Chapter 20: Operation Riya

Hey readers! This one's a super long chapter, and honestly, it's one of the most fun ones I've written! Stick with me, and feel free to share your thoughts—I'd love to hear them!

--

Arjun’s phone buzzed with a message late night.

Kabir it was.

“Need everything you have on Pathan Lala. Name, business, blood group, even his pet dog’s name if he has one.”

“Why the sudden fascination with a parasite like Lala?”, Arjun was curious.

Kabir was pacing in his quarters, a beer bottle untouched on the table, jaw clenched. His knuckles were still healing. Not from the op—but from punching a wall when he remembered what happened to Riya.

He typed back.

“Let’s just say… came across that parasite recently.”

“Personal?”, Arjun asked.

Kabir paused.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Define personal. Like… ‘I’ll break your kneecaps and still make it look like a training accident’ personal? Or the ‘I’ll dance at your funeral just to make sure you’re dead’ kind?”

Arjun raised a brow at the message, sitting on the floor of his dimly lit room, sleep far away from his eyes. He rolled his eyes and replied:

“Save the sarcasm for some other time. Can you, for once?”

Kabir smirked.

“Personal, yes! You know... personal hobby. Beating up old men who think they’re mafia kings. No big deal.”

Kabir answered as he didn’t want to mention Riya.

Arjun exhaled through his nose.

Then, after a beat:

“Pathan Lala… He’s one of Sikander’s oldest men. Hand-picked. Loyal like a rabid dog. Handles Sikander’s dirty work on ground—trafficking, extortion, intimidation. Publicly inside for human and drug trafficking. Privately, he’s a snake with too many heads.”

Kabir’s smirk faded.

His jaw locked, grip tightening around the phone.

Trafficking… intimidation… the b*****d had cornered Riya.

He forced himself to stay casual.

“Wow. Busy guy. So when does he sleep? Or blink?”

“Rarely. Especially when he’s out on parole. Every time he’s out, bodies pile up or someone disappears.

Arjun’s jaw tightened as he typed those words, while Kabir’s fists clenched reading them.

“Then why not just… end him? Quietly? Snap a neck, say a prayer, move on.”, Kabir finally came up with a reply.

“Tried. Twice. Once in Mumbai, once in Goa. Broke his right leg the first time. Left in the second. I regret not going for his neck the third time. So, he still breathes.”

Arjun’s reply came slower this time.

He remembered the day that b*****d walked out after Riya that day.

Kabir whistled.

“So the ACP has a record.”

“A reason.”, came Arjun’s quick reply.

The message hung.

Kabir stared at it.

His fingers hovered. He wanted to ask—What reason?

But his mind echoed with Riya’s name and her silence when she came back from that trap.

He tapped instead:

“Lala is trying to mess up with someone.”

Arjun paused.

His fingers froze mid-keystroke.

“Someone important?”, he wanted to ask but he didn’t.

And for some reason… Riya’s face flashed. Her voice. Her scream in that warehouse. The way she stood after everything, shaking, but strong.

The banter faded into silence.

Kabir stared at the screen.

He read Arjun’s message twice.

So it’s personal for him too…

There was a long pause.

He typed. Deleted.

Typed again.

“Thinking of paying Lala a friendly visit someday. Maybe gift him a neck fracture and call it closure.”

Kabir wrote.

“You giving out fractures now? I thought you preferred ‘charm him to death’.”

“Charm’s for civilians. This guy’s earned a military-grade beating. With interest.”

“Noted!”

Arjun replied.

“Don’t forget popcorn and a body bag. We’ll need something to snack on while his bones confess.”

“You’re unwell.”

“Unwell is a mild word. I’m just emotionally invested in his destruction.

“Then let’s schedule it. Someday. Quiet. Precise.”

“You, me, and poetic justice. Can’t wait.”

Neither asked questions.

Neither gave answers.

And just like that, the chat ended.

But the unrest?

Was just beginning.

--

An hour later, the beer bottle was still untouched.

Kabir lay on the stiff cot, one leg dangling over the edge, staring at the dark ceiling with eyes wide open.

Sleep was a luxury he had long forgotten—tonight, it was a joke.

He replayed it all—Riya’s trembling voice, her bruised wrist, the ghost of that fake smile when she said, “I’m okay.”

He knew she wasn’t.

And what stung the most?

He wasn’t either.

Not just because she walked into a death trap…

But because he hadn’t prepared her for the world she had willingly entered.

“You have a heart too soft for this world…”

He wanted to take those words back and bury them.

She wasn’t soft.

She was fire. And scars. And sheer steel under skin.

Kabir was here, but his mind wasn’t.

It was in Mumbai.

Wrapped in his hoodie, clutching three different highlighters and chewing the end of a pen while solving forensic theory—Riya Mukherjee.

He sat up abruptly, grabbing a notebook from his bag—the one where he scribbled wild plans, training routines, escape strategies, and codes. It was ragged. Like his heart.

He turned to a fresh page.

Operation RiCommando.

“Because if I can jump out of choppers, she can punch through glass.”

He underlined the heading.

Then started jotting—

1. Wake her at 5 AM (send coffee to apologize).

2. Basic self-defence refreshers (Kickboxing with reward points = kisses )

3. Tactical evasive manoeuvres

4. Undercover body language

5. Breath control under stress

6. Weapon handling (NOT optional anymore, but dummy grenades only)

He paused.

Finally a line in messy, tired handwriting:

“Train her not because she needs to fight—but because she deserves to never be cornered again.”

Kabir closed the book. Held it against his chest for a moment.

Then whispered into the dark room, like a vow only the night could hear—

“I didn’t fall in love with someone weak. So why did I try to make her smaller to fit inside my fear?

I’m going to make sure the world sees the soldier in her that I already do. And maybe one day, I’ll forgive myself for ever making her feel small.”

He stood up, determination building like thunder behind his ribcage.

“New rule, Miss Mukherjee: If I get to save the world, you get to fight for it too. And if I can survive a warzone, so can you.”

He raised his beer bottle for a toast—to love, regret, and redemption.

--

Stacks of files cluttered his desk. A half-drunk cup of cutting chai sat forgotten near the edge. Arjun sat, slouched in his chair, hair disheveled and sleeves rolled up.

In front of him: a mostly blank sheet with the words FINAL ASSESSMENT: THEORETICAL MODULE – RIYA MUKHERJEE typed in bold.

He had tried… God, he had tried… to prove she wasn’t cut out for this life.

Tried to show that she was emotion, not discipline.

Fire, not form.

And yet, her previous evaluations said otherwise.

He pulled up her performance sheet again.

Written in clean blue ink beside her name:

Theory Module Mentor – ACP Arjun Suryakant Raute

Physical Training Mentor – Chief Sameer Rathore

He stared at that. As if it mocked him.

He was supposed to be her toughest hurdle.

But Riya—she had turned his cynicism into a stepping stone. Every word of mockery he threw, she returned with pages of precision and preparedness.

From criminal psychology to ballistics, crime scene analysis to suspect profiling—she had outshined even the seasoned recruits.

He stared at her scores for the last five weeks- just one average score but other four.

Consistently high.

Exceptionally detailed.

Alarmingly intuitive.

How the hell had she managed that?

He looked down at the blank test paper.

He was supposed to fail her.

That had been the plan.

Make the test impossibly hard. Watch her fall.

But now…

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Because if she passed this—he’d have no reason to stop her.

And if she didn’t…

He’d know deep down it wasn’t because she failed—

…but because he couldn’t bear to see her go out there.

And maybe not come back.

He ran a hand down his face and sighed. Picked up his pen.

Question 1: A suspect manipulates his victim using trauma-bonding...

He began to write. Mechanically at first. Then… as if testing her. As if daring her to prove him wrong. Again.

But in the back of his mind, a voice echoed.

Her voice. From days ago.

“I just didn’t want to be invisible.”

He placed the pen down after drafting the final question.

Stared at the line he'd written, the smallest one, at the very end of the paper:

Bonus: What is courage?

His throat felt tight.

He wanted to scratch it out.

But he didn’t.

Because deep down… he already knew what her answer would be.

And he was scared of reading it.

--

The next morning, the large whiteboard was already scribbled with half-drawn maps and bullet points when Arjun walked in, flipping open the case file as Shree and Chotu stood waiting.

He circled around the table, sharp-eyed, voice calm.

“The intel is solid. High-stakes gambling racket being run from the back rooms of a luxury poker club near Juhu. Front’s clean, the rot is behind the velvet curtains.”

Chotu frowned. “Same club mentioned in the smuggling tip-off last month?”

Arjun nodded.

Shree was already scanning through CCTV images. “The club’s invite-only, membership tiered. We’ll need someone who can blend in—someone who screams elite.”

Chotu sighed. “So…we need a woman. Young, rich-looking, someone who can pass off as a member and flirt the truth out.”

Shree flipped a few pages in the file. “We can loop in an asset from Intelligence."

“No,” Arjun interrupted.

Shree and Chotu looked up.

Arjun dropped a second folder on the desk.

“We’re sending Riya.”

The silence that followed was so still, it felt like someone had hit pause.

Chotu blinked. “Riya?”

Shree tried to cover his surprise. “As in, Riya-Riya?”

“Unless one of you’s hiding a duplicate under the desk,” Arjun said dryly, arms crossed. “Yes. Her.”

Chotu exchanged a glance with Shree, unsure whether to laugh or brace themselves.

“But—Sir…” Shree began, cautious. “This is a high-risk field op. She’s…not trained for undercover surveillance. Yet.”

“She doesn’t need to be,” Arjun cut in. “The op is mostly digital tailing and silent intel collection. She won’t be carrying a gun. Just a wire. And she won’t be alone.”

Chotu hesitated. “But—this is her first.” She hasn’t, you know…!”

“I know, but we need to give her a chance! ,” Arjun said, voice steady.

That shut them up.

Arjun looked at them both, lips quirking ever so slightly. “Good. Then get to work. She leaves in four hours. Keep it tight. No mistakes.”

Shree and Chotu said in synchronization. “Yes, Sir.”

As Arjun turned towards the board again, updating the operation plan, he allowed himself the smallest, most fleeting thought—

Let her prove him wrong.

Let her surprise them again.

Let her have her chance.

--

The soft rustle of paper and the click of keyboard keys filled the record room. Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting faint patterns across the floor.

Riya sat on a chair by the far end, completely immersed in a thick file, her lips moving slightly as she cross-referenced digital entries with old documents.

She looked exhausted, yet focused—her face aglow with the kind of determination that refused to bend under pressure.

She didn’t hear the door open.

She didn’t hear the footsteps either.

But the moment she sensed someone behind her, she flinched.

Riya let out a startled yelp and immediately stood up, her elbow knocking into a pile of files which fell in a noisy clatter.

“God! Can you not sneak into rooms like a ghost, Sir?” she blurted, heart racing as she clutched her chest. “Are you training for the next season of India’s Most Stealthy Officer or what?”

Arjun stood there, arms crossed, one brow raised in that typical ‘I’m-not-amused-but-I-kind-of-am’ look.

“If you get this spooked by footsteps, Ms. Riya Mukherjee,” he said coolly, “then perhaps I should recommend noise-cancelling combat boots to the next gang we chase.”

Riya narrowed her eyes. “Oh please. I’d still hear them. You, on the other hand, operate like a haunted house.”

Arjun didn’t flinch, but his eyes twinkled briefly. Still, he kept his tone clipped.

“You want to be on the field, Riya. But the moment someone walks in without ringing a doorbell, you jump like a startled cat. Vigilance is not optional—it’s survival.”

Riya crossed her arms, mirroring him.

“Duly noted, Sir. Next time I sense sudden ghost-like energy, I’ll throw a stapler first and ask questions later.”

That earned her a faint twitch of a smile from him. Barely there. But she saw it.

Arjun uncrossed his arms, stepped further in, and leaned against the table casually.

“You’ll get your chance,” he said simply.

Riya blinked. “What chance?”

“Your first on-field case.” His voice was nonchalant, but he was watching her reaction like a hawk.

For a moment, Riya just stared at him. “Wait. You’re serious?”

Arjun nodded once.

“Are you sure?”, Riya double checked.

“You ask another time, and I might change my mind!”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Is this another mock drill? You know... like last time? Do I need to carry an umbrella in case bullets start raining again?”

Arjun gave her a sharp look.

“No. This one’s real. And if you’re done with your sarcasm for the day, go meet Shree and Chotu. They’ve been briefed already. You’ll be going undercover. Try not to get caught… or startled or…”

Riya pressed her lips into a tight line, barely able to hold in her bubbling excitement.

She stood straighter. “Undercover. Real case. Right. Got it.”

Then, with a smirk, she added, “Anything else, Sir?”

Arjun turned, walking away with a shake of his head, muttering under his breath, “God help the suspects.”

But just before he stepped out, he paused—glancing sideways.

She was still standing there, eyes shining, hugging the file to her chest like it was a trophy.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt that strange pull again—something between pride and… something far more dangerous.

He didn’t let it linger.

His face turned back to stone, and without another word, he walked out of the room.

Riya, unaware of the battle she’d stirred inside him, broke into a grin as she whispered to herself:

“First case… here we go.”

--

Riya walked in, head held high, eyes gleaming with restrained excitement. The bounce in her step was subtle, but Shree and Chotu noticed it immediately.

Shree was tapping away on his laptop, and Chotu was fiddling with a small surveillance gadget, but both of them looked up the second she entered.

“Ah, look who’s ready to bring down criminal empires,” Shree said with a sheepish grin.

Chotu straightened, clearing his throat. “Riya… listen, about before—”

But she held up a hand, her expression firm.

“Don’t,” she said simply. “Let’s just stick to the case.”

The silence that followed was awkward. Shree looked at Chotu, who shrugged helplessly.

Riya sighed, softening just a bit. “Look, I’m not going to pretend the past weeks didn’t happen. But I’m also not here to hold grudges. I’ve got a job to do—and apparently, so do you two. So let’s focus on that.”

The boys blinked at her.

“That’s it?” Chotu asked, surprised.

“No long speeches? No emotional lectures? No guilt trips?” Shree added cautiously.

“I’m not your therapist, remember?” Riya replied with a small smirk, pulling a chair toward the desk. “Now, can we go over the plan before ACP ‘I’ll-burn-you-with-my-glare’ Raute shows up and accuses me of unprofessional enthusiasm?”

Chotu chuckled, clearly relieved, while Shree tilted his head.

“I gotta admit,” Shree said, “I kinda miss the long speeches. They made us feel important.”

Riya grinned. “I’ll write you one for your birthday.”

They all smile—easy, light , the kind that hadn’t existed between them before. It wasn’t friendship yet… but it was no longer hostility either.

Shree turned serious again, flipping open a file.

Chotu gestured to the screen, which now displayed the blueprint of a lavish poker club.

“There’s a luxury poker club near Juhu—high-stakes gambling, but that’s just the cover. The real game’s behind the velvet curtain: maybe, money laundering, and god knows what else.”

“Front’s clean. They’ve got politicians, CEOs, retired judges on their member list,” Shree added.

“Invite-only. No cops ever go in without being detected.”

Riya leaned in, interested now. “And let me guess… you’re sending me in.”

Chotu grinned. “Bingo. You’re elite, articulate, donate six digits to maintenance staff like loose change, and can carry off expensive heels without falling.”

Riya immediately looked at Chotu realizing he was talking of the other day when he saw her in the club with Kabir.

She tried to threaten him with her eyes as Chotu’s grin grew wider.

Before Shree could understand the duo’s secret exchange of glares, Riya quickly covered up saying, “I have tripped once."

“And we’ll be praying that’s not tonight,” Shree deadpanned.

They all chuckled, the ice finally cracking. And Riya was thankful, her secret wasn’t out, yet.

Shree clicked to another slide. “Here’s how it works. You’ll pose as a luxury art consultant scouting high-net-worth clientele. You’ll be given a fake identity and a membership pass. Once inside, make conversation, observe, and try to identify the target—Nikhil Sharma. He handles the laundering network.”

“You’ll be wearing an earpiece,” Chotu added.

“We’ll be outside the club in a surveillance van, feeding you intel. If something goes sideways—code red. You pull back.”

“Emergency codes,” Shree said, flipping a flashcard toward her. “Red means abort and exit. Black means danger—stay low. Gold means get a visual or recording. Repeat them for me.”

“Red: Abort and exit.

Black: Danger, stay low.

Gold: Visual or recording,” Riya replied quickly.

Chotu handed her a small gold bracelet.

“Hidden mic. You’ll also have a tracker embedded in this. Press twice to activate distress mode.”

Riya slipped it on and looked at them both. “Anything else?”

Shree and Chotu exchanged another glance—one that spoke volumes.

Chotu spoke first. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Riya smiled. “I’ve been ready since the day I stepped into this office.”

Shree hesitated, then added, “We’ll be there. Just outside. But the moment you feel off—anything—pull out.”

Riya’s eyes softened for a second. “I know. Thank you.”

Chotu moved away to receive a call and just then, Shree scratched the back of his neck, awkward.

“Also… that day. When I gave you the lift and you vanished…You seemed really worried... I’ve been meaning to ask.”

Riya blinked.

A flash of guilt crossed her face, but she masked it with a chuckle.

“I had something urgent come up- manicure emergency.”

Shree raised an eyebrow. “Something... or someone?”

Riya narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been around Arjun sir too much. Getting nosy like him.”

Shree shook his head, giving up. “Fine. But someday… I’m going to get the truth.”

Riya just winked. “When that day comes, I’ll even tell you what colour did I get my nails painted in.”

As she walked out, her back straight and mission-ready, the boys couldn’t help but smile.

“She’s something,” Chotu murmured.

“She really is,” Shree said softly.

Behind their grins, though—they knew tonight wouldn’t be easy.

But maybe, just maybe… it was her time to shine.

--

Riya moved into the locker room with her dress and immediately texted Kabir.

Kabir sat in the middle of his bunk in the military dorm, boots off, elbow on knee, grinning at the screen.

Riya: 🕵️‍♀️🔥🎉

Kabir: Did someone die or are you just naturally dramatic??

Riya: I AM GOING UNDERCOVER, OFFICIALLY. OPERATION. FIELD. DISGUISE. SPY MODE. MISSION RIRI.

Kabir: …Dear God. Who approved this?Cancel it. Abort. Eject button. Something.

Riya: Too late.

Kabir: Wait… what kind of undercover?? Is this a ‘blend-into-crowd’ or ‘jump-from-rooftops’ kind?

Riya: Luxury poker club. High heels, high stakes, and high-profile criminals. I basically walk in, bat eyelashes, pretend I care about modern art, and walk out with intel.

Kabir: That’s sexy! So, NOOO!!

Riya: Too late 😌 I’m already getting ready. You should be proud.

Kabir: Proud?? I’m 70% worried, 30% imagining you in a dress. Wait, strike that, reverse it. 😶

Riya: You’re impossible. 🤦‍♀️

Kabir: Okay, listen—serious mode:

Don’t take the drink.

Don’t remove the earpiece.

Do NOT pull any stunts.

No chasing.

No shooting.

No ‘talking your way’ out of danger.

If someone offers you money to play poker—say you only gamble on emotions, and those are expensive 😎.

Riya: O! Wo!Wo! No breathing either? 🙄

Kabir: Yes. Only blink twice a minute. Wear a helmet. And bubble wrap.

Riya: Stoppppp 😂

Kabir: Also, no smiling at suspects. You have dimples. They’re a national threat.

Riya: They’ve already been weaponized 😏

Kabir: On a serious note, Rii... be careful. I’m proud of you. But I’m terrified too.

Riya: You should be. I’m gonna be better than you soon 😎

Kabir: Impossible. I’m irresistible and deadly.

Riya: You’re not wrong.🤣🤣🤣

Kabir smiled at his screen, then paused before typing:

Kabir: You’re laughing. I’m dying. Remember—look confident, not curious. Dangerous, not desperate.

Riya: Aww! You’re worried.

Kabir: Like hell I am. And proud. You’ll kill it. But also, kill no one please. Go and come back!

Riya: I will! 😘

--

The trio sat in the SUV, waiting for her outside the ETF office.

Riya stepped out of the changing room, her black satin gown hugging her silhouette, hair twisted in a low bun, loose strands curling at the nape of her neck , red lips painting a sharp contrast to the cool in her eyes.

Minimal accessories, diamond studs, and a clutch that held her mic and ID. She looked like a woman who didn’t belong on the battlefield—but tonight, she was one.

Time didn’t freeze, but for Arjun… it might as well have.

She walked past Shree and Chotu who almost choked on their water bottles.

Shree whispered, “Dude… did we just recruit a Bond girl?”

Chotu blinked. “We’re sending her into a crime den dressed like that?”

Minimal makeup, high cheekbones framed just right, and her eyes—

Arjun swallowed hard as those eyes met his.

Not for the first time, he felt off-balance. But tonight, he wasn’t sure he’d recover from it.

Chotu blinked like he’d forgotten how.

“Didi… you sure you didn’t just leave the Miss India finale by mistake?” he joked.

Shree elbowed him. “This is unfair. You didn’t tell us you were going to set the case—and the SUV—on fire.”

Riya smirked as she clipped the bracelet with the concealed mic around her wrist.

“You’re just jealous I carry gear better than both of you combined,” she winked.

Her voice was playful. Confident. Almost electric.

Arjun hadn’t said a word.

He was still staring—subtle, but definitely staring. His arms were folded, but his grip had loosened. His brows drawn, but not in anger.

God, she looked fearless.

And beautiful.

But that word felt dangerous in his head.

He snapped out of it.

--

The military briefing room was silent except for the low whirr of the overhead fan.

Kabir sat at the long wooden table, fingers tapping absently against a pen. Around him, satellite maps, classified reports, and marked photos were laid out—but his eyes weren’t seeing any of it.

His mind—wasn’t here.

Not tonight.

Tonight, his battlefield wasn’t the border.

It was a girl with fire in her eyes and a wire in her ear…

Fighting his war, on his side of the line.

He blinked hard.

“Focus, Kabir.”

The voice in his head sounded like his commanding officer. Or worse—like Riya.

He checked his watch.

Riya would’ve entered the club.

He leaned back in the chair, arms folded, jaw tight.

She walked into the field today.

His battlefield.

His world of lies, danger, smoke and shadows.

And though she had walked in with the fire of courage in her eyes, it was his heartbeat that wouldn’t settle.

Kabir’s phone was locked, but he picked it up again anyway—hoping for some absurd reason that it would buzz. A text. A call. Anything.

“You had to fall for the one who walks straight into storms with a smile, didn’t you, Kabir?”

He could hear her voice in his head:

“Don’t worry, K. I’ve got this.”

He chuckled softly.

Then whispered—

“You better have this, Sunshine.

Because I swear—if anything happens to you tonight…

I’ll burn that damn city down.”

Just then, footsteps echoed outside the hall. The door creaked open.

Kabir shoved his phone in his pocket, sat upright, mask in place—Captain Kabir again.

But inside… he was still just a man in love, praying the girl with stardust in her eyes would walk out of danger just as bright.

Safe.

Smiling.

Back to him.

--

Inside the ETF SUV, parked discreetly across from the velvet-roped entrance of the opulent Juhu club, the tension simmered.

Arjun sat in the front passenger seat, unusually quiet. Shree sat beside him with the earpiece set-up, and Chotu beside Riya, who was adjusting the bracelet mic on her wrist.

“Tracker’s active. Earpiece connected. Safety word?” Shree asked.

“Red,” Riya replied promptly.

Arjun finally turned towards her, hesitating for a second longer than usual.

“You remember the protocol?” he asked sharply, but his voice didn’t carry its usual bite.

Riya nodded calmly.

“Blend in. Eyes and ears open. Smile, but not too much. Act rich. Think richer.”

“You’ll be entering blind. Stay close to the crowd, but not too friendly. If anything feels off—”, Arjun added, but Riya cut her off.

She gave a dazzling grin and said,

“—Smile politely, say I left my heart in Paris and my dog at home, and walk out like I own the city.”

Chotu snorted.

“Where did that come from?”

Riya shrugged, “Let’s just say I’ve been reading... spy novels.”

Arjun blinked.

And then, without warning, he looked away.

But not fast enough.

Because the flicker of a smile had already reached his lips.

But he recovered.

“Just stay alert,” he said, clearing his throat. “This place might look polished, but behind those velvet curtains, it’s rot and filth.”

“Noted, Sir.”

She looked radiant—no, lethal. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had managed to silence him with a smile. But tonight, she was going in his battlefield. And it didn’t sit right.

“You sure you can handle this?” he asked again, quieter this time.

Riya tilted her head.

“I’ve handled worse. Like your lectures. Daily.”

Chotu snorted.

Shree bit his tongue.

But Arjun didn’t laugh.

He looked at her for a long moment, that faint frown still lingering.

And this time, his voice dropped—soft, and far more personal.

“Go. And come back.”

Riya softened, then nodded. “I will.”

She opened the SUV door and stepped out. Wind caught the hem of her gown, making it flutter behind her like a black flag.

Arjun turned around to look as she walked towards the grand steps of the club. The velvet rope was lifted for her. She disappeared behind tall glass doors and chandeliers.

His eyes didn’t move.

As she disappeared into the crowd inside, the three men stayed frozen in the SUV.

Shree finally broke the silence.

“Should we be concerned that she looked more MI6 than ETF just now?”

“Forget MI6. I think James Bond would ask her out.”, Chotu said.

Arjun didn’t reply.

He just stared at the grand doors she had walked into, the ghost of that smile still lingering on his lips.

And deep inside, something churned.

Because this wasn’t just a mission anymore.

She’d walked into his battlefield.

And he wasn’t sure if she’d ever walk out the same—or if he would.