ZORAVAR ESTATE

6 AM

The dream felt too real, too warm, and so impossibly beautiful that it seemed almost too good to be true.

Zaid saw the two of them standing together in their bedroom, laughing and teasing each other as though there was nothing in the world they needed to worry about and no burden heavy enough to reach them. He could hear Ava's sweet, melodious voice as she playfully scolded him, her words slipping between the soft giggles that made something inside his chest tighten with an unfamiliar tenderness.

"Zoravar Sahab, aap bhi na..."

(''Mr Zoravar, you are too much.'')

Her sentence was interrupted by another burst of laughter when a hand reached for her waist and pulled her small figure against a broad, familiar chest.

His chest.

Zaid.

He was dreaming, and somewhere deep inside himself, he knew that this beautiful moment could not possibly be real; however, the dream felt so vivid and complete that he could not bring himself to care about the difference between reality and imagination.

He watched himself pull Ava into his arms, and for a long moment, he simply stared at the sight before him, unable to understand how natural they looked together.

They looked happy.

Not the careful kind of happiness they displayed in front of other people, and not the awkward smiles they exchanged merely because they were husband and wife and everyone expected them to behave as though they belonged together.

They had done that in their wedding rituals.

No, this was something entirely different.

There was no hesitation between them, no distance separating their bodies, and no invisible wall standing between their hearts.

They were carefree, unguarded, and completely at ease with one another, looking so much like two people who were deeply in love that Zaid almost forgot this was only a dream.

It was something he had never imagined he would have with Ava, and yet his own mind had created exactly that life for him, giving him a glimpse of the happiness he had never allowed himself to desire.

Ya Allah...

Ava looked beautiful.

She was dressed in a soft blush-pink saree paired with a light pink backless blouse, while her silky blonde hair fell freely down her back in gentle waves. There was something so delicate and soft about her appearance that it made Zaid's chest ache with a longing he could neither name nor control.

She tried to escape from his arms, although the playful glimmer in her eyes made it obvious that she was only pretending to resist him.

Zaid, however, had no intention of letting her go anywhere.

A mischievous grin slowly spread across his face, and the expression was so unlike the man he knew himself to be that even within the dream, he found himself staring at his own reflection with faint disbelief.

Zaid Zoravar did not behave like this.

He was disciplined, controlled, and serious, a man who rarely allowed his emotions to rise above the carefully constructed walls he had spent years building around himself.

He smiled sometimes, of course, but this was different.

This playful and mischievous man who deliberately teased his wife simply because he wanted to hear her laugh was someone Zaid had never met before.

And yet, despite his surprise, he found that he liked this version of himself.

He pulled Ava flush against his chest, and her giggle was muffled against him as she tried to hide her face, the sound filling him with a warmth so deep and unfamiliar that he could not explain where it came from.

For a few moments, he simply held her close, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of her body pressed against his and the quiet comfort that seemed to settle over him whenever she was in his arms.

Ya Allah... is this really what happiness feels like?

Ava eventually lifted her face and looked up at him, her little eyes shining with happiness while her dimples appeared with the smile she gave him.

Those dimples.

His absolute weakness.

Zaid stared into her eyes as though they were the only things keeping him from drowning, as though the entire world had disappeared and the only reality that mattered was the woman standing safely within his arms.

Ava slowly lowered her gaze beneath the intensity of his raw and unguarded stare, her fingers beginning to fidget with the edge of her saree in the nervous little habit he had somehow come to find impossibly adorable.

The sight made him chuckle softly.

"Aap aise kyun dekh rahe hain?" she asked in a quiet voice, although she still refused to meet his eyes.

(''Why are you looking at me like that?'')

Her gaze remained lowered as her silky blonde hair slipped over one side of her face, hiding her features from him as though she could protect herself from the effect of his attention simply by looking away.

Zaid smiled at her tenderness and leaned down slightly until he was closer to her level, careful not to force her chin upward or make her feel trapped beneath his gaze.

Instead, he lowered his voice and whispered, "Jaan... look at me."

(''Love....look at me.'')

He gently brushed the strands of blonde hair away from her face and tucked them behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment against her skin before he finally allowed his hand to fall away.

Ava slowly looked up at him.

Zaid smiled softly and cupped her cheek, his thumb resting against the warmth of her skin as he studied every emotion reflected in her eyes.

"Never hide from me, meri jaan."

(''Never hide from me, my love.'')

Something in his voice was raw and almost desperate, like a man who could endure anything the world chose to throw at him but could not bear the thought of his wife turning away from him or hiding even the smallest part of herself.

Then he noticed the tears gathering in her eyes, and the softness of his smile immediately faded.

He knew that fear. He carried it within himself too.

It was the terrifying thought that something—or someone—could come between them, steal this happiness away, and leave them both standing in the ruins of something they had only just begun to understand.

Ava did not say anything in response.

Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around his neck, and Zaid's breath caught at the sudden closeness.

Her arms around him felt like a blanket of comfort, something warm and protective that he had never realised he needed until she gave it to him without hesitation.

His arms immediately circled her waist and pulled her closer, while he buried his face against the crook of her neck, breathing in the familiar scent that had somehow become one of the few things capable of calming him.

He lifted her slightly off the ground, holding her as though she weighed nothing and as though he could keep every danger in the world away from her simply by refusing to let her go.

Ava tangled her fingers into the back of his hair and gently ran them through it, her touch soothing him in a way he could not explain.

"Hum kahaan nahi jaa rahe, Zoravar Sahab," she whispered. "Aapke bina humaara hai kaun?"

(''Where could I go, Mr Zoravar,'' she whispered. '' Who do I have except you?'')

Zaid pulled back instantly, his expression changing as her words struck him with a force she could never have understood.

He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing gently over the moisture gathering beneath her eye as he searched her features for any sign that she truly believed she had no one but him.

"Don't ever say that, meri jaan."

(Don't ever say that, my love.'')

He pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose before looking directly into her eyes.

"You have me. And always me. Remember that."

He tucked another strand of her hair behind her ear, his voice becoming steadier as he reminded her of all the people who had come to love her.

"You have Ammi and Abbu. Aryaveer and Samar, who call you their didi. Ira and Anika, who love you like soul sisters."

A faint smile appeared on his face as he continued, determined to make her understand that she was no longer alone in the world.

"And don't forget Saira, okay? And Inaya, who would probably kill me if I ever made you sad."

A tiny laugh escaped Ava through her tears, and the sound made something inside him loosen.

"And Tristan," he added, his expression softening further, "who would probably die for his sister."

''Oh and I could I forget Chandani who will do anything for you.''

Ava froze as she listened to every word, allowing each name to settle inside her heart and awaken memories of the life she had never expected to have.

Then the tears finally began to fall.

She tried to stop them, pressing her lips together and blinking rapidly as though she could force the emotions back into the place where she had kept them hidden for years.

She really did try.

But the tears came anyway, because somewhere inside Zaid's words was everything she had spent her entire life convincing herself she did not need.

Zaid was right.

She was not alone.

There had been a time when she had none of these people except Anika and Tristan, no home that truly felt like hers, no family she could depend on, and no one who would have noticed if she disappeared from the world.

Then, somehow, she had fallen in love with the very man she had been sent to ruin.

And because of him, she had found people who cared about her, people who had welcomed her into their lives and made space for her in their hearts.

A family.

A home.

A life.

Perhaps the most frightening part of all was that she had somehow found the kind of love little Ava had once dreamed about, the kind of love she had stopped believing could ever belong to someone like her.

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, allowing herself to remain close to him while her voice cracked beneath the weight of everything she had been carrying.

"Yeh sab humaare paas sirf aapki wajah se hai, Zoravar Sahab. Aap nahi... toh kuch nahi."

(''I have all of them because of you, Mr Zoravar. Without you I have nothing.'')

Zaid closed his eyes as well, and for several long seconds, neither of them spoke.

There was no awkwardness between them and no desperate need to fill the silence with meaningless words.

There was only the peaceful kind of quiet that existed between two people who had slowly and unknowingly become each other's entire world.

Then Zaid opened his eyes, and Ava saw that they were filled with tears too.

"It's because of you that I have everything today, Jaan," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Without you, I am nothing, Ava."

He swallowed hard, as though the words were difficult to say aloud even in a dream.

"Nothing."

He wiped away her tears with his thumb, his touch gentle despite the emotion visible in his eyes.

"Before you, I was surviving."

A small, emotional smile touched his lips as he looked at her.

"But now I live happily."

Ava stared at him through tear-filled eyes, unable to look away from the sincerity in his expression.

"Don't ever put yourself down, Jaan," he continued. "I am the lucky bastard who gets to have you as my begum." He gently brushed another tear from her cheek, his gaze never leaving hers.

"But you deserve everything, and I'll make sure you always have it, till my last breath."

His voice softened as he made the promise, and the certainty in his tone made it sound less like a romantic declaration and more like a vow he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

"I promise you, Jaan."

Ava's breath hitched, and more tears gathered in her eyes as she looked at him.

God. His eyes were so sincere that she could not find even the smallest trace of pretence within them. There was nothing forced in his expression and nothing rehearsed in his words, because she knew with absolute certainty that he meant every promise he was making.

For one impossible moment, she was simply a woman loved by her husband.

Not a spy. Not an agent. Not agent NYX Not Ava Hart. Just Ava.

His Ava.

"Hum aapko kabhi chhod kar nahi jaayenge," she whispered.

('' I will never leave you alone.'')

Then she buried her face against his neck again, breathing in his familiar scent, the one that always seemed to calm the restless parts of her heart.

Zaid closed his eyes and held her tighter, as though he wanted to preserve the feeling of her in his arms forever.

"That's all I needed to know, Jaan."

For a few quiet moments, they remained like that, holding each other in the soft stillness of the dream while neither of them dared to disturb the fragile happiness surrounding them.

Then, as though the intensity of the moment had become too much even for him, a familiar mischievous grin slowly returned to Zaid's face.

Ava did not notice the change in his expression until his arms tightened around her waist.

"Zoravar Sahab—"

Before she could finish her sentence, he lifted her completely into his arms, causing her to gasp in surprise.

Then he spun her around.

Her startled gasp quickly transformed into laughter as she clung to his shoulders, while Zaid laughed with her and spun her again simply because he could not resist the joy in her voice.

"Zoravar Sahab!"

Ava's stomach fluttered with butterflies, and she could not tell whether the sensation came from the spinning or from the way he held her so securely against him.

For once, however, she did not care enough to question it.

She was happy. She was with him.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Then the laughter began to fade. The warmth disappeared. The room blurred around them, and Zaid's smile slowly vanished as the dream began to dissolve.

His eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling without moving, his breathing uneven and his chest rising and falling as he tried to understand where he was and why the happiness had disappeared so suddenly.

The bedroom was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was no laughter filling the room, no blush-pink or soft blue saree brushing against his hands, no arms wrapped around his neck, no blonde hair slipping through his fingers, and no soft voice calling him Zoravar Sahab.

That word sent shivers down his spine. No one ever called him that. People called him Sahab. Zaid Bhai. Even Zaid Sahab.

There was only silence.

Zaid slowly turned his head toward the other side of the bed, he found her asleep beside him. She looked peaceful. But the distance was still there. He just wasn't unable to accept how quickly the dream had vanished when it had felt so real only seconds ago.

He could still feel her against him, still hear the sound of her laughter, and still remember the warmth of her cheek beneath his palm as though she had truly been lying beside him.

He closed his eyes.

"Ya Allah..."

A quiet breath escaped him as he tried to steady himself.

What kind of dream was that?

Why had his own mind shown him a life he had never dared to imagine, a life in which Ava was not merely his wife by circumstance but the person who had become his home, his family, his happiness, and his Jaan?

Zaid slowly sat up and rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to dismiss the lingering emotions as nothing more than the foolishness of a sleeping mind.

He let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh.

"Pagal ho gaye ho, Zaid?"

But the smile that appeared on his lips did not last, because somewhere deep inside himself, beneath all the logic, discipline, and restraint he had relied upon for years, he already knew the truth.

He had not dreamed about Ava simply because she was his wife.

He had dreamed about her because he wanted her, because he wanted the life they had shared in that dream, and because some hidden part of him had begun to believe that she was the only person with whom he could ever feel truly at home.

And perhaps that was the one truth he was still too afraid to admit, even to himself.

But deep down he hoped that one day he would have that with her.

What confused him the most that who was Tristan he had dreamed of? And Samar and Ira? Ava hadn't even met them yet.

Ya Allah what had he dreamed of.

It made no sense.

Morning came to Zoravar Estate quietly. It didn't feel as heavy as yesterday. The house was slowly waking up, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and warming the marble floors.

Zaid, however, had already been awake for nearly three hours. He had taken his bath, made a few early-morning calls, read a few pages from the book he'd left on his nightstand and spent some time going through the files waiting for him.

But now...

He was standing in the kitchen.

And he had a problem.

A very serious problem. Scrambled eggs.

Zaid stared down at the pan as if it had personally challenged him. Because it kind of did.  Apparently, Ava liked scrambled eggs. He had found that out yesterday.

And he knew how to cook.

Technically. His mother, Mahira, had taught both him and Inaya how to manage a kitchen from a young age. He could make a decent meal when necessary. Masala omelettes were practically second nature to him.

But scrambled eggs?

That was a completely different battlefield. He had never really made them. And apparently, eggs had a personal vendetta against him. He looked toward the bin. Three failed attempts.

One had been so overcooked it looked like rubber. The second had been so undercooked that he had refused to even look at it twice.

And the third...

He wrinkled his nose. "Eww." He didn't even know what had happened to that one. Zaid sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Ya Allah..." He looked back at the pan. "Why is this so difficult?"

From the kitchen entrance, Saira stood completely still. Her eyes were wide. The man who could command a room in Parliament without raising his voice... The man who could sit through hours of political arguments without losing his patience...

Was standing in the kitchen at seven in the morning, fighting with a frying pan because he wanted to make breakfast for his wife.

And somehow...

It was adorable.  Saira pressed her lips together to hide her smile.Zaid didn't notice. He was far too busy concentrating. It wasn't that he couldn't cook. He simply hadn't needed to.

Most of his life, he had eaten the food the staff prepared or whatever Saira cooked for him when he was at the estate. Otherwise he cooked on his own.

He had always been alone here. There had never been anyone waiting for breakfast. No one whose favourite dish he needed to remember. No one whose preferences mattered to him in this particular way.

He had left home at age of 25 and brought his own to build his own space and life. His parents had supported him like everytime.

But now Ava was here.

And yesterday had made one thing painfully clear.

If he wanted this marriage to work, he couldn't simply expect things to fall into place. He had to make an effort. The children were still waiting. The bill had failed. The political battle wasn't over. He would keep fighting until those children received the life they deserved. He wasn't going to sit quietly because one bill had been rejected.

He knew someone had played a dirty trick. Everyone told him it was Farooq Rehmani but without proof he couldn't just blame Rehmani.

But alongside all of that...

He was a husband now.  Ava deserved effort too. He needed to understand her. He needed to know what made her happy. What made her comfortable. What made her smile.

His mother's voice suddenly came back to him. "Ek insaan ke dil tak ka raasta uske pet se hoke jaata hai."

The corners of his lips lifted. Why not? If Ava liked certain dishes, he would learn to make them. Maybe this was how he could start. One meal at a time. One small effort at a time. 

He picked up the spatula again.

"Okay."

He stared at the eggs.

"This time."

A voice suddenly came from behind him.

"Bhai..."

Zaid turned.

Inaya stood at the entrance, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her eyes travelled from her brother... To the pan... Then to the three suspicious-looking casualties sitting in the bin. She bit her lip. "Are you making breakfast?"

Zaid narrowed his eyes. He did not like her expression. He was actually being serious here. 

"Yes."

"For Bhabhi?"

(''For Sister - in - Law'')

He gave her a look.

Inaya's smile widened.

"Bhai, lagta hai aaj Parliament ki meeting Zoravar Estate ke kitchen mein hi hone wali hai."

(''Bro, it seems like Parliament meeting is going to take place today in Zoravar Estate.'')

Saira immediately covered her mouth with the edge of her dupatta to hide her laughter. A few other members of the staff quickly looked away.

Zaid glared at all of them.

"Very funny."

Inaya giggled.

"I'm serious!"

She stepped farther into the kitchen and looked at the pan.

"Yeh kya ban raha hai?"

(''What are you even making?'')

"Scrambled eggs."

Inaya stared at them. Then at her brother. Then back at the eggs.

"Are you sure?"

Zaid's jaw tightened. He wasn't joking here. He was actually trying to cook, and this girl—ugh.

"Inaya."

She raised both hands.

"Okay, okay. I'm not saying anything."

A pause.

"Although the eggs might."

Zaid looked offended.

"Just leave."

Inaya burst into laughter.

"Bhai!"

She leaned against the counter, clearly enjoying herself.

"You're actually making breakfast for Bhabhi."

"Yes."

"Voluntarily?"

Zaid sighed.

"Yes, voluntarily."

Inaya's eyes sparkled.

"Bhai..."

She leaned closer and lowered her voice.

"You're already whipped."

Zaid's hand stopped.

He didn't even turn around.

"Inaya."

"Hmm?"

"Go."

She giggled.

"But I'm just saying—"

"Go."

"Bhabhi has been here for barely two days and you've already become her personal chef."

"I am not her personal chef."

"Not yet."

Zaid finally looked at her.

His ears had turned red.

Inaya's grin became enormous.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"You're blushing!"

"I am not."

"You are!"

"I am not."

"You absolutely are."

Zaid turned back toward the stove, pretending to be extremely interested in the eggs.

"Please leave me alone."

Inaya laughed softly.

"Fine, Bhai."

She started walking away.

Then turned back.

"And don't burn Bhabhi's breakfast."

Zaid frowned.

"I won't."

She glanced at the bin.

"Hopefully."

"Inaya!"

She disappeared down the hallway, laughing.

Saira finally allowed herself a small chuckle.

Zaid glanced at her.

"Saira."

"Yes, Sahab?"

"Don't."

She immediately straightened.

"Ji."

Aman who had been passing by saw his Sahab in kitchen a smile appeared on his lips as he shaked his head before walking away

Zaid looked back at the pan.

But despite himself...

A tiny smile appeared on his face. He carefully stirred the eggs again. This time, he was determined to get them right. Because somewhere along the way, breakfast had stopped being just breakfast.

It was his first little attempt at becoming the husband he had promised himself he would be.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ABOUT A HOUR LATER

Upstairs in the bedroom, Ava had finally woken up. According to the character she was playing, she was not a woman who woke up at the crack of dawn. Around nine o'clock was perfectly normal for her, so she had allowed herself to sleep until then.

After taking a bath, she dressed herself in a beautiful blue saree with a backless blouse. She stood before the mirror, combing her blonde hair and letting it fall freely down her back. Then she reached for her stack of choodiyan, sliding them carefully over her wrists.

Chink.

The sound was strangely annoying.

Because what the fuck was this?

Chink?

Seriously?

She hated the sound they made. She wanted to literally tear them off her wrists, but she couldn't.

Newlyweds usually wore chooda. So she had to wear them too. Apparently, suffering in silence was also part of being a newlywed.

That thought fits Ava really well, especially because she's someone who has already been trained to value independence, control, and identity. It can sound even sharper if her thoughts carry that cynical, almost bitter disbelief:

God, was marriage really the biggest shit a woman could ever believe in? Why would anyone willingly give up her identity, her freedom, her entire life just to live beside a man who could very well ruin it someday?

She had never understood the appeal. A ring around your finger, a new surname, a house that wasn't yours, and suddenly everyone expected you to call it a life. A woman was supposed to leave everything she knew behind and build herself around a man—as if her dreams, her ambitions, her name, her freedom were all things she could simply surrender.

And for what?

The promise that he would love her?

Promises were cheap. Men changed. People changed. Love changed.

And when it did, what was left of the woman who had given everything away?

Pathetic.

That was exactly what Ava thought. For now atleast she did.

She picked up her lipstick and applied a soft brown shade before hooking her jhumkas into her ears. A small blue bindi went neatly onto the centre of her forehead, followed by a careful line of sindoor through her hairline. Her mangalsutra was already resting around her neck.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked exactly like the woman everyone believed her to be. A young wife. A woman deeply connected to her Indian roots. A Hindu woman who believed in her gods, respected her traditions and cared about festivals.

Tomorrow was Maha Shivratri.

And that gave her the perfect excuse.

She was supposed to go shopping.

And Zaid would take her.

He couldn't exactly refuse his wife, especially after what had happened yesterday. The thought of the festival made something unexpectedly stir inside her.

For a brief second, she remembered years ago. Life had been simpler then. Her father would bring her mother a new saree for the festival. Sometimes, even at night, he would cook for the pooja himself. Her mother would dress up and look like a real princess, and before they left, she would bend down, kiss Ava's forehead and whisper that one day, she would have a life just as beautiful.

Ava scoffed at her reflection. What a lie. Her mother had built those beautiful little lies inside her head.

And Ava had been the bigger fool for believing them.

She looked away from the mirror as those unwanted emotions began clawing their way back to the surface.

Focus, Hart.

She took a slow breath.

Focus.

Zaid was most likely going to his office first. Yesterday evening, they had paperwork to deal with, and his secretary, Aryaveer, had shown up at the estate. He had actually been kind enough to bring her flowers and ask how she was feeling.

Ava had no idea what kind of man the secretary was. That was Anika's problem. She dealt with the people behind the operation; Ava dealt with Zaid.

Then he and Zaid had disappeared into the study. Business. Whatever they had discussed had clearly been important. Which meant Zaid would probably head to his office today.

And if he did...

She could go with him. Perfect. Ava's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied her reflection. His office was exactly where she needed to be.

She needed to see where he worked. Who worked around him. What documents were kept there. What kind of information he had access to.

Maybe she would find something useful. Maybe she wouldn't. He would most probably have files hidden.

Either way, she needed to look. But this time, she had to be careful. She had already ruined things once. She couldn't make another mistake. Zaid was not an easy man to bring down. Not simply because he was popular.

He was the Chief Minister of Lucknow, chosen by thousands of people who believed he could represent them. He had influence, connections, loyal supporters and people who genuinely trusted him.

But that didn't mean he was untouchable.

Everyone had enemies.

And Zaid had plenty.

Ava's fingers tightened around the edge of her saree. If she couldn't bring him down from the inside... Perhaps she could work from the outside.

But that wouldn't be needed anyway. She was a good spy—the kind of spy people feared. She had pulled down countless people while wearing countless identities, slipping into different lives and becoming whoever she needed to be.

A confident smirk tugged at her lips.

Yup. That wouldn't be needed. She could handle a man. It wasn't that big of a deal.

She was the NYX everyone knew her code name but no one knew person behind it because no one ever saw her real face. They never did.

She knew there were people who wanted Zaid gone. Political opponents.

Powerful men who had lost something because of him. People who didn't like the way he worked. People who would happily see him fall.

If her original plan failed, she could always find his enemies.

Yeah.

A tiny, calculating smile appeared on her lips.

That would make my job much easier.

She picked up her phone and turned toward the door. Whatever happened today, she couldn't afford to lose sight of the mission.

Zaid Zoravar might trust her. He might even care about her.

But Ava Hart had not forgotten why she was here.

And she wasn't going to fail again.

As Ava reached downstairs, a gentle smile had already settled back onto her lips, perfectly fitting the character she was playing.

But the moment she stepped into the hallway, she froze.

What the hell was happening?

There, standing in the kitchen like a man who had somehow wandered into a place he clearly did not belong, was Zaid.

Saira stood just outside the kitchen, hovering uncertainly as though she wanted to say something but had no idea how to approach him.

And Inaya was sitting comfortably at the dining table with her coffee, watching the entire disaster unfold with an amused expression.

Ava's eyes moved back to Zaid. He looked like he wanted to cry. His eyes were fixed on the plate of scrambled eggs sitting in front of him as though the eggs had personally offended him.

Yup. He had failed at this too.

Inaya glanced toward Ava, and her amused expression softened immediately. "Oh, Bhabhi, you're here. You really should see the mess your husband is making."

Zaid turned at the sound of her voice.

And then he saw Ava.

He froze. Ya Allah. How was she this beautiful? He forced himself to pull his gaze away before he stared for too long, suddenly remembering the promise he had made to himself.

He wouldn't look at her like that.

Not until she was comfortable enough to let him.

"Uh... good morning, Ava."

He rubbed the back of his neck, where an embarrassing blush had already begun creeping up.

"Uh... good morning, Zaid Ji. Aap yeh kya kar rahe hain?"

(''Uh...good morning, Zaid. What are you doing?'')

Ava glanced around the kitchen, taking in the mess while carefully keeping her expression neutral.

Because what the fuck was this man doing? Was he planning something?

Zaid lowered his gaze toward the ruined eggs.

"Uh... Ava, I was just cooking breakfast for you."

He sounded almost embarrassed admitting it. He avoided looking at her, suddenly very interested in the spatula in his hand. Maybe she would judge him. Maybe she would laugh.

And honestly, he wouldn't even blame her.

What kind of grown man was he if he couldn't even cook something as simple as scrambled eggs for his own wife?

He was Zaid Zoravar, for God's sake. He made things right for people. He fought for children who had nobody to fight for them. He could stand in Parliament and argue with half the people in the room without blinking.

Yet here he was, defeated by eggs. Pathetic. That was exactly how he felt.

"I'm going to fix this," he muttered, turning back toward the stove. "You should sit down."

He was determined to get it right this time. He had failed once. He wasn't failing again. He was Zaid Zoravar. How hard could scrambled eggs possibly be?

Before he could turn back to the pan, Ava spoke.

"Uh... suniye..."

(''Uh....listen.....'')

Zaid paused.

"Zaid Ji?"

The way she said his name made him stop completely.

He turned around.

"Ji, boliye."

(''Yes.'')

He straightened immediately, trying to recover whatever dignity he had left while standing there in an apron, holding a spatula, with half the kitchen looking like it had survived a minor war.

Ava glanced toward the stove and then back at him.

"Uh... aap eggs bana rahe hain?"

(Uh....are you making eggs?'')

Zaid nodded.

"Yes. I thought I would make you breakfast, Ava."

He paused and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling strangely nervous beneath her gaze.

"I just thought..."

He didn't finish. He didn't know why he was suddenly so embarrassed. Maybe because the eggs were slightly burnt. Maybe because the kitchen looked like a disaster. Or maybe because he simply wanted to do something for her and had somehow managed to make a mess of it.

Ava's expression softened.

"Uh... Zaid Ji..."

She hesitated before lowering her gaze.

"I can't eat eggs."

Zaid's eyebrows knitted together. "You can't?" He sounded genuinely confused. Then concern immediately replaced it.

"What's wrong, Ava? Are you feeling sick?" He moved toward her, instinctively studying her face for any sign of illness. "Are you dizzy? Is something hurting?" He leaned slightly closer, looking for any paleness in her face.

Ava looked up at him. For a moment, she almost forgot what she was supposed to do. The concern in his eyes looked so genuine. But she reminded herself of who he was.

Who she believed him to be. She couldn't afford to let herself be distracted. She gave him a small smile and gently touched the rudraksha beads resting around her neck.

"Zaid Ji, hum beemar nahi hain."

(''Zaid, I am not sick.'')

Her fingers moved over the beads.

"Woh... actually kal Maha Shivratri hai, Zaid Ji. So I won't be eating anything non-vegetarian."

(''Tomorrow is MahaShivratri, Zaid.  So I won't be eating anything non-vegetarian.")

Zaid froze. For one second, he simply stared at her. Then his eyes widened.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

How could he have forgotten?

Of course it was Maha Shivratri tomorrow. She was half-hindu, deeply connected to her Hindu traditions, and he should have remembered that she wouldn't be eating eggs or meat during the festival.

Ya Allah, what a fool I am. He looked toward the plate of eggs as though he had personally betrayed himself. He had wasted all that time making them, and Ava probably couldn't even touch them.

"Oh God, Ava, hamein maaf kijiye."

(''Oh god, Ava, please forgive me.'')

He immediately started rambling. "I just didn't think of that. I'm such a fool. I should have known."

He glanced toward the kitchen. "I'll clean this up. Saira will make you something better." Then he looked back at Ava. "And I'll just go take a bath and get ready. We can go shopping if you want."

Ava looked at him. This man really did play the part well.

"Uh... yes. Hum aapko batane wale the that I needed to go to the market."

(''Uh yes I was about to tell you that I needed to go to market.'')

She lowered her gaze again.

"But aapne... aapne khud hi samajh liya."

(''But you understood it yourself.'')

Zaid noticed the way she lowered her eyes. Again. He didn't like it. Something about it bothered him more than it should have. He wanted his wife to look at him. He wanted her to meet his eyes without fear or hesitation. He wanted her to argue with him when she thought he was wrong. He wanted her to have enough confidence to slap him if he ever deserved it. He didn't want her lowering her gaze as though she was afraid of him.

His eyes moved toward Saira, who was already inside the kitchen cleaning up the mess. He sighed quietly in relief.

At least someone was taking care of the disaster he had created. Though he felt guilty he should be cleaning the mess but right now he just didn't have time.

Then his attention returned to Ava.

And the guilt that had been sitting somewhere in the back of his mind since yesterday returned all over again.

"Uh... Ava?"

She looked at him.

"Aap theek toh hain na?"

(''You are okay right?'')

He hesitated, unsure how to ask without making her uncomfortable.

"I mean... aapko kahin pain toh nahi ho raha? Ya dizziness?"

(''I mean....you are not in pain right? Or dizziness?'')

He stepped closer and lowered himself slightly so he could meet her eyes. Inaya, who had been watching them from the dining table, quietly got up and walked away. She understood when to give a married couple some privacy.

Ava stared at Zaid. For a moment, she couldn't move.

There was something painfully raw in his eyes. Something that almost looked real. The concern. The guilt. The way he was looking at her as though her slightest discomfort genuinely mattered to him. Nobody had ever shown her this kind of kindness except Anika and Tristan.

Her chest tightened. For one dangerous second, she almost believed him.

Then she remembered who he was. A corrupt man. A politician who knew exactly how to manipulate people. A man who could put on whatever face he needed whenever it suited him.

Maybe this was just another performance. He wanted her on his good side. He wanted her trust.

And once he had it, she would become useful to him.

Yeah.

That had to be what this was.

Ava pushed the strange tightness in her chest aside and smiled.

"Aap chinta mat kijiye, Zaid Ji. Hum ab bilkul theek hain."

(''Don't worry, Zaid. I am perfectly fine.'')

She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

Zaid let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He studied her face one more time, searching for any sign of weakness. There was none.

She looked perfectly fine.

Perfectly beautiful.

Almost ethereal.

"Okay..."

He nodded.

"ham zara bath leke aate hain."

(''I will go and take a bath.'')

He turned to leave. It wasn't he hadn't taken a bath but now he had touched eggs and Ava was trying to avoid them today so to be around her he better get a bath.

Ava moved toward the dining table, intending to sit down and wait for Saira to bring her breakfast.

Zaid took one step away.

Then stopped.

His entire body froze.

His eyes widened slightly.

Had he just seen—

He blinked.

No.

Surely not.

His gaze slowly moved back toward Ava.

She had already walked past him, completely unaware of the crisis happening inside his head.

Zaid stared.

Was that...?

His eyes dropped for half a second before he immediately forced them back up. A backless blouse. She was wearing a backless blouse.

Ya Allah.

Ava moved toward the dining table, ready to sit down and wait for Saira to bring her breakfast.

He stood there for a moment, completely still. Not because some inappropriate thought had crossed his mind. It hadn't.

He just hadn't expected it.

And unfortunately, his eyes had noticed before his brain had the chance to politely look somewhere else.

A faint warmth crept up his neck.

Zaid Zoravar. Nazar neeche.

Haya  libaas mein nahi hoti... niyyat aur nazar mein bhi hoti hai.

He lowered his gaze. Whatever Ava chose to wear was her choice. His responsibility was to keep his own eyes and intentions respectful.

He immediately lowered his gaze. It wasn't that he thought there was anything wrong with what she was wearing. Ava could wear whatever made her comfortable. That was her choice.

But he had promised himself something. He wouldn't make her uncomfortable. He wouldn't look at her in a way she hadn't invited him to.

And until Ava herself allowed him into that space, Zaid would keep his distance. So he quietly cleared his throat and looked toward literally anything else in the room.

The wall. The floor. The extremely interesting light fixture. Anywhere but his wife.

Ya Allah, kitni sundar lag rahi hai yeh. Inhe hamesha buri nazro se bachana.

Without saying another word, Zaid turned around and walked upstairs to take his bath, leaving Ava completely unaware that behind her, her otherwise composed husband had just experienced a very small, very unexpected crisis.

About half an hour later, they were in the car.

Zaid was driving himself. Usually, he had a driver, or Aman would drive him wherever he needed to go, but today was different. Today, for the first time, he was taking Ava out of the estate himself.

Before leaving, he had actually taken the time to read about Maha Shivratri. He had learned that it was one of the most important festivals in Hindu culture, a night dedicated to Lord Shiva and, according to one of the traditions he had read about, the divine union of Shiva and Parvati.

He didn't know much about Hindu traditions, but he wanted to. Not because anyone had asked him to. Because they mattered to his wife.

And if something mattered to Ava, he wanted to understand it.

Still, taking her out into Lucknow wasn't something he could do without thinking about the consequences.

Everyone knew him here.

And now everyone knew that Zaid Zoravar had recently gotten married.

He didn't want Ava to feel overwhelmed by the sudden attention or uncomfortable because people recognised him everywhere they went. More importantly, he needed to make sure she was safe.

It was her first time stepping outside the estate since their marriage. He wasn't going to take any chances. His eyes remained on the road as he merged into the traffic, but after a moment, he glanced toward the passenger seat.

Ava looked calm. Her hand rested against the window panel, her chin supported lightly against her palm as she watched the streets pass by.

The sight made something in Zaid's chest loosen. The tension that had been sitting in his jaw for the last twenty minutes finally softened. She looked peaceful. So different from the woman he had found unconscious in his study two days ago.

That image still haunted him. The way her body had gone limp in his arms. The fear that had ripped through him when he realised something was wrong. He hadn't been able to forget it.

But seeing her like this—quiet, comfortable and seemingly at ease—made some of that tightness disappear.

"Uh... suniye?"

(''Uh...listen?'')

He called out softly, keeping his attention on the road.

Ava turned toward him.

"Ji, Zaid Ji? Aap kuch bol rahe the?"

(''Zaid? You were saying something?'')

Zaid hesitated for a second.

"Hamein na ek baar Parliament jaana hai."

(''I just needed to go to Parliament.'')

He glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction. All he found in her eyes was understanding.

"I am really sorry. It won't take long, okay? You can wait in the car if you'd rather, or you can come inside with me. Whatever you're comfortable with."

There was genuine apology in his voice.

Ava nodded. Inside, however, something almost satisfying settled in her chest.

Yes. This was it. Finally, something was going according to plan. She had wanted to see where Zaid worked, and now she was being given an opportunity to enter Parliament with him. She couldn't have asked for a better excuse.

"Zaid Ji, aap sorry mat boliye," she said softly. "Kaam toh kaam hota hai. It always comes first."

(''Zaid, don't be sorry,'' she said softly. ''Work is work. It always comes first.'')

She gave him a gentle smile.

"Hum aapke saath andar chal lenge. Aap apna kaam araam se kijiye. Don't rush it. Hum wait kar lenge."

(''I will come with you. You can do your work. Don't rush it. I can wait.'')

Zaid went quiet. God. How kind was this woman? She kept agreeing to everything. She cooperated without complaining, even with a man she barely knew.

Always with that soft smile. Part of him felt incredibly lucky. Another part of him wanted to shake her gently and tell her to stop being so agreeable.

He wanted her to complain. To demand things. To tell him when she didn't like something. He wanted her to argue with him if she thought he was wrong. He wanted to see her feelings instead of constantly watching her hide them. But perhaps he was expecting too much. It had only been three days since their arranged marriage.

To her, he was practically a stranger.

Sabar, Zaid.

Thoda sabar rakhiye.

He kept his thoughts to himself. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Instead, after a few moments of silence, a thought occurred to him.

His lips curved slightly. Like mischief was already making its way towards him.

Ava glanced at him.

He kept his eyes on the road, but there was something different in his expression now.

"Aapne bola tha na ki aap hamein 'Ji' kehkar nahi bulayengi?"

(''You said that you wouldn't refer me as 'Ji'?'')

Ava blinked.

Zaid stopped at a red light and finally turned his head toward her. A teasing glint appeared in his eyes.

"Lekin aap har dafa saans leti hain aur hame 'Zaid Ji' keh deti hain."

(''But everytime you break you call me 'Zaid Ji'.''

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"Har sentence mein."

('' In every sentence.'')

Ava stared at him. The sudden change in his tone caught her completely off guard. This wasn't the serious, apologetic Zaid from a few minutes ago.

This was something else. Something lighter. Almost playful. A man trying to make efforts in marriage, getting to know his wife.

And she couldn't help the small grin that appeared on her face. Well that was part of the character too. In real life she would have punched him.

"Zaid Ji, aap kya bol rahe hain?"

(''Zaid, what are you saying?'')

She immediately lowered her gaze, suddenly becoming very interested in the pallu of her saree.

Zaid noticed. The little fidgeting movement. The way she always seemed to retreat into herself whenever attention turned toward her.

His teasing expression softened. He turned slightly toward her.

"Ava."

His voice was gentler now.

She slowly looked up.

"Ji?"

(''Yes?'')

"I know you said you'd stop calling me that."

He paused.

"But I was only teasing you."

Ava looked at him for a moment before explaining quietly.

"Hamare ghar mein... hamari maa hamesha hamare baba ko 'aap' kehkar bulati thi. Kabhi unka naam nahi leti thi."

(''In my home...my mother would always refer my father as 'aap'. Never took his name.''

She looked down at her hands.

"Unhone mujhe bachpan se sikhaya tha ki pati ko izzat deni chahiye.'') 

(''She taught me since childhood that I should respect my husband.'')

She hesitated.

"So... aadat ho gayi."

(''So I am used to it.'')

''I just can't not call you just Zaid. Its not what I have been taught.''

Zaid listened without interrupting.

In his mind, her parents were Sangeeta and Naresh—the traditional parents who had raised a daughter to be independent enough to have her own life, but never quite enough to forget that she was expected to fit into a certain mould.

He had heard enough from Ava to understand that her upbringing had left marks on her.

And suddenly, her constant hesitation made a little more sense.

She had been taught that being a good wife meant adjusting. Being respectful meant keeping her voice soft. Being obedient meant not making demands.

And perhaps that was why she kept lowering her eyes whenever she thought she might have displeased him.

Zaid's chest tightened.

He took a slow breath, gathering his thoughts before speaking.

"Ava..."

His voice was quiet.

Just as he said her name, the light turned green. He turned his attention back to the road and eased the car forward.

For a moment, Ava thought he wasn't going to say anything. Then she spoke before he could.

"Uh... jab tak hum decide nahi kar lete ki aapko kya bulana hai..."

(''Until I can't decide what to call you.'')

She gave him a nervous little glance.

"Hum aapko Zaid Ji bulaayenge. Is that okay?"

(''I am gonna call you Zaid Ji. Is that okay?'')

There was something almost cautious in the way she asked. As though she was waiting to see whether he would be angry.

Zaid noticed. Of course he noticed.

"Ava."

His voice was calm. He took a right turn, one hand steady on the steering wheel.

"I am not angry with you."

He paused.

"Who am I to get angry because you called me something out of respect?"

His jaw tightened slightly, not with anger but with something closer to conviction.

"And a man who makes a woman afraid of him isn't much of a man in the first place."

Ava went still.

Zaid continued, his voice quiet but certain.

"You can call me whatever you want."

He glanced at her briefly.

"You're my wife. You have every right to decide what you want to call me."

Ava's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her dupatta.

"I don't want you to feel forced to do anything in this marriage, Ava. Not by me."

His gaze returned to the road.

"I don't know what else your mother taught you, or what you were made to believe a wife is supposed to be."

He exhaled softly.

"But you are free here."

He looked at her again.

"You can disagree with me. You can tell me no. You can ask for things. You can be angry with me."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"You can even tell me when I'm being an idiot."

Ava stared at him.

"And if you want to call me Zaid Ji," he added, "then call me Zaid Ji."

He shrugged slightly.

"I'll survive."

Something inside Ava went completely still. She couldn't speak. Her eyes remained fixed on him as she clutched her dupatta between her fingers.

Did he really mean that?

No man had ever spoken to her like this. Not after her father. Not with this kind of certainty.

For one dangerous second, she wondered if—

No.

She stopped herself. How could she even think that? The Directorate wasn't wrong.

They had told her exactly who Zaid Zoravar was. A corrupt man. A dangerous politician. A man who knew how to make people trust him. This was simply another part of his performance.

He wanted her comfortable. He wanted her on his side. He wanted her trust.

And apparently, he was very good at getting it.

Focus, Hart.

She forced herself out of the thought. She had a job to do.

"Ava?"

Zaid's voice pulled her back.

She blinked and looked toward him.

"Uh... yes. Hum theek hain, Zaid Ji."

(''Uh yes. I am okay, Zaid.'')

She gave him a small smile.

"Aapki baat... woh..."

(''Your words...actually....'')

She struggled to find the right words.

"No one has ever said those things to me before."

Her fingers loosened around the fabric.

"In my home, I wasn't exactly free to do whatever I wanted. So hearing you say that..."

She gave a tiny, almost embarrassed laugh.

"It feels strange."

Her eyes met his.

"Almost surprising."

Then her smile softened.

"But... thank you. For saying it."

Zaid's expression changed. Something in his chest clenched painfully. He hated the thought of her having grown up feeling like that. Of being made to believe that her choices mattered less simply because she was a woman. 

No one deserved to feel like a guest in their own life.

And now she was his wife.

Whatever had happened before him wasn't something he could change. But he could change what came after. He looked at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the road.

"Don't thank me for that, Ava."

His voice was quiet.

"You shouldn't have to."

Ava didn't answer. She simply looked out of the window again.

And neither of them noticed how, somewhere between the estate and the city, something had shifted.

For Zaid, it was the quiet determination that he would never make her feel small. For Ava, it was something much more dangerous.

For the first time, she wasn't entirely sure whether the man she had been told to destroy was the man sitting beside her.

Because if he was which he was she knew. God, why was she even doubting. He was just a really good actor.

Soon, they reached Parliament. The moment the car approached the entrance, the guards recognised Zaid.

One of them immediately straightened and bowed his head in respect. It wasn't the kind of respect people showed simply because a powerful man was passing by.

Zaid had never demanded that from anyone. People respected him because he treated them with the same dignity regardless of who they were, and somehow that made them want to return the same respect to him.

Zaid slowed the car and lowered the window.

"Aur, Arsh? Ghar mein sab theek hai?"

(''Arsh? Is everything okay at home?'')

His voice was easy and familiar, nothing like the formal tone people usually heard from him in public.

Arsh looked up immediately. A smile spread across his face. "Ji, Sahab. Aapki kripa se sab theek hai." He joined his hands respectfully before his eyes briefly moved toward Ava.

(''Yes, Sir. With your support everything is good.'')

He gave her the same respectful nod before looking away again, careful not to stare or make her uncomfortable.

Ava returned the gesture with a polite smile.

Zaid rolled the window back up and drove the car further inside.

After a moment, he glanced toward her.

"That was Arsh. He's been working here as a guard for a long time."

There was a small smile on his face.

"Very honest man. That's why he's still here."

Ava nodded smiling.

Zaid didn't say anything for a moment, but there was something quietly satisfied in his expression. He didn't usually explain such small things to people. Who Arsh was. How long he had worked there. Why he trusted him. These were insignificant details in the larger scheme of his life.

But with Ava, he found himself wanting to tell her everything.' Perhaps because he didn't want her to feel like an outsider here. This was his world now. And she was his wife.

So, in his mind, it was hers too.

Just as he wanted to know about the things that belonged to her world, he wanted her to know the people who belonged to his.

He glanced at her once more.

Ava was still looking around. Her expression was calm, almost curious.

But behind that calmness, her eyes were taking in everything.

The entrance.

The guards.

The security arrangements.

The people coming and going.

The buildings.

The routes.

Everything.

She was memorising it all.

And Zaid, completely unaware of the reason behind her careful observation, simply smiled faintly and continued driving.

Zaid parked the car in the designated area and switched off the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Zaid stepped out first and walked around the car, opening Ava's door for her.

He hesitated for barely a second before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his handkerchief. He folded it quickly, turning it into a makeshift little bridge between them.

He held out one end for Ava while keeping the other in his own hand. It was a small thing. Almost unnecessary.

But he didn't want to suddenly take her hand and make her uncomfortable, especially after everything she had been through.

"Thank you," Ava whispered.

She looked down at the handkerchief between them for a moment. It was strange. Any man could have taken the opportunity to hold his wife's hand. To feel her touch. To use the excuse of helping her out of the car.

But Zaid hadn't.

He had gone out of his way to make sure even something as simple as holding hands happened only if she was comfortable with it.

Ava looked at him briefly.

This man really was good at playing the part.

She reminded herself of that immediately. Because there was no way she was going to believe that this was who he truly was.

Zaid closed the car door gently behind her.

The moment they started walking toward the entrance, Ava noticed the change. The atmosphere here was completely different from the estate.

There were more people. More movement. More security.

Guards stood at different points around the building while staff moved in and out carrying files and folders, some speaking hurriedly into their phones, others stopping to greet Zaid as he passed.

And almost everyone knew him.

"Sahab, good morning."

"Good morning, sir."

"Namaste, Zaid ji."

"Assalamu alaikum, Sahab."

Zaid acknowledged everyone. Not mechanically. He actually looked at them. He smiled. He asked questions.

At one point, he stopped to ask a clerk about his mother, who apparently hadn't been well, and then asked another employee about her daughter's exams.

Ava watched quietly.

He remembers all of them?

That was unexpected.

She had expected people to move out of his way because he was the Chief Minister.

Instead, people smiled when they saw him. Some greeted him with folded hands.

Others simply smiled and nodded as they passed. There was no fear on their faces.

No forced politeness. It didn't fit the picture she had been given. Not even slightly.

She pushed the thought away.

Focus.

Her eyes moved naturally across the surroundings.

Two security checkpoints before the main entrance. A reception area. Cameras positioned above the doors. Another set of guards near the corridor leading toward the administrative offices.

She took everything in without letting her expression change. Years of training had taught her how to look without making it obvious that she was looking.

She didn't stare. She didn't hesitate. She simply noticed.

Zaid, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware of the silent assessment happening beside him.

He slowed his pace when he realised she had fallen half a step behind.

"Ava?"

She looked at him.

"Ji?"

(''Yes?'')

"You okay?"

"Yes."

She smiled softly.

"Bas... thoda dekh rahe the."

(''I was just looking.'')

Zaid smiled.

"First time hai. Dekhna toh banta hai."

He didn't question her further. Instead, he gestured toward the large hallway ahead.

"This way."

They continued walking.

Ava kept her expression soft and interested while her mind worked quietly beneath it. She noticed which doors required access cards.

She also had a visitor card Zaid already had made for her knowing she might come to Parliament. Non - Members of the Parliament always needed the pass.

Which corridors seemed restricted.

Which guards appeared to be stationed permanently and which were moving between posts.

She memorised the layout as naturally as she could. She wasn't looking for anything specific yet. Not until she knew exactly what she was looking at.

They reached another corridor when a young man came hurrying toward them with a file tucked beneath his arm.

He stopped the moment he saw Zaid.

"Sir."

Zaid nodded.

"Morning."

The man glanced toward Ava and immediately straightened.

"Ma'am."

Ava gave him a polite smile.

Zaid introduced him without hesitation.

"This is Raghav. He works with the legislative team."

Raghav smiled respectfully.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you too."

Raghav nodded and hurried away.

Ava watched him disappear around the corner.

Legislative team.

Interesting.

Her gaze dropped briefly toward the file he had been carrying. She couldn't see the contents. Damn.

She would need another way.

"Come."

Zaid's voice pulled her attention back.

She looked at him.

He was standing a few steps ahead, waiting for her.

"You're getting lost already?"

There was amusement in his voice.

Ava smiled.

"Hum kahin nahi kho rahe hain," she whispered defensively, though the burning of her cheeks betrayed her completely.

Or maybe because she was doing a good act.

"Good." he whispered despite the red cheeks enjoying the moment with his wife He waited until she caught up before continuing.

As they walked, Zaid pointed toward one of the large doors.

"That's where most of the meetings happen."

Ava looked toward it.

"And your office?"

"Just ahead."

Her heart gave a small, almost imperceptible jump.

Finally.

She kept her expression perfectly neutral.

"Achha."

Zaid glanced at her.

"Excited?"

Ava smiled.

"Thoda."

He chuckled.

"I mean, it's good that you are, but let me warn you. It's mostly files and people arguing."

She laughed softly.

"Sounds very interesting."

"It isn't."

They reached another security point.

This time, the guard stepped forward immediately.

"Good morning, Sir."

Zaid nodded as she guard checked Ava's visitors pass.

"Morning."

The guard opened the gate.

Ava noticed that this checkpoint required an additional identification scan.

She stored it away. One more thing. They continued down the corridor. Zaid's office was only a short distance away now. He slowed down again, this time looking at Ava.

"Before we go in..."

She looked at him.

"What?"

His expression softened.

"If you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell me."

Ava blinked.

"You don't have to sit quietly just because you're with me."

He gave her a small smile.

"I'm here. So don't worry about anything."

For a moment, she simply looked at him. There was something strangely reassuring about the way he said it.

She pushed the feeling away.

Then nodded.

"Ji."

Zaid sighed dramatically.

Ava almost laughed.

"You did it again."

Her eyes widened innocently.

"What?"

"Zaid Ji."

He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You really aren't going to stop, are you?"

Ava's smile grew a little wider.

"Shayad nahi."

Zaid laughed quietly.

"Fine."

He opened the door to his office.

"Then I suppose I'll have to get used to it."

Ava stepped inside.

And the moment she crossed the threshold, her smile remained exactly where it was.

But her eyes changed. Just slightly.

Her gaze moved across the room, taking in the desk, the files, the bookshelves, the papers and everything else within reach.

This was it. The place where Zaid Zoravar worked. The place where decisions were made. The place where she might finally find something useful.

She kept her expression soft. Curious. Like a newlywed wife seeing her husband's workplace for the first time.

But inside, Ava was already working. Because this was what she had come here for.

Zaid guided her toward the couch and waited until she sat down comfortably before crouching slightly in front of her.

His expression was soft, almost hesitant.

"I have to go for a discussion, Ava. You should wait here for me, okay?"

He paused, making sure she was listening.

"Aapko kuch bhi chahiye ho toh hamein turant call kariyega."

(''If you need something just give me a call.'')

His voice was gentle, almost instinctively protective.

Ava nodded.

"Ji."

(''Yes.'')

Zaid gave her a small smile before straightening up. He took a few steps toward the door, then glanced back once. She was already looking around his office with quiet curiosity, her eyes moving across the bookshelves and the desk as though she were taking in every little detail.

A smile appeared on his lips. He liked seeing her interested in his world. He didn't suspect a thing. He reached for the door.

"Achha, suniye..."

(''Uh, listen?'')

He stopped and looked back.

"Aapko kitni der lagegi?"

(''How long will it take you?'')

"I have to sign some papers, Ava. It might take some time."

His apologetic expression returned.

"I am sorry. Aapko yahan wait karna padega."

(''I am sorry. That you have to wait here.'')

Ava smiled softly.

"Koi nahi, Zaid Ji. Hum toh bas pooch rahe the."

(''Its okay, Zaid. I was just asking.'')

He nodded once before finally stepping out. The door closed behind him.

And the moment it did, the softness disappeared from Ava's face.

Her shoulders straightened. The gentle smile vanished. A calculating smirk slowly replaced it.

Yes.

This was it.

She finally had time alone.

Come on, Ava. You don't have forever.

She stood up and looked toward the door. It wasn't locked. Perfect.

She quickly turned the lock from inside. But before she could take more than a couple of steps, she heard footsteps approaching from the corridor.

Her eyes widened. "Shit." She immediately unlocked the door, hurried back to the couch and picked up the book lying on the table.

By the time the footsteps stopped outside, Ava was sitting exactly where Zaid had left her, calmly flipping through the pages as though she hadn't moved an inch.

A knock came at the door.

"Uh... Mrs. Zoravar? May I come in?"

She recognised the voice. Raghav. The man from the legislative team.

Ava cleared her throat and softened her expression.

"Ji, aaiye."

('' Yes, come in'')

The door opened. Raghav stepped inside with a polite smile, carrying a tray. The smell reached Ava before she even looked at it.

Tea.

And hot, crispy samosas with both hari and meethi chutney.

He placed the tray carefully on the table.

"Mrs. Zoravar, Zaid Sahab ne kaha tha ki aapke liye kuch snacks le aaoon, toh hum yeh le aaye."

(''Mrs. Zoravar, Zaid sir asked me to bring you these snacks.'')

He smiled, almost nervously, as though he genuinely hoped she would like it. It was the first time the Chief Minister's wife had come to the office, after all.

Ava returned his smile.

"Thank you, Raghav Ji. Yeh toh bohot achha hai."

(''Thank you, Raghav. This is really beautiful.'')

She glanced at the tray.

"Apna itna keemti waqt nikaal kar hamare liye yeh sab laane ke liye... thank you."

(''Thank you for taking time out of your schedule.'')

Raghav smiled. There was something unexpectedly warm about her. Despite her position, she spoke to him with the same courtesy Zaid Sahab did.

"I should go now, ma'am."

He gestured toward the tray.

"If you need anything, just call me. I should be able to hear you from outside. Otherwise, you can call Zaid Sahab."

"Ji, thank you."

Raghav nodded and stepped out.

Ava maintained the smile. She waited. One second. Two. Three.

The door clicked shut. Her shoulders immediately dropped. She leaned back against the couch and let out a long breath.

"That was close."

She glanced toward the door. Then toward the tray. Her eyes landed on the samosas. For a moment, she stared at them.

Then she smiled.

"Okay..."

She reached beneath the stack of her chooda and pulled out a small rubber band she had hidden there earlier.

The transformation began. She quickly tied her blonde hair into a messy bun, far less carefully than she had arranged it that morning.

Then she grabbed the edge of her saree pallu and tucked it around her waist so it wouldn't get in the way.

She picked up a samosa. The delicate, graceful Mrs. Zoravar would probably have taken a neat bite. Ava did not.

She dipped nearly half the samosa into the hari chutney, then dragged it through the sweet chutney and took an unapologetically large bite.

She closed her eyes for a second.

"God."

That was good. A tiny smile appeared on her lips. This was more like her. Not the soft-spoken wife in the blue saree. Not the woman who lowered her eyes every time Zaid looked at her. Not the woman who thanked everyone for the smallest kindness.

That was Mrs. Zoravar.

This was Ava.

And Agent NYX didn't care about keeping her saree spotless, eating delicately or worrying about what anyone thought of her.

She swallowed the bite, wiped a little chutney from the corner of her mouth with her thumb and looked around the office.

The playful expression disappeared. Her eyes sharpened. Time to work.

She set the samosa down and slowly walked toward Zaid's desk. Now she wasn't looking at the office like a curious wife anymore.

She was looking at it like an agent.

The desk.

The drawers.

The files.

The shelves.

The computer.

The photographs.

Everything could contain something.

And she had no idea how long she would have before Zaid returned.

So she had better make every second count.

She stood there for a moment, letting the silence of the room settle around her. Then she looked at the door. Locked. Good.

Her eyes moved back to the office. "Okay, NYX," she whispered under her breath. "Let's see what you've got."

The playful expression was completely gone now. So was the softness.

She rolled her shoulders once, as if physically shedding the woman she had been pretending to be all morning.

This was the part she knew. The part that didn't need anyone's approval. The part that didn't hesitate. She walked toward Zaid's desk. She didn't touch anything immediately.

Instead, she stood beside it and looked. Really looked.

The desk was organised almost obsessively. Files stacked neatly. Pens placed in their holder.

A diary sitting beside a small wooden stand holding a photograph.

She picked up the photograph.

Zaid.

Shahveer.

Mahira.

Inaya

And a group of children standing around them.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Children again.

She put it back exactly where it had been.

"Interesting."

His game was really strong. She moved toward the shelves.

Political files occupied most of them, arranged according to departments and dates. There were books too—law, economics, political history, public administration.

Nothing unusual. Nothing that screamed corrupt politician. That annoyed her. She opened the first drawer.

Stationery. The second. More stationery.

The third contained a few sealed envelopes and a collection of documents. Her fingers paused. She pulled one out. Not because she expected to find a confession inside.

She wasn't expecting that from a man who had his game so strong. She quickly scanned the heading. A government welfare project.

Children's education.

She frowned.

Another file.

Healthcare funding.

Another.

Rural development.

Her expression slowly changed.

"What the hell?"

She put the files down.

This wasn't what she had expected. Everything seemed painfully clean. Not even a suspicious payment trail. No obvious shell companies. No unexplained transactions. Nothing she could immediately use. But that didn't mean anything.

A corrupt man didn't keep evidence of corruption lying around for his wife to discover. Especially not a man as careful as Zaid Zoravar.

She closed the drawer.

"Think."

She stepped away from the desk. If Zaid was involved in something illegal, the evidence wouldn't necessarily be here. It could be somewhere else. His office might only contain the things he wanted people to see. Her eyes moved slowly around the room again.

There.

A locked cabinet against the far wall. Her attention sharpened. She walked toward it. Unlike the rest of the office, this cabinet didn't have a label.

That was interesting. She crouched in front of it and examined the lock.

No key.

She glanced toward the desk.

Maybe—

Footsteps.

Ava froze.

Her head snapped toward the door.

Someone was coming.

"Shit."

She stood immediately.

Her eyes swept across the room. She couldn't leave the cabinet like that. She couldn't leave the files out either.

In seconds, she put everything back exactly where she'd found it. The footsteps were getting closer. She hurried back toward the couch. Her hair was still tied up.

She quickly pulled the rubber band loose, letting her blonde hair fall over her shoulders again.

The pallu of her saree came back over her shoulder.

She quietly opened the window and tossed the leftover food outside, making it look as though she had eaten everything. Then she wiped her face and mouth with a tissue, carefully leaving no trace behind.

She picked up the book.

One breath.

Two.

She opened it just as the handle of the door moved.

The door opened.

Ava looked up.

And there she was again.

Mrs. Zoravar.

Soft smile.

Calm eyes.

Perfectly innocent.

"Zaid Ji?"

(''Zaid?'')

She tilted her head slightly.

"Kaam khatam ho gaya?"

(''Your work is done?'')

And nobody looking at her would have guessed that barely ten seconds ago, Agent NYX had been standing in the middle of his office searching for evidence against him.

The door opened. Zaid walked back inside with a smile on his face. His eyes immediately found Ava. She looked fine. Peaceful, even.

He sighed in relief.

Ya Allah Shukriya.

"Ji, hamara kaam ho gaya."

(''Yes, my work is done.'')

He stopped a few feet away from her, but the concern in his eyes remained. It had been there ever since what had happened two days ago, quietly following him everywhere he went.

"Aap theek hain na?"

(''You are okay?'')

His voice was soft.

Ava nodded, giving him a small smile. "Haan. Hamein kya hoga? Hum perfectly fine hain, Zaid Ji." She stood up looking at him with a smile.

(''Yes. What would happen to me? I am perfectly fine, Zaid.'')

Zaid nodded, the smile on his face growing a little wider. Alhamdulillah. Ya Allah, shukriya. This was so much better than seeing her lying pale against a bed, a bruise darkening her forehead.

That image still made something twist painfully inside him.

Ya Allah... bas hamesha inke honton par yahi muskurahat rakhna.

(Oh god... please always keep smile on her lips.)

Hamesha khush rakhna inhe.

(Keep her happy always.)

Chahe hamara khushi le lijiye, hamara sukoon le lijiye... bas inki khushi kabhi mat lena.

(If you have to take my happiness...but always keep her happy.)

He quickly pushed the thought away. He didn't want to remember that day again. Not now. He had spent the last two days becoming far too careful around her, constantly checking whether she was tired, whether she was dizzy, whether something hurt.

He was beginning to think he might never stop worrying about her. He turned slightly when he heard footsteps approaching from the corridor. A playful smile appeared on his face.

"Dekhiye, hamse milne kaun aaya hai."

(''See who has come to meet us.'')

Ava turned toward the doorway.

And froze.

Standing there was Chandani Zoravar. Twenty-one years old, five feet of pure chaos wrapped in silk, and Zaid's younger cousin.

She was in her second year of college, studying psychology for her B.A., and carried her books around as if they were an extension of herself.

Chandani had lost her parents when she was very young. But she had never grown up feeling like an orphan.

Mahira and Shahveer had raised her with the same love they gave their own children, and Zaid had always been the cousin she could run to whenever she wanted something—or whenever she had already done something she wasn't supposed to do.

And Chandani loved her Zaid Bhai fiercely.

Anyone who hurt him would have to answer to her first.

The moment she saw Ava, her entire face lit up. "Bhabhi!" Her psychology book slipped from her hand and landed on the floor. She didn't even look at it. She rushed forward and threw her arms around Ava. "Wow, Bhabhi! Aap itni cute lag rahi hain!" Her voice was muffled against Ava's hair as she hugged her tightly.

(''Wow, Sister - In - Law! You are looking so cute.'')

Ava froze for a second. The sudden affection caught her completely off guard. Then, almost instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Chandani too.

"Uh... Chandani."

She pulled back slightly to look at her.

"When did you come back from the trip? Wasn't it supposed to be for a few more days?"

Chandani giggled.

"By God, Bhabhi, I got bored!"

She glanced toward Zaid with an innocent expression.

"So I came back."

Then her smile turned sheepish.

"Although... please forgive me if the administration calls Zaid Bhai."

Ava raised an eyebrow.

Chandani's eyes widened innocently.

"I kind of... didn't tell them."

Zaid stared at her trying to scold her as a older brother he was but seeing her he just couldn't. "Chandani." he whispered trying to be stern.

She immediately smiled at him.

"Yes, Zaid Bhai?"

He shook his head.

"You are impossible."

She giggled.

Ava couldn't help smiling.

"It's okay, Chandani."

She reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Chandani's face.

"You shouldn't stay somewhere you don't want to be."

Chandani went completely still. For a second, she simply looked at Ava. She hadn't expected that. Ava had only just entered their family. She barely knew Chandani. Yet the simple gesture felt strangely sisterly.

The only people who had ever treated her with that kind of softness were Chachu, Chachi, Zaid Bhai and, of course, Inaya—her best friend and partner in every terrible decision she had ever made.

Something warm settled inside her chest.

"Thank you, Bhabhi."

Her smile returned immediately.

"Ab mere paas do log hain jo mujhe Chachi ke gusse se bacha sakte hain."

(''Now I have two people who will save me from Chachi's gussa.'')

She giggled at her own words. Before Ava could respond, Chandani leaned forward and planted a loud kiss on her cheek.

"Love you, Bhabhi!"

And then she grabbed her psychology book from the floor and ran away laughing before anyone could stop her.

Ava stood there completely frozen. She slowly touched her cheek. There was a faint smear of lipstick left behind. Nobody had done that to her so casually in years.

Except Tristan.

Her brother.

And now this girl she'd met barely moments ago had done the exact same thing without thinking twice.

Ava stared after her.

This family is really weird.

But there was something about the thought that didn't feel entirely negative.

Behind her, Zaid chuckled.

" ''Seems like someone marked you."

Ava's eyes widened.

She turned toward him.

"Zaid Ji..."

Her cheeks actually warmed as she glared at him, though there wasn't any real annoyance behind it.

Only embarrassment.

And something dangerously close to warmth.

Zaid immediately raised both hands in surrender.

"Achha, okay. Maaf kijiye."

He was smiling. A proper smile. The kind that reached his eyes. Ava tried not to smile back. She failed. Zaid noticed. Of course he did.

His smile widened.

"Chaliye."

(''Let's go.'')

He gently gestured toward the door.

"Market chalne se pehle aapko Chandani se bachakar le jaana padega."

(''Before going to market I might have to hide you from Chandani.'')

Ava shook her head, finally letting out a small laugh as she followed him out.

Just as they stepped outside, a group of reporters caught sight of them.

For a second, Zaid didn't understand what was happening. Then the cameras came up. His stomach dropped. There was no security around them. Because he had told Aman, his head of security, that he didn't need anyone today.

He hadn't wanted Ava to feel overwhelmed by guards following them everywhere, especially when this was her first time stepping outside the estate.

He had thought he could manage one simple trip himself.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Shit.

Shit.

Zaid, you should have brought the security.

The reporters were already moving toward them. Before any of them could get close enough, Zaid stepped in front of Ava, instinctively placing himself between her and the crowd.

His broad frame blocked her almost completely from their view. He turned his head slightly to look at her.

Ava was staring at the crowd, her eyes wide. She looked frightened. "Zaid Ji..." Her voice trembled. "I... I don't like this much attention."

Something twisted painfully in his chest. He hadn't thought. He should have. "Ava..."

His voice dropped immediately, gentle despite the chaos around them and guilt lingering in it.

"Bas ham par bharosa rakhiye, okay?"

(''Just trust me on this, okay?'')

He looked directly into her eyes.

"Just stay behind me."

She nodded. Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears.

And Zaid felt like the worst husband in the world. He had brought her here.

He had promised himself he would keep her comfortable, keep her safe, make sure she never felt trapped or frightened around him.

And now she was trembling because of something he could have prevented.

Behind him, Ava kept her expression frightened. But inside, her mind was racing for an entirely different reason.

Too many cameras. Too many people. She couldn't be seen like this. Not too much. Not clearly. Not when she still had a mission to complete and a life waiting for her after it.

This was supposed to be her last mission. After this, she was done. No more identities. No more handlers. No more pretending to be someone else.

She would leave all of this behind, open the little bakery she had always dreamed about somewhere far away and live a quiet life with Tristan. That was the plan.

And being photographed this much was the last thing she needed.

So she did the only thing she could. She moved closer behind Zaid and clutched the sleeve of his suit jacket. Then she pulled her pallu over her head, letting it cover most of her face.

Perfect.

From behind him, she was almost completely hidden.

Zaid noticed her fingers tightening around his sleeve. His jaw clenched. He turned toward the reporters. His expression changed instantly.

The gentle husband disappeared.

Chief Minister Zaid Zoravar stood in his place. His eyes were firm and unwavering, though his voice remained calm.

"Assalamualaikum."

The reporters quietened only for a moment.

"Dekhiye, hamein pata hai aap sabke paas sawaal hain jinke aap jawaab chahte hain."

(''See, I know that you people have questions to ask.'')

He glanced briefly toward Ava before looking back at them.

"Lekin abhi ham yahan apni begum ke saath hain, aur woh itni attention mein comfortable nahi hain."

(''But I am here with my wife, and she isn't so much comfortable.'')

His voice remained polite.

"So please, be kind. Cameras thode neeche kijiye aur hamein jaane dijiye."

(''So please, be kind. Lower the cameras and let me go.'')

He had barely finished speaking when one of the older reporters stepped forward. "Zoravar ji, bas kuch sawaal hain. Uske baad aap chale jaiyega."

(''Mr Zoravar, we only have few questions. Then you could go.'')

Zaid's expression tightened slightly. Before he could answer, microphones were already being pushed toward him.

"Zaid Zoravar ji! One question!"

"Sir, why did the children's bill fail?"

"Are you blaming the opposition?"

"Will you introduce the bill again?"

"Sir, do you think the opposition deliberately blocked—"

The questions collided over one another. Cameras flashed.

Ava's grip tightened around his sleeve. Zaid felt it. He knew he couldn't simply walk away without saying something.

So he stopped.

His eyes moved across the reporters.

"I don't blame anyone."

His voice was calm enough that the shouting slowly began to settle.

"If a bill meant to protect children fails today, then our work doesn't end today."

He paused. "We simply have to try harder tomorrow." There was no anger in his voice. No accusation. He meant every word.

He didn't know yet what had happened behind the scenes, and blaming someone simply because the bill had failed wasn't how he had been raised.

He wouldn't point fingers without knowing the truth. The reporters started calling out more questions, but Zaid had already made his decision. He turned back toward Ava. He lifted his arm and placed it around the space near her shoulder, careful not to actually pull her against him.

He didn't touch her. Not really.

His arm simply hovered protectively over the fabric of her saree, creating another barrier between her and the cameras.

He wasn't going to assume he had the right to touch her just because she was his wife.

Not until she allowed him to.

"Chaliye."

(''Let's go.'')

His voice was barely above a whisper. He guided her forward, keeping himself between her and the cameras as they pushed through the crowd.

Flashes continued around them. Questions followed. But Zaid didn't stop again. He opened the car door for Ava first and waited until she was safely inside before getting in himself.

The moment the doors closed, the noise disappeared. Silence filled the car.

Ava slowly removed the pallu from her head. Her breathing was still slightly uneven, but the fear in her expression had softened into relief.

She looked at him.

"Thank you, Zaid Ji."

Zaid's expression immediately fell.

"Don't thank me, Ava."

He looked down for a moment, guilt written clearly across his face.

"You can slap me instead."

Ava blinked.

He looked back at her.

"I am sorry."

His voice was quiet.

"I should have brought security. I knew this could happen and still I brought you here without them."

He swallowed.

"I am sorry that you were scared."

His eyes held hers.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

There was no performance in his expression. No politician's smile. No carefully chosen words.

Just a man who genuinely hated the fact that his wife had been frightened because of a mistake he had made.

Ava looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly.

"It's okay."

Zaid still didn't look convinced. Because he had just scared her and she had easily forgiven him.

But he started the car.

And Ava sat quietly beside him, watching the man who had just shielded her from an entire crowd without once asking whether she belonged behind him.

For the first time, she wondered if perhaps the file she had been given about Zaid Zoravar was missing something.

She pushed the thought away almost immediately.

Focus, Hart.

He's still the target.

Chandani had been passing through one of the corridors of Parliament, her psychology book tucked underneath one arm while she held her phone in the other.

She was applying lipstick as she walked. Completely unbothered. Completely unaware that she was walking through one of the most serious buildings in the country while doing it.

Her phone was open in front of her, the camera recording as she sang cheerfully under her breath.

"Pink lips, pink lips, pink lips, pink lips..."

She smiled at her own reflection.

"Pink lips, pink lips..."

She carefully applied another swipe of lipstick.

"Pal-pal tujhko karte miss..."

A tiny giggle escaped her.

"Pink lips, pink lips, pink lips, pink lips..."

She sang happily, not caring about the people walking past her or the fact that she was standing in the corridors of Parliament.

"I know you want my baby lips..."

She looked at herself through the camera and immediately smiled. "Aww, so beautiful." She blew herself a flying kiss. "Kisi ki nazar na lage."

With that, she slipped her phone and lipstick into her oversized tote bag. She was supposed to leave soon with Vikrant Kaul, her bodyguard.

Vikrant had been hired by Zaid specifically for her. Chandani travelled quite often, and between her college, family functions and her habit of disappearing whenever she got bored, Zaid and Shahveer had decided she needed someone keeping an eye on her.

She had protested. A lot. But Zaid Bhai had won. Maybe the only argument he had won.

Today, however, she had come to Parliament for an entirely different reason. She wanted to surprise him. Her Zaid Bhai. She even had a visitor's pass tucked safely inside her bag. Being a member of the Zoravar family didn't mean she could simply wander wherever she wanted inside Parliament. Security was still security, and visitor passes were required.

She was almost on her way toward exit when a few voices coming from the press room caught her attention.

One voice in particular.

Deep.

Calm.

Male.

And completely unfamiliar.

Chandani slowed down. Her curiosity immediately won. Of course it did. She quietly walked toward the partially opened door and peeked inside.

And then she saw him.

A tall man stood surrounded by reporters. He was dressed nothing like the politicians Chandani was used to seeing. A black leather jacket.

Messy hair. Loose, baggy trousers. Leather shoes.

He looked more like someone who had walked out of a college campus than someone who belonged inside Parliament.

And annoyingly...

He looked handsome.

Chandani's eyebrows lifted.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. Typical psychology student she was. One look was enough.

Arrogant.

Yup. Definitely arrogant. There was something about the way he stood. Too confident. Too composed.

As though the room belonged to him.

"Who is he?"

She whispered to herself.

Before she could wonder any further, one of the reporters stepped forward.

"Rehmani Sahab, did you really put a stop to Zaid Sahab's bill just to bring yourself up?"

Another reporter immediately followed.

"Did you really find a fault in it?"

"And how do you feel about the bill getting cancelled?"

Chandani's expression changed.

Zaid's bill?

Her eyes immediately went back to the man.

Rehmani?

Wait.

Rahmani.

Her lips parted slightly. Farooq Rahmani. She had heard that name before. Many times. Zaid Bhai's political rival.

The man her family never exactly spoke fondly about. Interesting. Farooq Rahmani looked directly toward the cameras. Not a single flicker of nervousness crossed his face.

"I had really no bad intention of putting Zaid Sahab down."

His voice was deep and strangely calm.

"He has been here much longer than I have, and I think our families might be rivals, but I simply saw a fault in the bill."

He paused.

"I am a man of principles. I don't go against the rules. So I pointed it out."

The reporters remained silent for a moment.

Farooq's expression didn't change.

"That's it."

Chandani crossed her arms.

"Hmm."

She wasn't convinced. Not even a little.

Farooq continued.

"Zaid Sahab, agar aap yeh dekh rahe hain, toh maaf kijiyega. Hamara koi bura intention nahi tha."

(''Mr Zaid, if you are watching this, please forgive me. I had no bad intention.'')

He gave a small nod toward the cameras. Then, with the same calm composure, he turned slightly.

"Assalamualaikum."

The reporters began moving away, the interview apparently over.

Chandani remained where she was for a moment, watching them disappear through the back door of the press room.

The moment the last reporter was gone, Farooq's entire demeanor changed. He reached into his leather jacket, pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

Chandani's eyes widened.

"Seriously?"

He leaned back against the wall, taking a slow drag as though he hadn't just stood in front of half a dozen cameras pretending to be the most principled man in the country.

Her eyes rolled. "Such a liar." She whispered under her breath.

This man was the reason her Zaid Bhai had high blood pressure. Of course it was him. Farooq Rahmani. The great politician who had apparently decided to destroy five years of Zaid's hard work in one afternoon.

She didn't know much about the bill itself. Politics had never really been her thing. But she knew one thing.

Zaid had worked on that bill for five years. Five years.

She had watched him stay awake at night, read endless files, speak to people, visit orphanages and listen to stories that had made even her cry.

And now this man had ruined it.

Just like that.

Chandani glared at him through the crack of the door. She looked at the cigarette between his fingers.

Then at his face.

Then back at the cigarette.

She wanted to walk inside and snatch it from his hand.

Actually—

She wanted to punch him. Just once. Maybe twice. She was still glaring when suddenly her phone rang. The Bollywood ringtone echoed through the corridor.

''Mere khwaabo mein jo aayein....''

And the ringtone went on.

Chandani froze. Her eyes widened.

"Oh, shit."

Farooq's head turned.

She immediately stepped backward.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

It was probably Vikrant. If he found out she had wandered into the press corridor instead of waiting for him, Zaid Bhai would know within five minutes.

And if Zaid Bhai knew—

God.

No.

She didn't even think. She turned around and ran. Her tote bag swung against her side as she hurried down the corridor, her psychology book pressed tightly against her chest.

She didn't notice the small jhumka that slipped from her ear and fell silently onto the marble floor.

Inside the press room, Farooq remained leaning against the wall. Then he heard the ringtone. His brows furrowed. The sound had come from outside. He took another drag from his cigarette before pushing himself away from the wall.

Slowly, he walked toward the door.

He opened it. Nothing. The corridor was completely empty.

Farooq's eyes narrowed. Someone had been standing there. He was certain of it. His gaze dropped toward the floor.

Something glittered beneath the lights. He bent down.

A jhumka.

Small.

Delicate.

Clearly feminine.

Farooq picked it up between his fingers, examining it.

His expression changed.

A faint smirk appeared on his lips. "So..." He glanced down the empty corridor. "Someone was listening."

He slipped the jhumka into the pocket of his leather jacket. Then he called out, "Fateh." 

His assistant immediately appeared from around the corner. "Ji, Sahab?"

Farooq looked toward the corridor.

"Find out who was standing outside this room."

Fateh hesitated.

"Outside the press room?"

"Yes."

"Any description?"

Farooq glanced down at the jhumka in his pocket.

"A girl."

Fateh's eyes widened slightly.

"How do you know?"

Farooq's smirk deepened.

"This."

He tapped the pocket of his jacket.

"Find her."

"Ji, Sahab."

Fateh turned to leave.

Farooq stopped him.

"And Fateh?"

"Ji?"

"Quietly."

His voice dropped.

"I don't want anyone knowing we're looking for her."

Fateh nodded and disappeared. Farooq remained standing there for a moment. His eyes moved toward the empty corridor. A girl had been standing outside while he'd been speaking to the reporters.

But that wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him was what he'd been discussing with his assistant before the interview.

Something nobody was supposed to know. Something that could cause a serious problem if it reached the wrong ears.

He pulled out his phone.His expression hardened. He dialed a number. The call connected.

"Find out what that Zoravar bastard is up to."

He paused. Because what if Zoravar sent some girl to spy on him. His fingers brushed against the pocket where the jhumka rested. "And find out who the girl was."

He ended the call. Farooq slipped his phone back into his pocket. He had no idea who she was.

But somehow, he had a feeling he would see her again.

And next time—

he wouldn't let her run.

Zaid had been waiting outside Parliament, still sitting in the car.

Ava had gone to the washroom. He had told her he would accompany her, but she had gently refused, assuring him that she could manage on her own.

Maybe she was still overwhelmed by what had happened earlier. He hadn't wanted to push her. She had her visitor's pass with her, and the security staff knew she was with him, so there was no reason anyone would stop her.

At least, that was what he had told himself. But it had been longer than it should have been now.

Zaid glanced at the entrance again. Nothing. He checked the time. Then the entrance. Again.

Something didn't feel right. He had been patient for as long as he could, but an unfamiliar uneasiness had begun crawling up his spine.

Ava wouldn't take this long. He knew that much about his wife by now. Was she avoiding him? 

He reached for his phone and called Raghav. The call connected after a few rings.

"Raghav bache?"

(''Raghav dear?'')

"Ji, Sahab?"

(''Yes sir.'')

"Zara dekhna... Ava washroom mein hain na?"

(''Do check....Is Ava in washroom?'')

There was a pause.

"Ji"

(''Okay sir.'')

"Bas check kar lo. Kaafi der ho gayi hai." His voice remained calm, but the concern underneath it was unmistakable.

(''Do check. It has been too long since she left.'')

"Dekho kahin woh lost toh nahi ho gayi."

(''Please check maybe she got lost.'')

"Ji, Sahab. Abhi dekhta hoon."

(''Yes, sir. I will check.'')

The call ended. Zaid stared at the Parliament entrance. One minute passed. Then another. He tried not to think about it.

She's fine. She was probably washing her hands. Maybe she'd stopped somewhere. Maybe someone had spoken to her.

Maybe—

Five minutes later, the doors opened. Raghav came running out. His face was pale. Zaid's heart dropped before Raghav even reached him.

He immediately opened the car door and stepped out.

"Raghav?" The young man stopped in front of him, breathing heavily.

Zaid grabbed his shoulders. "What happened, bache?"

Raghav swallowed hard. "Sir..." His voice shook. "I... I sent a female staff member inside to check."

Zaid's grip tightened.

"And?"

Raghav looked at him.

"They found no one."

For a second, Zaid simply stared at him.

"What?"

"The washroom is empty, Sir."

Raghav took a breath, trying to steady himself. "But..." His voice almost broke. "There was a broken window."

Zaid's face went completely still.

Raghav continued, barely able to get the words out. "We checked everywhere, Sir." He shook his head. ''Mrs. Zoravar is nowhere inside."

The world seemed to stop. Zaid's fingers slowly loosened from Raghav's shoulders.

"No..."

Raghav looked at him helplessly.

"Sir..."

"No."

This time, Zaid's voice was barely a whisper. He looked toward the Parliament building. His mind refused to accept what he had just heard.

Ava had been here. She had been right beside him. He had watched her walk inside. He had promised himself she would be safe.

And now—

Raghav's next words shattered whatever denial remained.

"Someone kidnapped Mrs. Zoravar."

Zaid stopped breathing for a moment. His eyes widened. Then something inside him broke.

"Ava..." Her name left his lips like a prayer.

He turned toward the building.

And for the first time since anyone had known Zaid Zoravar, there was no politician in his expression.

No Chief Minister. No calm, disciplined man.

Only a terrified husband who had just realised that the woman he had promised to protect was gone.

And his promise had been broken once again.

And this time all he felt like was a Pathetic Monster.

⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓙𝓔𝓒𝓣 𝓩𝓞𝓡𝓐𝓥𝓐𝓡

𝓢𝓘𝓣𝓐𝓡𝓐 𝓘𝓝𝓚𝓛𝓘𝓝𝓖