“Did he admit it? That he orchestrated her kidnapping a few months ago?” I asked, my voice cold and measured.
“Yes, sir. He confessed. Every detail is on record, just as you instructed.” Alex’s face remained impassive, his words clinical. “And Rocky Mehra has been dealt with as well. He won’t come within a hundred kilometers of Ms. Randhawa.”
“She’s leaving for France in a few days. I want you to oversee her security personally. No mistakes. No excuses.”
“Every arrangement has already been made, sir,” Alex replied promptly.
“You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said before leaving the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, I let out a sharp breath. My fingers twitched with the urge to pour another glass of whiskey. The decanter sat just inches away, its amber contents taunting me. But my mind, hazy as it was, warned me against it. I had already lost count of my drinks two hours ago, and reality was beginning to blur.
Maybe that was for the best. Maybe that was the only way to keep me from doing something reckless—like crashing Kiara’s launch party, pulling her into my arms, and refusing to ever let her go.
I couldn’t focus on anything else. Not when her absence clawed at me like a wound refusing to heal. Vihaan had paid for what he did to her. So had Rocky. Their empires would crumble, and they’d spend lifetimes trying to piece together what hit them. Vihaan’s confessions would destroy his reputation. Rocky’s finances would nosedive before the next quarter, leaving him scrambling to save whatever scraps remained of his business.
It wasn’t enough, though. No amount of revenge could undo the damage. No punishment could erase the anguish in Kiara’s eyes that night.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay seated. The whiskey wasn’t going to fix this.
The throbbing in my head was relentless, a dull drumbeat echoing the chaos in my chest. My eyes burned, a dam of unshed tears threatening to break. My thoughts—scattered, shattered—were too heavy to piece together. Tonight was unbearable, and I didn’t have the strength to fight it. My mind screamed for a solution, a reprieve—headache pills, a bottle of whiskey, anything to make me forget.
But deep down, I knew—none of it would help. None of it could fix whatI truly needed.
I needed her.
I exhaled sharply, forcing the air through my nose as if it might chase away the ache, but it only deepened. My mind whispered dangerous thoughts, urging me to go to her. But the bitter truth was, I couldn’t.
I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. My mind betrayed me, conjuring her image in everything around me. The salt container on the counter, the potato peeler in my kitchen, the faint scent of lavender soap lingering in my bathroom—all reminders of her. She was everywhere—inescapable. Her presence haunted every empty space of my life.
“Sir…”
Justin’s voice cut through the fog, bringing me back to the moment.
“Hmm…” I murmured, barely lifting my head.
“I’ll drive you home, sir,” he said, his tone steady and respectful.
“Where’s my driver?”
“He’s left. It’s the middle of the night,” Justin replied.
Before I could argue, he picked up my laptop bag and gestured toward the elevator. The quiet efficiency with which he moved grated against my stubbornness, but I let him take the lead.
As we stepped into the car, my thoughts spiraled until I broke the quiet with an unexpected question.
“Have you ever been in love, Justin?”
Justin glanced at me, confusion flickering across his face before he answered softly, “Yes, sir.”
“How long has it been?”
“Three years,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Last month, I became a dad.”
His smile deepened as he spoke, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in his otherwise professional demeanor.
“Congratulations,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
