Jaan-e-Azlan❤

41

The glass walls of Azlan's corner office usually offered a panoramic view of the city's shimmering skyline, but tonight, he had the blinds drawn. The room was dark, lit only by the glowing blue light of three laptop screens.

Standing behind him, Jawad—his head of security and a man who spoke only in facts—laid a series of grainy photographs on the mahogany desk.

"We pulled the CCTV from the signal where the car stopped yesterday," Jawad said, his voice low. "The man who approached the window. He's professional. He knew exactly where the blind spots of the street cameras were. We only got this side profile."

Azlan leaned forward, his eyes tracking every pixel. The man in the photo looked unremarkable, but his posture was disciplined. He wasn't a random harasser; he was a hired shadow.

"And the digital trace on the message?" Azlan's voice was a dangerous rasp.

"Burner phone. Activated forty-eight hours ago in a crowded mall, then turned off immediately after the text to Mantasha Bibi was sent. But, Sir..." Jawad hesitated. "We tracked the vehicle that has been loitering near the university. It's registered to a shell company. A logistics firm that went bankrupt three years ago."

Azlan's jaw tightened. "Who bought the assets?"

"A holding group based in Dubai. The beneficial owner is hidden behind layers of proxies, but one name popped up in the legal filings from the acquisition." Jawad paused, sensing the air in the room turn frigid. "Farid Arman."

The name hung in the air like a curse. Farid Arman—a man Azlan had dismantled in a hostile takeover two years ago. A man who had lost his reputation, his wealth, and his father's legacy to Azlan's ruthless business tactics.

Azlan stood up, buttoning his charcoal suit jacket. The movement was slow, deliberate. "He's not looking for money. He's looking for a pulse."

"Sir, should we bring Mantasha Bibi home?"

"No," Azlan said, his eyes flashing with a cold, lethal light. "If we pull her out now, he vanishes back into the holes he crawled out of. He wants to play a game of observation? Let's give him a show. But increase the detail. I want two cars behind her, one in front. All unmarked. And Jawad?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"If he breathes too close to her car again... don't wait for my call. Break him."

Back at the Khan villa, the atmosphere was deceptively peaceful. Mantasha was in the library, trying to focus on her Macroeconomics textbook, but the words kept blurring. Every time the wind rattled the windowpane or a servant dropped a spoon in the kitchen, her heart skipped a beat.

She kept checking her phone. No new messages from the unknown number.

Main hoon na.

Azlan's words from the night before were the only thing keeping her anchored. She touched her forehead, right where he had kissed her. The memory of his warmth felt like a shield.

The door creaked open, and Sarim walked in, tossing an apple in the air. "Hey, Princess. Why so gloomy? The whole house is heading to the farmhouse this weekend for Dadi's birthday prep. You haven't packed."

Mantasha forced a smile. "I'm just... tired, Bhai. University is a lot."

Sarim sat on the edge of the table, his playful eyes softening. "Azlan told us to keep an eye on you. He didn't say why, but he looked like he wanted to murder the entire city. Did something happen?"

Mantasha opened her mouth to tell him, but then she remembered Azlan's face—the sheer weight of the responsibility he carried. If she told the rest of the cousins, the house would turn into a fortress. She didn't want to be the cause of a family war.