Morning didn’t feel safe.

It felt like something was about to happen.

Ridhi sat under the bright studio lights, her back straight, her face calm—but inside, something was off. A quiet uneasiness she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe it was last night.

Or maybe

it was a warning.

“Ready in 10… 9… 8…”

The countdown echoed around her.

Normal. Controlled.

She forced herself to breathe.

“3… 2… 1… Live.”

And just like that—she switched.

“Good morning, everyone…”

Her voice was steady. Confident. Perfect.

Like nothing was wrong.

Mr. Wilson smiled across from her, relaxed and charming. “Pleasure to be here, Ridhi.”

The interview flowed smoothly. Films. Politics. Smart questions. Polished answers.

To anyone watching—

it was just another interview.

But somewhere far away—

someone wasn’t watching the interview.

They were watching her.

A screen flickered in a dark room.

Ridhi’s face filled it.

Still. Clear.

Observed.

A man leaned back, his eyes locked on her—not curious, not impressed.

Calculating.

And then—

the feed cut.

Not because it ended.

Because it wasn’t needed anymore.

“She was there.”

The words spread fast.

Cold. Quiet.

“A journalist.”

Silence.

“And last night… she walked in as Mrs. Malhotra.”

That was enough.

No questions.

No doubt.

Just a problem—

that needed to be fixed.

The room filled quickly.

No greetings. No names.

Only presence.

Power.

Danger.

“She entered the party without clearance.”

“Journalist.”

“She saw faces.”

“She heard voices.”

A pause.

Then—

“Kill her.”

The words dropped like they meant nothing.

No emotion.

No hesitation.

“She knows nothing.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“She exists.”

That was the problem.

Not what she knew—

but what she could know.

“She shouldn’t have been there.”

“Malhotra brought her.”

Silence.

Sharp.

Heavy.

“Then Malhotra made a mistake.”

The room shifted.

Something dangerous crossed the line.

“We don’t question Malhotra.”

A voice cut in.

Low. Controlled.

“But we fix mistakes.”

Silence again.

Final this time.

“Remove her.”

Decision made.

And in their world—

decisions didn’t wait.

They acted.

Back in the real world, Ridhi had no idea.

“Great job,” someone said as the cameras turned off.

She nodded, distracted.

Her mind was still stuck in last night—the whispers, the looks, the way “Mrs. Malhotra” had wrapped around her like something heavy.

Something dangerous.

She stepped outside.

Sunlight hit her face.

Everything looked normal.

Too normal.

And that made it worse.

“Ms. Ridhi.”

The voice stopped her.

Calm. Polite.

Unfamiliar.

She turned.

The man standing there looked composed. Well-dressed. Controlled in a way that didn’t feel ordinary.

“Yes?” she asked carefully.

“Mr. Malhotra has asked for you.”

Simple.

Direct.

But something felt wrong.

Ridhi frowned slightly. “And you are?”

“Vikram Saxena.”

The name meant nothing.

But the way he said it—

like it should—

made her pause.

“And why would he send someone I’ve never seen before?” she asked, sharper now.

Vikram didn’t react.

Didn’t argue.

He just took out his phone.

“Because he expected you to ask that.”

He played a video.

Arjun.

Clear. Real.

Looking straight at the camera.

“Come with him.”

Two words.

That was it.

Ridhi’s breath caught.

Her mind raced instantly.

This could be fake.

Edited.

Planned.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Vikram replied calmly.

No push.

No pressure.

Just agreement.

And that—

felt wrong.

“Then why should I believe you?” she asked.

“You shouldn’t.”

The answer came instantly.

Ridhi blinked.

Thrown off.

“Then why are you here?”

A pause.

Small.

Intentional.

“Because whether you believe me or not…” Vikram said quietly, “you still have to come.”

No threat.

No force.

But the meaning—

was clear.

Ridhi’s fingers tightened around her bag.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

But if Arjun had really sent him—

not going might be worse.

A trap either way.

She exhaled slowly.

Thinking.

Choosing.

“Fine,” she said finally.

“I’ll come.”

Vikram nodded.

Like he expected nothing else.

The car ride was silent.

Too silent.

Ridhi sat still, stealing glances at him, trying to understand him—but he gave nothing away.

“You work for him?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“A while.”

Short.

Controlled.

Frustrating.

Ridhi leaned back, her thoughts spinning.

Nothing felt right.

Nothing.

And yet—

she kept going.

Far away—

a message arrived.

“She’s on the move.”

A pause.

“Good.”

The car slowed.

Stopped.

Ridhi looked outside.

This place

wasn’t familiar.

Didn’t look like somewhere Arjun would call her.

Didn’t feel right.

Her heartbeat picked up.

Fast.

Loud.

Wrong.

“This isn’t—”

“Careful, Ridhi.”

Vikram’s voice cut in.

Calm.

But different.

He said her name like he knew her.

Like he understood something she didn’t.

“Trust,” he added quietly, “is a very dangerous thing.”

Ridhi’s breath caught.

Because suddenly—

everything made sense.

And nothing did.

Her hand moved toward the door.

Hesitating.

Thinking.

And one thought hit her hard—

How easily had she trusted…?

The door clicked open.

She stepped out.

But the question stayed.

Louder now.

Clearer.

More dangerous.

Was she walking toward Arjun Malhotra—

or straight into something waiting to destroy her?