THE WORLD KNOWS HIM AS THE RUTHLESS CEO . HIS EMPLOYEES WHISPER ABOUT HIS ARROGANCE. STRANGER THINK HE HATES WOMEN . BUT ONLY HE KNOWS THE TRUTH: his heart was shattered the day she left , leaving him with a daughter and wounds that never healed . He doesn't want love , he doesn't want trust . BUT WHEN OPPOSITE MEET , LINES BLUR - and sometimes the heart doesn't listen to reason .

221B Baker Street was not supposed to be my final destination. It was a pit stop. A temporary, financially questionable decision in one of the most expensive cities in the world. A place to exist quietly. To keep my head down, drink overpriced coffee, and avoid unpacking my emotional baggage. Then I met Sherlock Holmes. And quiet ceased to exist. One minute, I was just a tenant in a slightly dysfunctional flat. The next, I was the unwilling documentarian of absolute madness- ✔ Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective, who refuses to function like a normal human being. ✔ John Watson, who has reached new heights of exhaustion thanks to said detective. ✔ Mrs. Hudson, who is not a housekeeper but absolutely runs this place like a benevolent overlord. ✔ Molly Hooper, the forensic pathologist who is finally terrifying Sherlock (to my endless delight). ✔ Mycroft Holmes, who controls the British government but, more importantly, cannot figure out why I exist. ✔ Lestrade, who shows up mostly to suffer. ✔ And Rosie Watson, who is officially my tiny, all-knowing best friend. I am not a detective. I am not a hero. I am just the one thing Sherlock Holmes cannot deduce. My name is Safa. I babysit Rosie for extra cash, I document Baker Street's chaos out of sheer pettiness, and I gloat about my food just to drive Sherlock insane. I tell myself I don't belong here. That I am still just passing through. But the thing about living at Baker Street? You don't realize you're home until it's time to leave. And for once, Sherlock Holmes never saw it coming.

Now, standing in front of her, Mazhar felt like he'd been caught. He could see it in her face , she knew. She had uncovered the quiet desperation he had tried so hard to hide. "Did you come to return my keys?" he asked. Mithila didn't answer. She couldn't. The words tangled in her throat, caught behind the sob threatening to break free. And then, before she could think, she moved. Her feet carried her forward, her arms reaching out as if they had a will of their own. She threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, tight and desperate as though he might vanish if she let go. "Don't go, Mazhar," she choked, tears spilling freely, mingling with the rain. "Please... don't go. Don't leave me alone again."

WINNER OF READERS CHOICE AWARDS 2020 (Historical Fiction) Stone hearts. Silver to gold. And the fierce need to prove oneself. [THIS STORY IS PENDING MAJOR EDITS TO CHARACTERS AND PLOTS]. Sequel: Silver Skies Highest ranks: #1 in Arabia || #3 in History || #51 in Assassin || #90 in Spiritual