The music pulsed low and steady like a heartbeat, lights flickering in hues of violet and gold as laughter and clinking glasses filled the pub. With Tara gone for the night, the three men remained—Dev already lost in the shadows with a brunette who'd barely spoken five words before whisking him off. That left Kiaan and Rehaan, both slightly buzzed, grinning, and settled into a plush booth near the edge of the dance floor. Kiaan leaned back lazily, his blue shirt collar slightly loose, revealing the pale stretch of his neck, the delicate dip where his Adam's apple shifted with every laugh. His head lolled back for a moment from the rush of a joke Rehaan had cracked, and unknowingly, he became the center of attention. A group of girls by the bar had already been sneaking glances since he walked in—there was something boyishly raw and painfully attractive about him. His soft, pink lips, flushed cheeks, and slightly messy hair that fell carelessly over his forehead made him seem untouched by the chaos of the world—an illusion they couldn't look away from.
"Rehaan!" Kiaan laughed, blinking at the ticklish touch on his throat as Rehaan, tipsy and smirking, had reached out and traced a single finger down his Adam's apple. "What the hell are you doing?" Kiaan chuckled, pushing his friend's hand away but still laughing, cheeks pinking deeper now. "You've gone crazy with that drink, haven't you?"
Rehaan's dark eyes twinkled, but there was a flicker of something unreadable—something neither teasing nor entirely innocent. "Just proving a point," he said smoothly, glancing briefly at the girls whose eyes were now practically glued to Kiaan. "You really don't see how they look at you, do you?"
"What?" Kiaan blinked, sipping his drink. "They're probably looking at the guy beside me."
Rehaan smirked and leaned in just a little, his voice a low hum, "Nah, they're not. You've got that pretty-boy chaos look going on. And tonight, you're glowing like a goddamn halo in a devil's den."
Unbeknownst to them, from the private VIP lounge above, Rex Malhotra stood behind a glass barrier, whiskey in hand, eyes narrowed in cool observation. The glow of the neon lights danced in his dark
________________________________________
The pub was glowing in hues of amber and crimson, laughter and music mixing in the air like smoke. It was salary day, and the mood was lighter than usual. Glasses clinked, feet tapped to the beat, and the world outside—of danger, crime, and secrets—felt miles away for once. Tara had left early, smiling softly as she reminded them, "Family duties call, boys. Don't burn the place down." Dev, as expected, had already disappeared with a girl who'd been circling him since they walked in—another one-night story in the making.
Now only Rehaan and Kiaan remained in the booth near the dance floor, still sipping from their half-finished drinks, flushed from laughter and relaxed from the high of the night. Kiaan leaned back, stretching with a soft groan, his head falling onto the couch cushion, exposing the pale curve of his neck. His white shirt collar was a little loose, revealing the sharp rise of his Adam's apple, the soft skin there gleaming under the pub lights.
Girls from across the bar whispered, eyes locked on him. A few nudged each other, giggling over their drinks. "Who's that cutie?" one murmured. "That neck... he's got the boyish charm and the mystery," another added.
Rehaan, tipsy but sharp-eyed even in his haze, caught the sudden shift in energy. He turned and followed their gaze, only to realize they were all staring at Kiaan. A crooked smile tugged at his lips as he swirled the drink in his hand and shifted closer. With a teasing grin, he draped an arm over Kiaan's shoulder like it was second nature. "You've become quite the crowd favorite tonight, haven't you?" he said, voice low, laced with amusement.
Kiaan, already giggling from a story Rehaan had just told, barely reacted—until he felt Rehaan's finger brush lightly along his Adam's apple. It was brief, playful, but precise—sending a strange shiver through Kiaan.
"Aah, hey!" Kiaan yelped, laughing, and swatted Rehaan's hand. "You idiot—it tickles, what are you doing? Going crazy or what?"
Rehaan just smirked, eyes glinting. "Just checking if you were real," he said coolly. "Because the way these girls are staring at you, I was starting to wonder if you were some kind of fantasy poster boy."
Up in the VIP lounge, behind a wall of tinted glass and luxury, Rex watched every second. Seated with a drink untouched in his hand, his sharp eyes flicked between the laughter below and the security feed on his phone. Every movement—Kiaan's exposed neck, Rehaan's teasing touch, the girls' fascination—it was all recorded in his mind. But it wasn't jealousy. It was analysis. Curiosity. Obsession.
"Everyone wants a piece of you, Agent Verma," Rex muttered under his breath, his voice a dark promise. "But none of them know you like I will."
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The night deepened into a sleepy hum, the pub thinning out as laughter faded into soft murmurs and drunken embraces. The air outside held a crisp bite, hinting that dawn wasn't far. Inside, under the dim golden lights, Kiaan, clearly more drunk than he intended to be, slumped slightly against Rehaan's chest, his body warm from the alcohol and exhaustion. His words were slurred and playful as he mumbled something barely coherent—something about a cat wearing sunglasses and arresting people for stealing noodles.
Rehaan burst into laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh damn, you're gone," he grinned, holding Kiaan upright with both arms now. Kiaan chuckled too, his face flushed, eyes half-lidded, head lolling against Rehaan's shoulder like a sleepy child. The contrast between Kiaan's sharp, calculating persona at HQ and this unguarded version was startling… even endearing.
"I swear…" Rehaan looked down at him. "If I send you home like this, your lovely stepmother will probably murder you in your sleep."
Kiaan muttered something that sounded like "She already tries," and hiccupped, earning another laugh from Rehaan.
"Alright, that's it," Rehaan said, decisive now. "You're staying at my place tonight. No arguments."
Somewhere far above them, Rex leaned forward slowly in his private lounge chair, watching the scene unfold on the live feed streaming straight from Kiaan's hacked phone camera. The high-powered mic, still active, picked up every word. Every chuckle. Every drunk mumble.
Rex's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening just slightly as he watched Kiaan's head rest against Rehaan's chest, watched how comfortably he leaned, how openly Rehaan touched him. There was no anger in Rex's gaze—no, it was something quieter. Darker. Calculated. He studied their chemistry like a chessboard.
So he's staying the night. At his place.
Interesting.
He picked up his phone and opened a private channel, typing with quick precision:
> "Rehaan's address. Surveillance eyes on tonight. I want the layout. And I want ears in the bedroom."
The message sent, encrypted and gone in seconds.
Back downstairs, Rehaan was already helping Kiaan up, slinging his arm around his shoulder. "Let's go, drunk baby genius," he teased. "I'll get you a toothbrush and a bucket."
"Y're a good friend," Kiaan murmured, barely coherent now. "Like… goldfish friend. Big loyalty."
Rehaan snorted. "Thanks, I think?"
As they exited the pub into the cool night air, Rex stood silently, the reflection of the street lights flickering across his glass. He watched them leave together, the way Kiaan leaned into Rehaan without hesitation, and the slow pull of something unreadable stirred beneath his calm exterior.
No one gets too close. Not without me knowing.
_______________________________________
The dark screen of Rex's laptop glowed faintly as Aarav's message flashed in.
> Aarav Mehra:
"Location locked. Rehaan's apartment – flat 14B, top floor, South Kensington. No internal surveillance in the bedroom. No CCTVs installed. Too clean.
We can't see anything inside the room—but Kiaan's phone voice system is still active. We'll hear everything. I've turned the mic sensitivity up."
Rex's fingers tightened around the glass of whiskey in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light of the screen. His expression remained cold, unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
"No visuals…" he murmured, almost to himself. "But sound is enough."
He set the glass down and leaned forward, the live audio feed from Kiaan's phone already playing softly through his high-security earpiece.
From the background noise, Rex could hear the subtle jingle of keys, the click of a lock being turned, and a muffled thump—probably Kiaan stumbling inside. The echo of Rehaan's voice followed, warm, amused.
> "Alright, shoes off first. God, you're heavy when drunk."
> "I'm not drunk… You're drunk," Kiaan's sleepy voice mumbled through the mic, almost like a pout.
> "Sure, buddy. Let me get you some water and—hey, don't crash there, that's my guitar stand!"
There was a scuffle of movement, some laughter, then the soft creak of a bed as Kiaan clearly collapsed onto it.
Rex sat motionless. Listening.
To the casual exchange of words. The soft patter of their interaction. The way Kiaan's voice turned into a whisper as he murmured something only Rehaan could hear… but the mic picked up just enough.
> "Why are you so warm…? You're like… a pillow with heartbeat…"
Rehaan laughed.
> "That's the most awkward compliment I've ever received, but I'll take it."
A pause.
> "Just sleep. I'll stay in the chair."
> "No," Kiaan murmured, voice thick with sleep. "Don't go… Stay…"
And then—silence. Just the sound of breathing. Two sets. One fast. One calm.
Rex's eyes burned into the screen. Every breath, every word—they were recorded, filed, absorbed into his ever-expanding knowledge of Kiaan Varma. He didn't speak. He didn't flinch. But there was a storm brewing behind those eyes.
Aarav's next message pinged quietly.
> Aarav Mehra:
"Want me to run a bug trace in Rehaan's apartment tomorrow? Maybe slip a drone inside?"
Rex typed back instantly.
> "No. Let them sleep tonight. Let him trust."
He leaned back, finally blinking. His mind, however, was whirring with layers upon layers of strategy.
> "But tomorrow… we tighten the net."
He reached for his glass again, swirling the liquid slowly.
They could keep Kiaan warm.
But only Rex knew how to burn.