Publicly, people think I had a cardiac scare. So do my parents.
Thirty-two isn’t too young for heart issues, apparently.
But only Vikram and Ishika know the truth.
The pills. The reason my heart gave up. It’s not a surprise to me, though.
I grab my blazer and head down to the serenity room. Dev’s already there, sipping coffee and scanning the slides.
“Jyoti’s grabbing more coffee. You want some?” he asks without looking up.
“Nah,” I mutter. “Avoiding anything that’ll screw with my ticker.”
He laughs. “One of these days, I’ll convince her to buy decaf pods.”
I smirk faintly and settle in beside him. We go over the deck together, refining the pitch. It’s not a complicated account—but Mehul’s a big name. He’ll want polish.
An hour later, our deck’s grown to fourteen slides. Dev’s magic touch.
Now it includes multi-year projections, competitor analysis, and retention models.
It’s clean. Convincing. Bulletproof.
We head to Conference Room C. Dev cradles his laptop like it’s a newborn.
Just as we’re about to round the corner, Gitika steps in front of us, looking hesitant.
“Uh... slight hiccup. There are—bodyguards—posted outside the conference room. We weren’t notified. Also... they’re checking for office IDs.”
I blink. “Seriously?”
She nods. “They’re... intense. Sorry, I should’ve flagged sooner.”
I pull out my ID from my inner blazer pocket. Dev groans—he’ll have to go back to his desk for his.
I step around the corner—and stop.
There’s a tall man with grey-streaked hair, stiff and alert. Ex-military, maybe.
And next to him... a woman.
Back turned to me.
Posture like steel.
I take slow, steady steps forward.
No sudden movements.
We’ve never had clients this... protected.
And suddenly, it feels like this isn’t just another pitch.
This is something else entirely.
I offer a tentative smile, lifting my ID and holding it out for the stone-faced man. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even twitch.
Okay then.
