Morning in Mumbai felt unusually calm.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains of the suite as Anika Kapoor woke up slowly.
For a moment, she forgot where she was.
Then reality hit.
Mumbai.
Business trip.
One suite.
Arman Khurana.
She sat up quickly.
Last night's moments flashed in her mind—
The closeness.
The tension.
The way he looked at her.
She shook her head slightly.
Focus, Anika.
This was work.
Nothing else.
By the time she stepped out into the living room, Arman was already ready.
Back in his usual form—sharp suit, composed expression, unreadable eyes.
As if last night never happened.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
And just like that—
They were back to normal.
Professional.
Distant.
Outside the hotel—
A black car waited for them.
But they weren't alone.
At a distance, near the entrance—
Someone stood quietly.
Phone in hand.
Watching.
As Arman and Anika walked out together.
As they paused for a second near the car.
As Arman opened the door for her.
Click.
A photo was taken.
Clear enough.
Close enough.
Dangerous enough.
Back in Lucknow, at Khurana Group Headquarters—
Phones started buzzing around noon.
One message.
Forwarded again and again.
The company group chat exploded.
A photo.
Arman Khurana and Anika Kapoor entering a hotel together.
Below it, a caption:
"Now we know how she gets special projects."
Whispers turned into open conversations.
"She went on a trip with him?"
"Of course she did."
"No wonder he defends her."
Across the office—
Rhea stood near the window, staring at her phone.
Her expression calm.
Satisfied.
"So predictable," she murmured.
That evening—
Back in the Mumbai hotel.
Anika walked into the suite after the meeting.
The presentation had gone perfectly.
The clients were impressed.
Everything should have felt like a success.
But the moment she checked her phone—
Her world stopped.
Dozens of messages.
Missed calls.
And that photo.
Her hands trembled slightly.
"What is this…" she whispered.
Her chest tightened as she read the comments.
The assumptions.
The judgments.
The disrespect.
Her hard work—
Reduced to a rumor.
Anger rushed through her.
Without thinking, she turned—
"Arman—"
He was already looking at his phone.
His expression was dark.
Dangerously dark.
"You saw it?" she asked.
"Yes."
Silence filled the room.
Anika stepped closer.
"They're saying I got this project because of you."
Arman's jaw tightened.
"They're wrong."
"That doesn't matter!" she snapped.
"What matters is people believe it!"
Her voice shook slightly—
Not with weakness.
But with frustration.
"I worked for this, Arman."
He looked at her.
Really looked this time.
"I know."
"Do you?" she asked bitterly.
"Because it doesn't feel like it."
The words hit harder than she expected.
For a moment—
Neither of them spoke.
Then Arman's voice dropped.
Cold.
Controlled.
"Whoever did this…"
He clenched his jaw.
"…made a mistake."
Anika stared at him.
"You think this is about revenge?"
"It is."
"No," she said quietly.
"This is about my reputation."
His gaze softened for a brief second.
Then hardened again.
"I'll fix it."
Anika shook her head.
"You can't fix everything with power."
"I can fix this."
"And how?" she challenged.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead—
He stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
But firmly.
"You trust me?"
The question caught her off guard.
She looked at him.
For a long moment.
Then said quietly—
"I don't know."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
Arman nodded once.
"Fair enough."
He turned away slightly.
"But I'll still handle it."
That night—
The rain returned to Mumbai.
But this time—
It didn't feel romantic.
It felt like a storm building.
Because now—
It wasn't just tension between Arman and Anika.
It was war.