He doesn't call.
He doesn't text.
He walks into Malhotra headquarters like he never left.
I find out because Darian's assistant sends a short message:
"Mr. Rehaan Malhotra is here. He says it's urgent."
Darian's expression doesn't change when he reads it.
But his shoulders do.
Slightly.
That's how I know this isn't casual.
"I'll handle it," he says.
"No," I reply. "I'm coming."
He hesitates.
"He'll try to provoke you."
"He'll try to provoke you too."
A small pause.
He nods once.
"Fine."
The boardroom feels colder than usual.
Glass walls. Long table. Too much space between chairs.
Rehaan is standing by the window when we enter.
Perfect suit. Relaxed posture.
Smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
"Cousin," he says lightly. "You look tired."
"Say what you came to say," Darian replies.
No greeting.
No handshake.
Rehaan glances at me.
"And you," he adds smoothly, "are even more interesting in person."
"That's not a compliment," I say calmly.
He laughs softly.
"No. It's observation."
He doesn't sit.
He doesn't need to.
"I'll get straight to it," he says. "Valeris Capital has increased its stake."
Darian doesn't blink.
"I'm aware."
"Are you aware of how much?"
A file slides across the table.
Darian opens it.
I watch his jaw tighten.
"Five percent?" I whisper.
"Seven," Rehaan corrects.
"That's not controlling," Darian says evenly.
"No," Rehaan agrees. "But it's persuasive."
"You're working with them," Darian says.
Not a question.
Rehaan smiles.
"I'm working for growth."
"At whose expense?" I ask.
He tilts his head slightly.
"Why does growth have to cost something?"
"Because it always does," I reply.
He looks almost impressed.
"You think I'm the villain," he says calmly.
"I think you're opportunistic," Darian replies.
"Same difference."
He finally sits.
Leans back comfortably.
"You're emotionally compromised," he says to Darian. "Public marriage. Viral instability. Investigative wife."
His eyes flick to me again.
"Leverage."
The word hits hard.
"I'm not leverage," I say evenly.
"No," he replies. "You're narrative."
That lands deeper.
"Valeris wants structural reform," Rehaan continues. "Board reshuffle. Media integration. Strategic partnership."
"With Ahuja," Darian says flatly.
Rehaan doesn't confirm.
He doesn't need to.
"You can't fight this alone," Rehaan says. "Legacy isn't enough anymore."
"My father disagreed," Darian replies.
"And look where that got him."
Silence.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
"That was unnecessary," I say quietly.
Rehaan doesn't look sorry.
"It was factual."
Darian stands slowly.
"If you're here to threaten me, leave."
"I'm here to offer alignment."
"With people who wanted control before?"
"With people who understand the future."
"And what do you understand?" I ask.
He smiles faintly.
"That independence is romantic. Influence is profitable."
"You think selling minority stakes is harmless," Darian says.
"I think refusing adaptation is fatal."
Adaptation.
The word again.
Echoing from Kabir.
From Nandini.
From everywhere.
"You're not protecting the company," Darian says quietly. "You're positioning yourself."
Rehaan's smile fades slightly.
"Of course I am."
At least he's honest.
"You think I'll lose control," Darian continues.
"I think you already are."
His gaze shifts to me again.
"And when instability is declared…"
The sentence trails off.
The will.
He knows.
Of course he knows.
"You won't invoke it," Rehaan says calmly.
Darian doesn't respond.
"Because if you do," Rehaan continues, "you admit vulnerability."
That's the trap.
He stands again.
Smooth.
Measured.
"I'm not here for dinner," he says lightly. "I'm here because the board will convene soon."
"For what?" I ask.
"To assess structural resilience."
Corporate language.
Translation:
Instability vote.
"And if they vote?" I ask.
Rehaan meets my eyes directly now.
"Then your husband becomes symbolic."
The word hangs in the air.
Symbolic.
Not powerless.
Just decorative.
Darian steps closer.
"You underestimate me."
"No," Rehaan replies calmly. "I underestimate your ability to separate emotion from decision."
That's the real accusation.
He walks toward the door.
Pauses.
Without turning back, he says:
"You were never meant to inherit control. You were meant to inherit conflict."
Then he leaves.
The room feels hollow afterward.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just tense.
"He knows about the will," I say quietly.
"Yes."
"He's pushing you to react."
"Yes."
"And if you don't?"
Darian exhales slowly.
"He pushes harder."
I step closer to him.
"You don't have to fight alone."
He looks at me.
"I don't want you dragged into this."
"I already am."
Silence.
Then something shifts in his expression.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Resolve.
"Fine," he says quietly.
"We fight intelligently."
Not emotionally.
Not impulsively.
Strategically.
And somewhere in the background,
the board begins to move.
Not loudly.
Not publicly.
But deliberately.
Rehaan didn't come for dinner.
He came to signal the next phase.
And this time,
the war isn't about scandal.
It's about control.