Rose didn't go to the office the next day.
Not because she didn't want to.
But because she didn't know what she wanted anymore.
What do you do when the coldest man you've ever met kisses you like you're the only warmth he's ever known?
What do you do when the man who never trusted anyone tells you you're too close?
You wait.
You try to breathe.
And you pray the flame doesn't swallow you whole.
Arvi paced the edge of the rooftop, chain-smoking with bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept. Not really.
Rose hadn't called.
Hadn't answered his message.
And that silence was louder than gunshots.
His right-hand man, Sayan, appeared at his side. Dressed in black, eyes sharp.
"She's getting in your head," he warned.
Arvi didn't reply.
"You told me yourself: weakness gets people killed."
"She's not a weakness," Arvi said flatly.
"She's already a target."
He crushed the cigarette under his boot.
"I'll deal with it."
Sayan paused. "Will you protect her? Or push her away like you do everything else?"
Arvi didn't answer.
Because the truth was: he didn't know how to protect something he cared about without destroying it.
That night, a package arrived at Rose's doorstep.
No return name. No note.
Inside: a single polaroid photo.
Arvi. Standing with someone. Smiling.
And beside him?
Her sister, Ruma.
Rose's heart stopped.
Impossible. Ruma died in that accident. She was gone.
But the photo showed her alive, older, and standing next to Arvi, years ago.
She couldn't breathe.
Her hands shook as she picked up her phone and dialed Arvi's number.
No answer.
Again. No answer.
The third time—he picked up.
"Rose?"
Her voice cracked.
"What the hell is this?" she whispered. "You knew my sister?"
Silence.
Then: "Where are you?"
"I'm at home—"
"Stay there. Lock the door. Don't talk to anyone."
"Answer me first," she snapped. "Did you know Ruma?"
Another pause.
"I thought she died," he said quietly. "Just like you did."
Her world spun.
"You lied."
"I never knew who she was until after I hired you. I didn't connect the names until I saw your old file. Ruma was under a new identity after the crash. A foundation took her in—paid to relocate trauma victims. But she ran away two years later."
"Where is she now?" Rose cried.
"I don't know. I swear to you, I've been looking."
Rose backed against the wall, shaking. "You could've told me."
"I was going to. I just—" his voice broke slightly, "—I didn't want to give you false hope."
Tears slid down her face. "So instead you gave me silence."
A bang outside her apartment made her jump.
"Arvi—"
"Rose. Stay on the phone. I'm on my way."
Fifteen minutes later, Arvi burst through her door, gun drawn. Behind him, his guards stormed the halls.
The apartment was clear.
But the photo was gone.
Taken. Replaced by a card with one sentence in red ink:
"You took from us. Now we take from you."
Arvi stood at her side, breathing hard.
Rose turned to him, eyes wide and glassy.
"They know about Ruma," she whispered.
"They're coming for you," he said, voice like steel.
Then he did something unexpected.
He pulled her into his arms and held her like a man who knew what it meant to lose.
"I swear to you, Rose," he whispered into her hair, "I will burn the world before I let them touch you."
And for once, she believed him.
Even if it terrified her.