Only... she doesn’t. Not for a good while.
??????
“Mehul’s gotten access to approximately 4300 data sets—4278 to be exact. They’re mostly synthetic but...fuckif he isn’t aggressive as hell.”
My random rant four days later is met with a weighted silence. Greesha is sitting next to me on the couch. Both of us engrossed in our laptops.
She seems quieter—more tense than she usually is.
“Gree?”
“—sha,” she mutters distractedly and grunts. “Why isn’t hedoinganything?”
I frown, ignoring her correction. “He is. He has access to all those—”
“Dev plantedtenpotential real data sets in there right? He should’ve discovered at leastone—almost immediately. Why hasn’t he attempted anything? It’s beenfour fucking days!”
She snaps her laptop shut almost aggressively and shoots up. Pacing the room with her jerky movements. She’s been fine these last few days ever since the Anil trap.
What the fuck changed?
“Are you... what are you thinking? You think we fucked something up?”
She lets out a ragged breath. “Do you think... Dev never planted the real data sets? Just so he could save them?”
My eyes narrow at her. I’m about to snap, ready to defend Dev—the very loyal man I’ve known him to be. But then I stop short.
He was neverhappywith this plan. Could he have jeopardized us enough, behind our backs to protect those ten—very real—kids?
“I...” I huff out a disbelieving sigh. “Fuck. Let me call him.”
I’m already dialing him when I hear Greesha mumble. “I’ll call La—Viraj.”
I stare at my phone in horror when he doesn’t pick up. It’s fucking two in the afternoon. We have a scheduled meeting in thirty minutes. He wouldn’tnotpick up. And given the circumstances, he hasnevermissed my calls in months.
I try again. And again. Anda-fucking-gain.
Nothing.
Now, I panic. Because I think Greesha is right. If Dev refused to plant the real data sets, the breach would clearly reveal itself as a fuckingtrap.
Fuck.Fucking fuck!
My head snaps up as a voice fills the room.
Greesha’s staring at her phone—on speaker.
“I won the bet,saale madarchod!Shedidcall him!” (Fucking motherfucker)
A familiar voice. Followed by a loud cackle.
“Hello, Aadya madam,” Mehul drawls, practically giggling. “Viraj is currently... unavailable. How can I help?”
Greesha freezes. And not just with surprise—this news pins her in place like a dart to a board.
I open my mouth to speak, but she’s already gathering herself.
“Mehul Bedi,” she says sweetly—too sweet. “Can you tell me where he is? My boss needs him on another bodyguard assignment.”
