Dhruv's POV

I woke up reaching for something that wasn't there.

My hand brushed against the cool, crisp cotton of the sheets on the left side of the bed. Empty.

I frowned, blinking against the morning light. I pushed myself up, scanning the room. The pillow wall was gone—likely kicked off during the night—but so was the person supposed to be sleeping behind it.

"Katha?" my voice was rough with sleep.

Silence answered me.

I looked at the bathroom door. It was wide open. Dark.

She wasn't there.

I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face. A knot of unease tightened in my gut. Usually, I was the first one up. I was the one who left the room while she was still sleeping.

She must be upset, I thought, remembering the drive home.

The bracelet.

I looked at the nightstand. The velvet box was gone. She had taken it, or maybe she had thrown it somewhere I couldn't see.

She should be happy, I told myself, standing up and walking to the window. Twenty-five lakhs. It’s a fortune. It’s security. Why am I feeling like I committed a crime?

I clenched my jaw. It was a contract, Dhruv. You paid her a bonus. That’s how business works. You don't mix emotions with assets.

But the logic tasted like ash in my mouth.

I got ready quickly, moving through the motions on autopilot. Charcoal suit. White shirt. No one there to fix my tie today. I knotted it myself, pulling it tighter than necessary, as if trying to strangle the guilt rising in my throat.

I walked out of the room. The house felt too big today. Too quiet.

I descended the grand staircase, my eyes scanning every corner.

In the dining room, my mother, Rohini, was sitting at the head of the table. She was sipping her tea from a bone-china cup, reading a fashion magazine. She didn't look up when I entered. She never did.

"Good morning," I said, my voice mechanical.

"Morning," she replied without interest.

On the patio, I could see Suhana pacing, her phone pressed to her ear, laughing loudly about some gala or scandal.

But the person I was looking for—the girl in the beige dress, or maybe jeans today—was nowhere to be seen.

I walked toward the kitchen. A young maid was polishing the counter. She froze when she saw me.

"Sir!" she dipped her head nervously.

"Where is Katha?" I asked, skipping the pleasantries. "Is she in the garden?"

The maid blinked, looking confused. "Mrs. Rathore? No, Sir. She left."

I stopped. "Left?"

"Yes, Sir. About forty minutes ago."

My blood ran cold. "Left where?"

"To the office, Sir," the maid said quickly. "She called a car. She said she had work to finish before the meetings started. She... she told us not to wake you up. She said you looked tired."

I stared at the maid.

She went to the office without me.

I had told her specifically: You are Mrs. Rathore. We walk in together. We present a united front.

And she had just walked out the door alone?

"Did she take security?" I demanded.

"I... I don't know, Sir. It was a company car."

I turned on my heel and marched out of the kitchen, pulling my phone from my pocket.

What does she want? I thought, fury mixing with a sharp spike of anxiety. Is she trying to prove a point? Is she trying to show me she doesn't need me?

I dialed her number.

Ring... Ring... Ring...

It went to voicemail.

I redialed.

Ring... Ring...

"Pick up the phone, dammit," I hissed, pacing the length of the hallway.

Nothing.

She was ignoring me.

I gripped the phone so hard the metal bit into my palm.

I told that girl she can't go anywhere without me. I told her the rules.

But Katha wasn't following the rules anymore. Yesterday she claimed me in the office, last night she looked at me like I was a stranger, and this morning she had vanished.

She was slipping through my fingers, and I didn't know how to stop it.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and grabbed my keys.

"I will see her in the office," I muttered to the empty hall.

Location: Rathore Industries, CEO’s Floor Time: 8:15 AM

"Work to finish before the meetings started."

That’s what the maid had said. I replayed the words in my head as I strode through the gleaming corridors of my office.

Meetings?

I frowned, checking my mental calendar. My schedule was light today. There were no board meetings. No investor summits. The only meeting I had was a strategy session at 2:00 PM, which definitely didn't require my wife’s presence.

What work does she have? I thought, my irritation rising with every step. Her only job description is to sit in my cabin, look expensive, and stay where I can see her.

I walked faster, ignoring the startled greetings of the few employees who had arrived this early.

She is lying, I realized, a knot tightening in my stomach. She just wanted to get away from me. After the bracelet... after the car... she couldn't stand to be in the same house.

I reached the double doors of my cabin. I didn't bother with the handle; I pushed them open with my palm, ready to confront her. Ready to ask her why she ran away.

"Katha," I said, stepping inside.

Silence.

The massive office was bathed in morning sunlight, but it was empty.

The leather sofa in the corner—where she had slept last night, where she had fed me that ridiculous sandwich—was vacant. The desk was clear. The air smelled of cleaning products, not the vanilla scent she carried.

She wasn't here.

I stood in the center of the room, spinning around slowly. The bathroom door was open—empty. The kitchenette—empty.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in my chest.

Where is she?

I walked to the window. I looked down at the parking lot.

There, parked in the reserved slot right next to my Maybach, was the company Lexus. The car the maid said she took.

The car is here. So she came here.

I slammed my hand onto the intercom button on my desk.

"Security," I barked. "Get up here. Now."

Thirty seconds later, the head of floor security, a man named Patil, rushed into the office, looking pale.

"Sir?"

"Where is my wife?" I demanded, pointing to the empty sofa. "Her car is downstairs. She is supposed to be in this room. Where is she?"

Patil swallowed hard, clutching his cap. "Mrs. Rathore... she arrived at 7:45 AM, Sir. But she didn't stay."

"Didn't stay?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Where did she go?"

"She... she left, Sir. About ten minutes ago."

"Left with who?" I asked. "Did she call a cab? Did she take the driver?"

"No, Sir," Patil hesitated, looking confused himself. "She left with Meera Ma'am."

I froze.

"Meera?" I repeated, sure I had heard him wrong.

"Yes, Sir. Meera Ma'am pulled up in her personal car. Mrs. Rathore was waiting at the curb. They... well, they seemed to be in a hurry. Mrs. Rathore got into the passenger seat, and they drove off together."

I stared at him, my brain grinding to a halt.

Meera.

My Executive Assistant. The woman Katha had practically hissed at yesterday. The woman Katha had humiliated in this very room because she stood too close to me. The woman Katha was visibly jealous of.

And now she is getting into her car?

I dismissed Patil with a wave of my hand, sinking into my chair.

Is this girl mad? I wondered, staring at the empty door. Does she have some kind of short-term memory loss?

I pulled out my phone again, staring at Katha's contact.

What are you doing, Katha?

Katha's POV

Location: Cafe Coffee Day, Near Rathore Industries Time: 8:30 AM

The cafe smelled of roasted beans and impending anxiety.

I sat at a corner table, tapping my fingers on the laminated menu. Across from me sat Meera. She looked like she was waiting for a firing squad. She was clutching her purse so tightly her knuckles were white, and she kept glancing at the door as if expecting Dhruv to burst in and arrest us both.

"Ma'am..." Meera started, her voice tight. "Umm... why are we here? You didn't tell me... like, did I make a mistake or something?"

She swallowed hard. "Is this about yesterday? Because I swear I wasn't trying to—"

"Relax, Meera," I said, offering her my best 'benevolent Queen' smile. "I’m sorry for yesterday. I overreacted. You were just doing your job."

Meera blinked, looking suspicious. "Oh. Okay. So... why did you ask me to drive you here? Sir must be looking for you."

I leaned forward, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I need your help."

Meera frowned. "Help? From me? I don't understand, Ma'am. What kind of help?"

I looked around to make sure no one was listening. The barista was too busy steaming milk to care about corporate espionage.

"I want to ask you something about Dhruv," I whispered. "And his father. You know... you’ve worked with the Rathores for a long time, right?"

Meera hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Five years. I worked as a junior analyst when Dhananjay Sir was still... around. Then I moved to Dhruv Sir's team."

"Great," I nodded. "So, you must know about Tara."

Meera froze. Her professional mask slipped. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed.

"Tara?" she repeated, her voice dropping. "Ma'am, that's... that's old history."

"I know," I pressed. "But everyone says she was very close to him. Who was she?"

Meera looked uncomfortable. She shifted in her seat. "Well... yeah. Everyone thought Dhruv Sir would marry her. It was... assumed. They were inseparable. But then..." She glanced at me awkwardly. "Then it turned out to be you. Honestly, it was a shock. No one knew who you were."

Yeah, big surprise, I thought. Even I didn't know who I was until I signed the paper.

"It was very fast," I lied smoothly. "We wanted to keep it a secret. Romance in private, you know?"

Meera nodded, not looking convinced.

"But leave that," I waved my hand dismissively. "Tell me about Tara. What was her background?"

Meera shrugged. "That’s the thing, Ma'am. I don't know. No one does. She just... appeared. Dhruv Sir brought her to a few galas, but she never talked about her family. We just knew she was 'The One'."

I sat back, my mind racing.

What the hell?

Suhana had told me last night—with absolute certainty—that Tara was the daughter of Vikramaditya Singh, Dhananjay's biggest rival.

So how did Meera—the woman who knows Dhruv's coffee temperature down to the degree—not know that?

Dhruv hid her identity from everyone, I realized. He protected her secret even from his own staff.

"You really don't know anything else?" I asked, disappointed.

"No, Ma'am," Meera said, getting defensive. "And honestly... why are you asking me all this? You don't even like me, right? Yesterday you practically threw me out of the cabin."

She started to stand up. "I think we should go back. If Dhruv Sir finds out—"

Shoot. I'm losing her.

I needed leverage. I needed her to trust me. Or at least, I needed her to work for me.

"Sit down, Meera," I ordered gently.

Meera paused, hovering halfway out of her chair.

I cleared my throat. Time for the big guns.

"Listen, Meera. I am saying sorry again for yesterday. I was... possessive. I don't like it when other women get too close to my husband. You can understand that, right?"

"I... suppose," Meera muttered, sitting back down slowly. "But Ma'am, you should ask Dhruv Sir about Tara. He is your husband. Why are you asking his PA?"

Because if I ask him, he'll give me a 'Contract Wife' speech and tell me to get out, I thought bitterly.

"I want to surprise him," I lied. "I want to know his past so I can... understand him better. Without him knowing I'm digging."

Meera looked skeptical. "I don't think that's a good idea. I value my job."

I took a deep breath. Okay, Katha. You have zero rupees in your bank account. You have a platinum bracelet you can't sell. But you have a title.

"I have an offer for you, Meera," I said, leaning in.

Meera raised an eyebrow. "An offer?"

"If you work for me," I said, keeping my voice steady and confident, "without Dhruv knowing... if you help me dig up information on Tara and the family history..."

I paused for dramatic effect.

"I will pay you triple what Dhruv pays you."

Meera’s eyes practically popped out of her head.

"Wha... what?" she choked. "Triple? Ma'am, seriously? But... why?"

"Of course I will pay," I said, waving my hand as if money were as common as air. "I am Mrs. Rathore, aren't I? I have my own... allowance. It's quite substantial."

I can't pay, my brain screamed. I can't even buy this coffee right now if she asks me to pay. I am a fraud!

But I kept my face straight.

"I see how professional and intelligent you are, Meera," I buttered her up. "You know so much about this company. I just want to test you. I want to know how good your information network really is."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Triple the salary. Cash. Off the books. Just for being my eyes and ears."

Silence stretched between us.

I watched Meera’s face. I saw the conflict. I saw the fear of Dhruv battling with...

Then, I saw it. The greed.

A slow, wide smile spread across Meera’s face. The tension in her shoulders vanished instantly.

"Ma'am..." she chuckled, leaning in eagerly. "Triple salary? That is... very generous."

She pulled out her phone, ready to take notes. Her entire demeanor changed from 'scared employee' to 'best friend'.

"Tell me, Ma'am," Meera beamed, her eyes shining. "What exactly do you want to know? I can access the old archives. I can check the guest lists from five years ago. I can do anything."

I blinked.

Damn. That was too easy.

Capitalism really works wonders.

"Everything," I said, trying not to look relieved. "Start with Tara. Find out where she came from. And find out why no one in this office knew who her father was."

"Consider it done," Meera chirped. "Should I order us some croissants? On me?"

I smiled back, hiding the fact that I was sweating bullets.

"Yes, Meera," I said. "Croissants would be lovely."

I had just hired a spy with imaginary money. If Dhruv found out, I wasn't just going to get fired. I was going to get deported from the planet.