Page 142 of Wasted Grace

I watch Greesha wince subtly. My heart sinks at her reaction to even someonementioningthe shooting.God!I’ve been willfully blind.

“Because Mehul already distrusts me,” Advik tells him, shrugging lightly. “He probably already thinks I’m cooking something up since I got taken off the project.”

“I can confirm that,” I add.

Dev nods thoughtfully. “I get that... but... wouldn’t it make sense ifIdo it? Because I’m the one who knows every single breach of our systems? Advik hasn’t had access for more than a month.”

I stiffen. Greesha remains silent but I catch the flicker in her jaw. Dev’s not wrong. But this is exactly why I designed the plan the way I did. Because baiting a lion with a half-eaten steak is safer for us than offering him the fresh one.

Risking Dev opens up too many complications—both personal and mission-critical. He’s still under Mehul’s radar,sure, but hasn’t been labeled athreatyet.

Advik, though? He’s already declared himself by siding with the woman who was once his bodyguard. The same woman he believes plotted Mehul’s assassination early on.

“Listen...” Advik says carefully. “I understand the risks. But Dev... you’ll be forced to leak pertinent information about Mehul’s attacks. That’s a bigger target on your back. Whileme? I will only share suspicious activity that isn’t fully backed by evidence. Like... the Sunrise Home issues. Khushi Joshi case. Enough to shake up Mehul.”

“And we needsolid evidenceof his ties with the trafficking rings,” I add. “With what we have... we can’t properly pin it on him. Those rings don’t have a slick of his name on them... yet.With his attack on Madani Academy, we can finally indict him. Tie up the loose ends.”

Advik nods solemnly. Dev mirrors the gesture.

And in that moment, I realize this plan—this so-called genius strategy—is ripping me apart.

Because somewhere, I thought doing the right thing would get me closer to Greesha.

Now? It’s finally pushed her away.

Fuck it.

I level Advik with a hardened gaze. “Tomorrow. 11 a.m. Recycle Café. Take your own car. I’ll text you the route to follow.”

I rise from the couch and leave without another word.

The loss of Greesha hurts.

But what’s worse—what’s gutting me from the inside out—isn’t just losing her. It’s the unraveling ofme.

Because who the hell even knows me anymore?

Who sees past the calculated moves, the drive for justice, the missions, the constant thirst for adrenaline?

Maybe no one ever did. Maybe I never let them.

But maybe...

I don’t understand myself anymore either.

Because I’ve boxed myself into these neat, sharp categories. Soldier. Strategist. Savior.

And right now?

I feel like a ghost inside them.

A man who lost two women—one who he thought didn’t understand him. One who did, but didn’t find him enough.

And it pulls the last thread of who I thought I was.

FORTY-ONE

Greesha