His Bride

9 | Netra Mehta

Author's Pov

The room buzzed with a quiet intensity. The rhythmic clicking of keyboards mixed with the occasional metallic clinks of weights being dropped. A few were immersed in their systems, scanning through data, while others practiced their aim or pushed themselves through grueling workouts. It was a symphony of focus and determination, the kind that only came in high-stakes environments.

"Chief, we found Trivarna." A young man, his voice steady yet urgent, approached a middle-aged man seated at the center of the room.

The man, referred to as Chief, looked up from the papers spread across his desk.

His sharp eyes bore into the subordinate, silently demanding more information. "Where?" His tone was calm but carried the weight of command.

"Rajasthan," the subordinate replied, his gaze unwavering.

The Chief leaned back in his chair, processing the information. The room seemed to grow quieter as if the air itself was holding its breath. After a brief moment of contemplation, he stood, his voice cutting through the stillness.

"Book five tickets to Rajasthan," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Raj, Aravind, Sheetal, and you are coming with me."

The young man nodded swiftly and rushed to make the arrangements, leaving the Chief to gather his thoughts. They had found Trivarna at last, but the journey ahead was bound to be anything but simple.

Dhruv's POV

The meeting was painfully dull, a droning litany of statistics and projections that failed to hold my attention. My mind had started wandering when the door to the conference room suddenly opened, and Arjun walked in without so much as a knock. His interruption drew several disapproving stares, but he looked unfazed.

"What now?" I asked him silently with my eyes.

He didn't bother answering verbally, instead motioning for me to follow him.

"Excuse me," I said aloud, standing up. I didn't wait for a response before exiting the room.

Once we were in the hallway, I asked again, "What now?"

"You have a very interesting visitor," he replied cryptically before turning and walking toward my office without another word.

Curiosity piqued, I followed him. When I entered my office, I saw two men. One was seated calmly, his demeanor radiating authority, while the other stood behind him, his posture stiff and watchful.

I walked to my chair and sat down, taking a moment to assess the situation.

"Mr. Chauhan," the seated man addressed me, his voice measured and composed.

"And you are?" I asked, genuinely unsure of who he was. His face wasn't familiar, and I was certain I hadn't encountered him in any business dealings before.

"Krishnavarada Gupta," he introduced himself, gesturing to the man behind him, "and my subordinate, Neeraj Khanna."

"Krishnavarada Gupta," I repeated, testing the name on my tongue. It carried weight, though I couldn't place it immediately.

"What pleasure do I owe you?" I asked, leaning forward slightly. His presence wasn't casual—it was deliberate, purposeful.

"Mr. Chauhan, we need your help as the King of Rajasthan," he stated, his tone carrying a quiet urgency.

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "What kind of help?" I prompted.

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine with a sharpness that revealed his identity before he spoke the words.

"I am the Chief of RAW," he revealed. "And we believe you have the means to assist us in a matter of national security."

The room seemed to grow heavier as the weight of his words sank in. This was no ordinary visit, and whatever they needed, it was bound to be significant.

"Tell me," I said, my curiosity barely masked by a composed exterior. It wasn't every day that the RAW chief himself came knocking for help.

"We need your assistance in locating someone currently in Rajasthan," Krishnavarada Gupta said, his voice steady, every word deliberate.

"Who?" I asked, my tone sharpening as the weight of the situation began to settle in.

"Netra Mehta," he replied.

"Why?" I managed to ask, though my voice felt foreign, colder than intended.

"It's classified, Mr. Chauhan," Krishnavarada said, his tone giving no room for argument.

"Classified or not, I have the right to know why you're looking for her if you expect my help," I insisted, leaning forward.

He hesitated briefly, his sharp gaze assessing me before he finally spoke. "She is one of our top agents," he revealed. "But she's been missing for the last six years."

His words landed heavily. My pulse quickened as I processed the revelation. An agent? Missing for six years? Questions clawed at my mind, but one thought overpowered them all: What happened to her, and why is she suddenly a priority for RAW now?

"Explain," I said, keeping my voice calm.

Krishnavarada Gupta leaned back slightly, exhaling deeply as though steadying himself for what he was about to say. "Six years ago, her entire family was murdered," he began, his words deliberate. "At the time, we believed she had also died. We found a female corpse at the scene that matched her description."

He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if replaying the details in his mind. "But a few days ago, someone accessed her RAW account."

I frowned. "And?"

"Except for the President and Prime Minister," he continued, "I am the only person with the clearance to access her account. No one else can, except her. I am certain of that."

He gestured to his subordinate, who promptly handed him a file.

Krishnavarada slid it across the desk toward me. "Here is her information," he said, his tone grave.

I hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking the file and flipping it open. The moment my eyes landed on the photograph inside, the air was knocked out of my lungs. My grip on the file tightened as memories surged like a flood, overwhelming and inescapable.

The picture stared back at me. It was her. The same woman who had captured my heart the first time I laid eyes on her.

Arushi Mehara.