“Bold of you,” I say, circling the desk and stopping right in front of him, “to stab me in the back and think you’d still get to live in peace.”
“I—I didn’t—sir, please—” he stammers, a pathetic excuse that only fuels the fire burning under my skin.
I grab the collar of his shirt and yank him forward. His chin wobbles and his body shakes uncontrollably.
“Don’t you dare lie to me,” I hiss, my fingers digging in, tightening with every heartbeat. “You knew exactly what you were doing. And now you’re going to pay for betraying me.”
I let go of him and signal my two men in black uniforms. They step forward immediately.
“Remind him why he should’ve never crossed me,” I order.
Both men nod once and move in. The waiter barely has time to gasp before they grab him, shoving him back as the first punch lands, the sound satisfying to my ears.
He crumples to the floor and starts sobbing. “I have a family… please, sir. I didn’t mean to… it was just… I wasn’t thinking. I got emotional…”
I cross my arms and lean back against my desk. “That’s something you should have thought about before you dared to drag my name through the mud.”
He chokes on a sob. “I made a mistake. I’ll do anything to fix it. Just don’t… please, don’t…”
Before I can reply, the door bursts open.
“Dev!” my father’s voice cuts through the room.
I flick my fingers, signalling my men to take the waiter away just as my dad strides inside. I walk around my desk and sink into my chair, knowing exactly why he’s here. For a conversation I want to avoid but can’t.
“What the hell is happening? How did someone leak our photo?” he thunders, his dark eyes blazing.
And I can tell he’s not just angry but on the verge of exploding, reminding me of the standards he set to run and defend our empire. Standards he expects me to uphold. The same damn lecture he’s been giving me since I was twenty, ever since I first started handling the business, every time a mishap occurs.
“Can I reply after your lecture?” I drawl, leaning back in my chair with a bored expression.
I know he loves me, just as I love him. But showing emotions, letting them between us… that died the day I lost Mom to cancer when I was only eleven. Veer was barely six. Losing her took more than her presence from us. It stole a part of our ability to feel, to be soft. From that day on, I learned from Dad that coldness was survival. Anger and power became our language, and showing weakness was never an option.
“Behave, Dev,” he snaps. “You know very well I don’t take it lightly when someone crosses our empire.” I can see the deep wrinkles on his forehead tighten as his anger flares.
“Our empire,” I repeat. “The one you entrusted me to manage. Well, you don’t need to worry. It’s my responsibility. Besides, the news hasn’t even gone public yet.”
My dad flops into the chair across from me and runs a hand over his bald head. “Dev, you don’t understand. Idotrust you with the responsibility, and I know that in this city, none of our news will leak without our permission. We’ve covered that well. But just one mishap, one bloody mistake, and everything we’ve built… our reputation, our control… can come crumbling down.”
I lean forward, my elbows resting on the desk. “I understand, Dad. More than you think. But you should also know by now that I don’t just manage the empire. I protect it. Ruthlessly.”
Veer helps in the background, doing his part, but I run the show. Every deal, every move, every damn thing… it goes through me first.
“As I said earlier, I don’t doubt your ability to run the empire. What bothers me is that, with you being so vigilant, how the hell did those journalists manage to get into our guest house a few days ago? You know very well that journalists are our enemies.”
“And I know how to deal with my enemies,” I counter. But I don’t tell him why they were really at the guest house, and Isure as hell don’t mention the pregnancy or Meera’s threat to tarnish our name. I learned long ago that some battles are mine alone. He doesn’t need to worry when I am more than capable of handling it.
“Then you also know that we can’t let the journalist who got this news get away that easily,” my dad fires back. “I’ll have my men take care of whoever she is.”
“No!” I shout, slamming my hands on the desk.
Dad’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise flashing across his face. But I don’t care. Not when he provoked me. Yes, I am furious at her, frustrated at the whole damn situation, but beneath it all, the protective instinct in me surges at the thought of anyone daring to touchher.
“I told you I’ll handle this, and I will. If anyone’s going to pay her a visit, it’ll be me. No one else touches this situation,” I snap, making sure he understands exactly where I stand.
“Fine, handle it,” he says at last, rising to his feet and straightening his coat. “But remember, if you’re taking this into your own hands, you’d better make sure there’s nothing left for me to clean up.” His face hardens, the familiar warning lines etched deep into his face. For a moment, I see myself in him—the same dark eyes, the same six-foot frame, the same ruthless control.
“Don’t worry, I don’t leave messes behind. I finish what I start. And I make damn sure no one has to clean up after me.” I smirk, my eyes locked with his. “You taught me that.”
