The sun was warm, but the air carried tension—unspoken, drifting between words and glances.

Emily sat across from Arsalan in their favorite café, an excited sparkle in her eyes.

“I got it,” she said, almost breathless. “A full campaign shoot in Italy. Three months, maybe more. The agency said it’s a huge opportunity—global exposure, big brand.”

Arsalan froze for a moment, his coffee halfway to his lips.

“That’s… amazing,” he managed, forcing a smile.

Emily’s joy was radiant, but her gaze hesitated as she looked at him. “I wasn’t sure if I should say yes.”

“You should,” Arsalan said quickly. “You’ve worked for this. You deserve it.”

“I just… I’ll miss Karachi. And—some people in it.”

He chuckled softly, masking the tightness in his chest. “Well, some people in Karachi are proud of you.”

She smiled, but her eyes searched his.

“Arsalan, I still feel like I don’t know you completely.”

He looked down at his hands, then at her again. The words were there. Waiting.

But he couldn’t speak them.

Not with shadows closing in.

Not when someone had threatened her life just for being close to him.

So he said instead, “Maybe you’ll know me better when you come back.”

Emily nodded slowly. “I hope so.”

She stood to leave, but paused by his chair. “Take care of yourself, mystery man.”

Then she walked out of the café.

And just like that—she was gone.

---

That night, Arsalan sat on his rooftop, the wind tossing his hair, eyes fixed on the moon.

She was safe now. Far from the case. Far from the threats. Far from the version of him that the world wasn’t supposed to see.

He should have felt broken.

Instead… he felt relief.

A quiet breath escaped his chest.

But deep down, he knew—this peace wouldn’t last.

---

At Shah Holdings, Tahir adjusted his cufflinks as he stood in front of the charity health drive banner. The event was modest, with nurses setting up tables, volunteers handing out pamphlets, and dozens of children waiting for free checkups.

Naima was already busy, moving from one child to another, smiling, calming them, giving them medicine.

“You came,” she said when she finally noticed him.

“You said clipboard. I couldn’t resist.”

She laughed, handing him a pen. “You’re in charge of name tags. Try not to scare the kids.”

Tahir looked around—then froze.

A man across the street, dressed too formally for a neighborhood event, stood with his arms crossed, watching silently.

Naima followed his gaze. “Someone you know?”

Tahir shook his head slowly. “No. But he’s not here for free medicine.”

---

Meanwhile, Arsalan walked through the crowded antique district near Empress Market, chasing a lead. The man from the textile mill—his threat, his smirk, his voice—had returned in another surveillance photo. This time, meeting someone Arsalan did recognize.

A retired associate of his father’s.

He knocked on the man’s door. “Mr. Saeed?”

An old voice replied, “No one by that name lives here.”

“Tell him it’s Arsalan Shah. Son of Jamshade.”

Silence.

Then the lock clicked open.

Inside, the apartment was dim and filled with dusty antiques. The old man stared at Arsalan with sunken eyes.

“I told them to leave you boys alone.”

Arsalan frowned. “You know what’s going on.”

“I know your father made enemies before he got sick. People who didn’t want Shah Holdings passed to his sons.”

“So you think they’re coming after me and Tahir?”

“They already are.”

“Why now?”

“Because you’re doing too well. Both of you. You’re a threat.”

Arsalan stepped closer. “Who’s leading them?”

Mr. Saeed whispered: “Someone inside. Someone close. Don’t trust anyone in your father's circle. Not even the board.”

The pieces were falling into place—but the picture was far more dangerous than he’d imagined.

---

Later that night, Tahir returned home with a file tucked under his arm. The same man who’d been watching the clinic? He was spotted again near Shah Holdings. Alina had found him in archived security footage—going back weeks.

There was a pattern.

And someone was watching more than just Tahir.

They were watching everyone connected to the Shah family.

He found Arsalan in the kitchen, halfway through burning toast.

“You’re terrible at this,” Tahir said, grabbing the toaster dial.

“I work with crime scenes, not kitchen appliances,” Arsalan replied with a grin.

Tahir’s smile faded. “We need to talk.”

He dropped the folder on the table.

And for once, Arsalan didn’t crack a joke.

They both stared at the truth—dark, spreading, and far too close.

---

Far away, in a brightly lit hotel room in Italy, Emily unpacked her luggage.

She held her phone in her hand, staring at their last conversation.

She didn’t know who Arsalan truly was.

But she knew… there was more.

And one day, she planned to find out.