Swindon HQ hummed with its usual urgency—files being transferred, encrypted calls echoing faintly down the corridors, agents passing glances and coded messages. But inside the glass-walled conference zone, Tara Iyer and Dev Malik leaned closer over a file that didn't just carry ink—it carried weight.
A recent report had shaken the media: an anonymous whistleblower exposing high-profile names linked to black-market laundering routed through England's elite hospitality networks. Though no names were public, Tara's sharp eyes and Dev's gut instinct both said the same thing—this wasn't over.
Tara's brows furrowed, tapping a nail against the printed report.
"It's all smoke and mirrors, Dev. Someone big is holding the leash on this story."
Dev leaned back, arms crossed. "And that someone probably walks in velvet suits and sips wine at Parliament galas. But the real question is... who's working under the table while the press sleeps?"
Just then, the door swung open.
Kiaan Verma stepped in, his usual calm more clipped than usual. His jaw tensed as he tossed a brown file on the desk and sank into the seat beside them.
"Morning," he said, but didn't look like he meant it.
Tara raised a brow, reading him like a book.
"Rough night?"
Kiaan didn't answer. Instead, he reached for another file, flipped it open halfway, then said, almost too casually—
"Rehan took leave today."
Dev's eyes flicked up immediately. "Leave? That too, unannounced?"
Kiaan didn't look up.
"He's with Vihan Roy."
The silence that followed wasn't accidental—it was calculated.
Dev exchanged a quick glance with Tara.
"You sure?"
"Saw the message myself." Kiaan exhaled sharply, his fingers pausing on a photo clipped in the file—a surveillance still of a hotel corridor, with blurred outlines of a man walking beside someone tall, unmistakably Vihan Roy.
Tara stood slowly, walking to the digital board and flicking through the footage logs.
"So, an agent of our unit, currently off-duty, is with England's most watched billionaire playboy—who also happens to have more offshore connections than we can trace in one sitting."
Dev chuckled dryly.
"Playboy? Try puppeteer."
Kiaan snapped the file shut. "Whatever he is—Rehan knows it. Yet he's still with him." There was a flicker in his eyes. Concern? Jealousy? No one could tell. Not even him.
Tara crossed her arms.
"You think Rehan's compromised?"
Kiaan shook his head, but there was hesitation.
"No. Rehan's smart. Too smart to get used. But even the smartest of us can be... blinded when feelings get involved."
Dev leaned forward, voice lowered.
"Then what's your gut saying, Kiaan? That Rehan's falling for the wrong man—or that he's in deeper than he lets on?"
Kiaan looked up finally, eyes sharper now.
"I'm saying this isn't about right or wrong anymore. It's about what happens when you let someone too close to the storm."
Tara narrowed her gaze at the screen, the frozen image of Rehan and Vihan's silhouettes side by side.
"Then we better prepare. Because if Rehan's inside Vihan Roy's world... we're not just chasing shadows anymore. We're stepping into fire."
The tension simmered in the room—heavy, unspoken, brimming with too many truths left unsaid.
Outside, Swindon HQ ticked on like clockwork.
But inside that office, three agents knew:
this wasn't just a leave day.
This was the first crack in a system about to split wide open.
The light filtering into Vihan Roy's office glowed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp angles across the rich walnut desk and high-backed chairs. The hum of the city far below was muted by thick glass, leaving only the soft rustle of papers and the low tones of business in motion.
Rehan sat on the black leather couch across the room, legs crossed, one arm slung over the backrest casually—but his eyes were anything but relaxed. His gaze flicked between the ticking wall clock and the man sitting behind the desk.
Vihan, dressed in his tailored navy suit, was effortlessly magnetic. He leaned over a stack of documents, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table.
"Rahul," Vihan called out, "push the Belgium meeting to 5:30 and tell the legal team to prep the non-disclosures again. No flaws this time."
Rahul, ever efficient, noted it down quickly and stepped out.
Vihan's tone softened a bit as he glanced at Rehan.
"Just give me ten minutes more, baby. This merger contract is messier than I expected."
Rehan only nodded, his lips forming a neutral line. But inside, his senses were already on high alert. Something felt off.
Just then, a staff member entered—early twenties, sharp-featured, well-groomed, clearly from one of the finance departments. He walked up to Vihan with a confident stride, holding a few rolled-up documents in his hand.
"Mr. Roy, these are the final figures for the Amsterdam wing. Mr. Choudhary added a clause on the revenue split."
Vihan waved him over. "Show me."
The staffer leaned in, much closer than necessary. He spread the documents on the table, his shoulder nearly brushing against Vihan's. His voice was low, casual… and too smooth.
"If we adjust the Dutch tax model, we could save about 2.3 million pounds annually. You'd want to sign right here, sir—if you trust my math."
Rehan's eyes narrowed.
It wasn't what the boy said. It was how he said it.
That cocky little smirk. That way he lingered. That half-second pause before using "sir"—almost playful.
Rehan sat up straighter, posture now tense. His fingers curled slightly against the armrest.
The agent in him noticed details. The boyfriend in him didn't like what he saw.
Vihan, either oblivious or simply unbothered, reviewed the documents.
"Smart move," Vihan nodded, signing one sheet. "You've got a sharp head."
The boy chuckled, stepping back just slightly—but not before flashing a glance toward Rehan on the couch.
A glance too bold.
Too knowing.
Rehan stood up. Slowly. Silently.
Vihan looked up. "Everything okay?"
Rehan's smile was faint—but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Just stretching. Not used to long waits."
Vihan raised a brow. "Jealous already?" he teased, tilting his head.
The staffer turned halfway toward the door—but paused.
Rehan took a step forward, voice cool and controlled.
"Shouldn't staff be trained to maintain a professional distance from their boss?"
The boy blinked. "I—uh—of course, sir. Just showing the numbers properly."
Vihan's eyes flicked between the two. He leaned back in his chair, intrigued.
"Rehan…" he said with a chuckle.
"Are you going to interrogate my finance team now?"
Rehan walked up beside the desk, arms folded across his chest.
"Maybe. Or maybe just letting them know that when someone's this close to you…" —his eyes locked with Vihan's— "…they're in my space."
The silence that followed was thick. Vihan let out a small, amused breath, lips curling.
He turned to the staffer, now visibly awkward.
"You're dismissed."
The tone was sharp now. No teasing. No warmth.
As the staff member left, Rehan didn't move. Neither did Vihan.
Vihan got up slowly and came around the desk, closing the distance between them. He slipped a hand around Rehan's waist.
"You really don't like sharing attention, do you?"
Rehan's voice was low, intense.
"No. Not when it's mine."
Vihan laughed softly, brushing his lips near Rehan's ear.
"Good. Because I don't plan to give it to anyone else. But next time… try not to look so attractive when you're jealous. It's dangerous."
Rehan let a breath out—but didn't look away.
And neither of them noticed Rahul watching from just outside the glass wall. Watching the tension. Watching the unspoken battle that wasn't about power anymore.
It was about belonging.
And someone was going to burn if they crossed the line again.The silence in the hallway of Roy Enterprises' executive floor wasn't natural—it was manufactured.
Ever since the incident in the CEO's office, whispers had turned into a current of nervous tension. The door had closed behind the junior finance staff, and though no one spoke of it loudly, everyone had seen the way Vihan Roy's expression shifted—the kind of shift that made entire boardrooms stop breathing.
And now… Rahul, Vihan's right-hand assistant, walked through the office floor with clipped steps and sharp focus. His presence usually carried calm authority, but today—it was different. There was weight behind his steps. Warning.
He stopped at the common desk where a few staff, including the shaken junior who had approached Vihan earlier, were gathered around fake laughter and muttered speculation.
Rahul didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Listen carefully, all of you."
His voice was calm—but ice-cold beneath the surface.
"I don't care who you are or what position you hold here. From today onwards—none of you will cross a line with Agent Rehan."
The junior staffer blinked. "I was just doing my job—he was the one—"
"No." Rahul's eyes locked onto him like a warning shot.
"You were being smart. And let me give you a smarter piece of advice."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only the circle could hear.
"That man you think you saw as just 'Vihan Roy's boyfriend'? He's not just that. He's an undercover agent who's done things you can't even comprehend."
A pause.
"He's trained to take a man down in three seconds without blinking."
The staff exchanged nervous glances.
"But even more dangerous?" Rahul's gaze sharpened.
"He's Vihan Roy's. And if you try testing either of those facts… you won't lose your job. You'll lose your future."
The tension in the group thickened instantly.
Rahul adjusted his collar and straightened, his tone softer now—but far deadlier.
"Mr. Roy may laugh. He may flirt. He may even ignore it at times. But I've seen what happens when someone crosses the line with someone he claims as his."
He tilted his head toward the office door.
"You don't want to see the other side of Vihan Roy. Trust me."
The staffer gulped, stepping back slightly. The others remained still, wide-eyed.
Rahul turned on his heel, leaving them behind, his voice drifting one last time as he walked away.
"Rehan isn't someone you flirt with. He's someone you fear—or respect. Your choice."
As Rahul returned to his post outside Vihan's office, he looked at the closed door once more. From behind it came the faintest echo of laughter—Rehan's—followed by Vihan's deeper chuckle.
And Rahul knew…
That bond?
It wasn't just love. It was possession, layered with fire, control, and protection so fierce that if anyone even breathed wrong near Rehan again…
They wouldn't need a termination letter.
They'd need a new identity.