(Anaya's POV)
The office smelled faintly of coffee and polished glass, but Anaya barely noticed. Her thoughts were a static hum, repeating Aryan's words:
"Kabir will only hurt her."
She had tried to shake them off. She had to. Kabir was precise, calculated, controlled. That control was what made him untouchable… but now, it felt like a wall closing in.
She caught him alone in the conference room, reviewing figures on the projection screen. His posture was perfect — shoulders squared, pen balanced between fingers — but there was a subtle stiffness, a tension under the calm surface she had never seen before.
"Kabir," she began, her voice steadier than she felt. "We need to talk."
He didn't look up immediately. His attention stayed on the numbers, as if they could explain the world better than any conversation. Finally, his head tilted slightly, eyes locking with hers. "About?"
"About Aryan," she said, letting the name hang.
Kabir's expression didn't change, but his hands stilled. The pen hovered. "What about him?"
Anaya stepped closer, voice low. "He cornered me today. Told me to… stay away. And that you'd hurt me."
The words were precise. Sharp. Intentional. Kabir's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, but his tone remained neutral. "He's… wrong."
She studied him, trying to read the layers beneath that controlled exterior. "And if he's not? What then?"
Kabir's eyes flicked briefly to the projection, then back. "Then I deal with it. Efficiently."
"Efficiently…" Her tone carried doubt she didn't want him to notice. "Does that word include me?"
For a heartbeat, the controlled mask faltered. His rational mind clashed with something raw and unspoken, something he had trained himself to ignore. Kabir didn't answer immediately. Instead, he calculated — her words, her stance, the subtle fear lingering in her eyes.
Finally, he said, carefully, "Anaya… whatever Aryan thinks, it's not truth. I don't hurt people I don't need to hurt."
"And if I'm in the way?"
That pause — the first real pause in a long time — stretched between them. Kabir's fingers tapped against the table, a rhythm of thought. "Then I remove the obstacle… not the person."
Anaya didn't respond immediately. The distinction was cold, precise — almost a warning of its own. But underneath it, a fragment of reassurance lingered, fleeting and fragile.
Veer's voice came from the doorway, casual but piercing. "Everything alright in here, or are we calculating emotions now?"
Kabir didn't glance up. "Just prioritizing."
Anaya moved back slightly, folding her arms. Her mind raced. Aryan's warning was no longer just a distant echo — it had become a current she had to navigate. And Kabir… Kabir's response was both shield and enigma.
She realized, quietly, that understanding him would require patience — and courage.
Because the next move in this equation was hers to make.