Breathing hard, she looked at Ayaan, bleeding from his shoulder.
“Why did you follow me?” she asked.
Neon lights flickered over the crowded streets of Andheri. Inside a soundproofed glass-and-steel penthouse, Ayaan Malhotra (30, sharp suit, sharper jawline) stared at a wall of screens displaying stock market tickers, crypto charts, and social media trends. He was a fintech king, cold, precise, and lonely.
He smirked. Not because it didn’t hurt, but because he had other plans.
Suddenly, a branch snapped behind them. Two masked men emerged—enemies from Ayaan’s business past, wanting revenge. Meera screamed. Ayaan pushed her behind him.
“Ayaan… I’m signing the divorce papers tomorrow. Don’t try to find me.”
His phone buzzed. A voice note from his estranged wife, Meera.
(If you fall, I will pick you up and take you.)