Hook:

"The devil doesn't come with a pitchfork. Sometimes, he comes as a quiet morning after the storm."

***

The Penthouse – Morning

Aryan woke up to the smell of... burning?

His eyes snapped open. The events of the previous night—the kiss, the confession, the choice he made—flooded his mind. He touched his lips, remembering the pressure of hers.

It wasn't a dream.

He scrambled out of bed and ran to the kitchen. Smoke was billowing from the stove. Aayat stood there, wearing an apron over her silk nightgown, holding a pan that was actively on fire.

"Aayat!" Aryan yelled. He grabbed a pitcher of water.

"No! Don't use water on grease!" she shouted, backing away.

Aryan froze. "Then what do I do?!"

"Smother it!"

Aryan grabbed a metal lid and slammed it onto the pan. The fire hissed and died, leaving behind a charred, black disk that might have once been a paratha.

Silence filled the kitchen.

Aayat looked at the pan, then at him. Her cheeks were flushed red. It was the most un-CEO look he had ever seen on her.

"I tried to make breakfast," she admitted, her voice small. "I wanted to... say thank you. For last night."

Aryan stared at the black disk. The Queen of the Underworld, who commanded armies and terrified gangsters, couldn't make a paratha.

He burst out laughing.

"Hey!" she frowned. "It's not funny. I followed the YouTube tutorial!"

"Did the YouTube tutorial tell you to turn the stove to maximum heat?" Aryan laughed, taking the pan from her.

"I like efficiency," she defended. "High heat cooks faster."

"In this house, we cook with love, not jet engine fuel," Aryan teased. He scraped the burnt mess into the bin. "Go sit. I'll make it. You're a terrible housewife, Aayat."

To his surprise, she didn't snap back. She just rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. "Fine. I'll stick to running empires. You handle the stove."

***

The Bad News

An hour later, the warm domestic bubble burst. Salman entered, looking grim.

"Ma'am. Sir."

Aayat’s face instantly reset to cold. "Report."

"It's done," Salman said. "Kabir... has been dealt with. Mr. Mehran has announced he left for Dubai for 'health reasons'. No one will ask questions."

Aryan felt a chill. Dealt with. He didn't want to know the details. He knew enough.

"And his men?" Aayat asked.

"Scattered. But there is a problem," Salman hesitated. "The café where Aryan worked... the owner received a visit last night. They trashed the place. Broke the windows. Left a warning."

Aryan’s cup clattered into the saucer. "Vikram’s café? Is he okay?"

"The owner is shaken, but unhurt. However, he has terminated your employment. He is too scared to keep you on."

Aryan slumped in his chair. The café was his safe space. It was his anchor to the normal world. Without it...

"I'm sorry, Aryan," Aayat said, and he heard genuine regret in her voice. "This is my fault."

"No," Aryan sighed. "It's Kabir's fault. But... what do I do now? I can't just sit here and stare at the walls."

"You can come to work with me," Aayat said.

Aryan looked up. "To the office? To do what? File papers? Sharpen pencils?"

"To learn," she said firmly. "If you are part of this family, you need to understand the legitimate side of the business. The Mehran Group isn't just a front. It’s a real empire. You’re smart. You found the fraud in the books."

She leaned forward. "You wanted to be useful? Be my eyes in the light. I handle the shadows. You handle the daylight."

***

The Office – The Desk Job

Aryan walked into Mehran Enterprises wearing a suit that cost more than his semester fees. The staff treated him like royalty—too much royalty. They were terrified.

He was assigned a small office next to Aayat’s. His task: Reviewing logistics contracts for the textile division.

It was boring. It was full of legalese. But it was safe.

Around noon, he walked into the break room to get tea. Two employees were whispering near the coffee machine.

"Did you see him?" a woman whispered. "The waiter?"

"Yeah. Walking around in a Boss suit. Must be nice to marry the boss."

"I heard he threatened the last fiancé. blackmailing her."

Aryan stopped in the doorway. He felt a spark of anger.

He walked over to them. The woman stiffened, clutching her coffee cup.

"Excuse me," Aryan said politely. "I couldn't help but overhear. You were talking about the last fiancé?"

"We... we didn't say anything," the man stammered.

"It's okay," Aryan smiled, leaning against the counter. "I'm new here. I like to learn the history. You see, I heard the last fiancé was a spy who tried to steal company secrets. And that Aayat Ma'am handled him personally."

He took a sip of his tea. "I also heard that gossiping about the CEO's husband is a fireable offense. And in this economy? I wouldn't risk it."

He patted the man on the shoulder. "Great coffee, by the way."

He walked out, leaving them pale and silent.

He paused in the hallway. He didn't like being the bad guy. But he wasn't a waiter anymore. He was protecting his wife's reputation.

***

The Unexpected Visit

Later that afternoon, Aryan was drowning in spreadsheets when his phone rang. It was his mother.

"Hello, Mumma?" Aryan answered, his voice softening instantly.

"Beta!" his mother’s voice was high-pitched with excitement. "We are in the city! Your father wanted to visit the Hanuman temple, and I thought... can we see you? Just for a minute? We won't tell anyone we are here."

Aryan looked at the door. Salman was outside. Aayat was in a meeting.

"Of course, Mumma," Aryan said. "I’ll come down. Just... stay near the temple. Don't come to the office."

***

The Temple Steps

Aryan met his parents at the small, crowded temple near the office district. The smell of incense and marigolds grounded him.

His mother hugged him tight. "Look at you! Suit and tie! You look like a minister!"

"It's just office work, Mumma," Aryan smiled, touching his father's feet for a blessing.

"Are you happy, beta?" his father asked, searching his eyes.

Aryan thought of the burnt paratha, the gun in Aayat’s drawer, and the fear in the employees' eyes.

"I am, Papa," Aryan lied. "It's... intense. But she takes care of me."

"We see the news," his mother whispered. "They say her family is... powerful. Strict. Do they trouble you?"

"They respect me," Aryan said. And it was true, in a terrifying way.

He took them inside the temple to pray. As he bowed his head before the idol, he felt a shadow fall over him.

He looked up.

A man in a police uniform was standing at the entrance, watching him.

"Mr. Sharma?" the officer called out.

Aryan stood up, his heart skipping a beat. "Yes?"

"I'm Inspector Raghav. Crime Branch," the officer flashed a badge. He looked at Aryan’s parents, then back at Aryan. "We need to ask you a few questions. About your wife's... business associates."

Aryan felt the blood drain from his face. "I... I'm with my parents right now."

"It won't take long," the Inspector said, his voice firm. He gestured to a police jeep parked nearby. "Just a routine inquiry."

Aryan looked at his parents' worried faces.

"It's okay," Aryan reassured them, though his stomach was churning. "You guys go home. I'll handle this."

***

Cliffhanger

Inside the police jeep, the friendly demeanor of the Inspector vanished.

"Listen to me, kid," the Inspector said, dropping the polite act. "We know Kabir is missing. We know the warehouse was a bloodbath. And we know you were there."

He pulled out a photo of Aryan entering the warehouse sector.

"You are in deep water, Sharma. You can either help us bring down the Mehran crime syndicate... or you go down with them."

Aryan stared at the photo.

The police were closing in. And this time, Aayat couldn't just shoot her way out.

***

End of Chapter 22