedroom, where I can still hear Simran’s voice, and then head to the apartment across the hall.

I push open the door to find Abhay seated at the makeshift operations desk, scanning through some footage on a laptop, while two other team members whisper to each other in hushed tones.

“Latest updates?” I ask.

Abhay looks up from his laptop immediately, his expression saying he’s got something important.

“We’re monitoring Zane’s movements closely,” he says, gesturing toward the screens. “But to really confirm your suspicions about Zane, we need to dig deeper. Like search his house. We might find something there—a clue, a connection, anything that proves he’s behind the threat against Simran.”

“Then do it.” The words come out clipped, automatic. When it comes to Simran’s safety, I don’t hesitate.

“It’s not that simple,” Abhay sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “We’re in New York. We can’t just search someone’s private property without a cause or a warrant. And if we’re planning to do this covertly, there’s another issue.” He pulls up a few surveillance photos on his laptop. “We’ve been keeping track of Zane’s schedule, looking for a window when the property will be empty. But there’s a slight hitch.”

I lean against the desk, studying the images. “What’s the problem?”

“Zane’s apartment is fitted with top-of-the-line alarm systems. We’ve analysed them—they’re way beyond the standard security setup. These are far more sophisticated and with high-end advanced triggering mechanisms. Breaking in without setting them off would be extremely challenging.”

I frown. Why would a man like Zane need such advanced security? He’s a fashion consultant, not someone with enough assets to justify something like this. My suspicion deepens.

“Who installs that level of security… unless they have something to hide?” I mutter, half to myself.

Abhay, who overhears me, nods thoughtfully. “Exactly. That’s what I’ve been thinking. This won’t be just another search mission. Also, we don’t have access to the kind of specialised coding expertise to crack that system. Not here in New York, at least.”

I’m silent for a moment, my mind running through potential solutions. And then it clicks. I smirk and reach for my phone. “I know exactly who can help us.”

Pulling out my phone, I first check the baby monitor feed from Veer’s nursery. Thankfully, my son is still sleeping peacefully. I exhale in relief and then scroll through my contacts until I find the name I need: Krish Rajwanshi.

Ayaan’s best friend answers on the third ring.

“Well, well, well... Did someone dial the wrong number,” he drawls in amusement. “I mean, Vishnu Walia calling me? That’s not exactly an everyday occurrence, you see.”