The notification came at 2:11 AM.
Meher had been tossing in bed, shirt half off, face buried into the pillow. The room was dim, the only light the soft pulse of his phone screen flashing.
[Unknown Number]1 Video File: "Restricted_49th_floor_footage.mp4" (Length: 48:00:36)
He sat up instantly, sweat damp on his back. The moment he tapped the video, his screen went black for a second—then loaded the footage.
No audio. Just grainy grayscale video. Fixed angle. A sterile white room, somewhere inside Raisinghania Corp's 49th floor. The same room no one had ever seen and no one spoke of—not even Vedant.
Meher fast-forwarded a few hours in.
Same thing.
White walls. Stainless floor. One steel chair bolted to the ground in the center. A drain beneath it. One ceiling light flickering once every five hours. That's it.
No movement. No change.
For 48 straight hours.
Just waiting.
He stared for what felt like an hour, eyes glued to nothing. Then exhaustion pulled him under.
The next morning, he woke up to the smell of fried ghee and mustard seeds.
The kitchen was warm, sun filtering in through gauze curtains. Iravan was plating two steaming bowls of upma, the spice rich with curry leaves and ginger. He'd tied his curls back, sleeves rolled, apron tied over his vest.
"You're awake early," Iravan said without turning. "Or did you not sleep?"
Meher groaned, rubbing his eyes as he sat. "Barely. Had a weird dream… and someone sent me surveillance footage."
Iravan raised a brow. "At 2 AM?"
Meher shrugged. "Just a typical day in the afterlife."
Iravan chuckled dryly. "Eat. You'll need the energy. I've got my sculpture exhibition in Andheri today, and you've got the graveyard shift in corporate hell."
They ate in a companionable silence. Meher looked around again. Still strange. Still no trace of any feminine existence.
No mom. No sister. No aunts.Not in photos. Not in memories.
Only… men.
And not a single soul questioned it.
By mid-morning, Meher was standing guard in front of the executive wing of Raisinghania Corp. The boardroom was two floors above, but Agrasen's office was an entire quadrant unto itself. Designed like a museum wing—polished teak, velvet-lined benches, and the faint scent of oud and old leather.
Meher was stationed outside the main cabin door, posture perfect despite the low fever still buzzing beneath his skin.
He felt Vedant's presence before he saw him.
Click. Click.Polished boots stopped next to his.
Vedant stood tall—the same as in the novel, and yet more… tangible here. Grey hair pulled into a half-tie. Tan skin dusted with age lines at the corners of his eyes. Transparent irises like glass, reflecting everything and nothing.
"You look alive today," he said.
Meher smirked slightly. "Define alive."
"You didn't pass out in the corridor, so that's an improvement." Vedant's tone was flat but not unkind. "Fever?"
"Gone," Meher lied.
"Sit in the waiting room. You're not a mall cop." Vedant adjusted the gold-etched badge on Meher's shoulder. "Elite guard means presence. Not collapse."
Meher opened his mouth to protest, but before he could—
BANG.
The outer office doors burst open.
A blur of rich wine-colored silk, musky cologne, and aristocratic arrogance flew down the hallway like royalty late to his own coronation.
"AGRASEN!!!"
A tall, breathtaking man stormed through—shoulders wide, torso thick with gym-cut muscle, face obscenely beautiful, like a male model sculpted in ivory and sin.
Hair deep violet, sleek and tousled. Eyes glimmering mint green. Skin pale, glowing almost unnaturally.
Caustav Raisinghania.
The novel's main lead.
The stepbrother.
The murderer.
He didn't even acknowledge Meher or Vedant—just shoved the doors of Agrasen's office open like he owned the damn place.
Vedant moved instantly, silent as a blade, and entered after him, shutting the doors behind them.
Meher stood frozen.
And then—whispers.
From the open cubicle room across the corridor. Employees huddled by the tea dispenser, whispering too loudly.
"Did you hear? The chairman's stepping down this year."
"Of course it'll be Caustav. Chairman doted on him like a son. Even the Director never fought that."
"They said he still wears Chairman's late husband's watch…"
"…I heard Caustav found his body after the murder."
"Caustav loved him, you know. Practically raised by the chairman after the death of his husband."
Meher turned his head slightly, ears burning.
The picture was re-forming now. Puzzle pieces snapping together with old blood.
In the original novel, Caustav had everything—status, love, charm. Even Agrasen's fiancé was secretly in love with him. Caustav played the perfect victim, the tragic heir, the golden boy—
—until the last few chapters, when Agrasen found out the truth.
Caustav had murdered their father.
Had manipulated every lover, every ally.
And Agrasen was going to expose him.
Until Caustav killed him too.
But not with a gun.
No.He used the Restricted Section.
That was the final chapter.
The original Meher—just a reader then—had read it all in one sitting. Thought it was stupid. Melodramatic. He remembered mocking it, chai in hand, telling the book to go to hell.
Now?
Now the villain had just walked past him in flesh and blood, and the nightmare was still writing itself.
A soft chime.
The executive lounge light turned red. It meant a summons.
Vedant stepped out.
"Meher. Inside. Agrasen wants you."
Meher blinked. "Now?"
Vedant's eyes flicked once toward the door. Then toward him. "Now."
Meher took a breath and stepped in.
Inside, the air was cooler. Scented faintly of cedarwood and burnt frankincense. The room was massive, window-lined, dominated by a glass desk, a long low table, and countless black and white portraits along the wall.
Agrasen sat there, behind his desk, turned towards the sleek window, face unwatchable, expression unreadable.
Caustav lounged across from him, draped over the sofa like a prince at rest.
When Meher entered, Caustav looked up.
Eyes met again.
Something like… recognition flashed there. But it wasn't from the novel.
Caustav looked at him like he'd seen him somewhere before.
Not in a file.
Not on the street.
But in a dream.
Agrasen spoke, voice even. "Meher. Escort Caustav down to the lobby. Vedant will remain here."
Caustav raised a perfect brow. "What, I don't get a goodbye?"
"Later," Agrasen said.
Meher nodded stiffly. "This way, sir."
Caustav rose in a single, graceful movement.
As they walked side by side down the corridor, silence fell. For a few long seconds, Meher thought it would stay that way.
But then Caustav whispered:
"Did you like the video?"
Meher froze mid-step.
Caustav walked ahead, hands tucked in his coat pockets.
He smiled.
But it didn't reach his eyes.