AMANTARA

Menace, her second identity.

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As I entered the company grounds, she was still outside, arms crossed, eyes fixed ahead with a stubborn resolve. At least she’d managed to follow orders this once. Irritating as ever.

I approached the guard, my voice low but firm. “If she steps onto the premises, alert me immediately.” He gave a curt nod, and I threw one final, appraising look in her direction. Her eyes flashed with that insufferable arrogance, a misplaced confidence that would, without a doubt, come back to haunt her. Pride, when purposeful, is powerful, but let it turn to ego, and it becomes a slow poison.

Just then, my phone rang, Karthik. “We’ll meet directly at the shoot location,” he informed me. I agreed, pocketed my phone, and turned on my heel, ready to head out. As I passed by her, perched defiantly on her bike, I said tersely, “Get to the location. The team’s waiting.”

I was nearly at my car when her voice cut through the tension. “How long do you plan on keeping me out here?”

I paused, letting the silence linger, then turned to meet her gaze. “That entirely depends,” I replied, my tone cold, each word deliberate, “on how quickly you learn which lines are worth crossing.”

“Fine,” she hissed, her voice dripping with reluctant submission, but the fire in her eyes told me she wasn’t quite ready to bow down. She tilted her head, her gaze sharp and unyielding, as if she were daring me to continue. “What do you want me to do to let me back in?”

Her arrogance radiated, as if bestowing a favor just by speaking to me. But I wasn’t intimidated; I stood firm, unyielding. “You’ve wasted enough of our time, sidetracking the marketing department with your distractions. Now, here’s your real task, find the location for our upcoming school shoot. If you manage it, maybe I’ll let you back in.”

I let the weight of my words linger in the air, watching her eyes narrow in disdain. She wanted to play by her own rules? Well, the game had just shifted to my turf.

“And to make myself perfectly clear,” I continued, my voice ice-cold and resolute, "I won’t intervene. You’re on your own. No company name. You have to convince them all by yourself."

Her lips pressed into a tight line, eyes burning with defiance, but she knew better than to argue.

“Sure,” she spat out, her tone hard as stone. With a swift, sharp nod, she spun on her heel, revved her bike, and tore off, leaving a trail of frustration in her wake.

I watched her vanish into the distance, my smirk barely concealing the satisfaction I felt. With a final glance at my phone, I slid into my car, ready to head to the shoot location, the weight of the day still pressing down.

All the files I had gathered about Khurana painted a portrait of a meticulous, elusive figure who thrived in the shadows. His public business, a trading empire designed for show, was merely a front, a cleverly constructed illusion to mask his darker dealings, lay with his partner, the one who attended all the public-facing meetings in Khurana's stead. Khurana, always the mastermind, remained behind the scenes, orchestrating his illicit activities from the shadows, careful never to reveal his hand.