"Miss. Kashyap." A calm voice interrupts. "What exactly are you doing here?"

I breathe out, dread pooling low in my gut before turning towards the source of voice.

I spin around, schooling my expression into something halfway innocent. "Oh, Mr. Brown, I- uh- Mr. Accardi asked me to bring a file from the study."

His brows lift skeptically. "The study in this wing?"

I swallow. "Yes."

"I'm afraid I haven't received any such instructions."

His tone is respectful, but there's steel underneath, a quiet warning, a dangerous threat. One wrong move and you're dead.

Damn it. Think, Iraanya. Think fast.

I pull out my phone, forcing my voice to stay light. "Let's clear it up, shall we?"

I dial Alonzo. It rings, and with every ring my pulse drumming faster.

An absentminded hum of Alonzo crawls up my drumming pulse. "Hmm?"

"You asked me to bring some files, right? Which ones exactly?" I say quickly, glancing up at Oscar who's standing in front of me like a dangerous wall, listening.

"The case files from study with number 2019CF."

"Perfect," I chirp, and end the call before he can clarify that study doesn't mean the study of left wing.

I lift my chin at Oscar, pretending confidence I barely have. "You heard him."

His jaw flexes, doubt still etched in the taut line of his face. He steps toward the door, blocking the keypad as he punches the code. The door pings open. I move forward but Oscar steps in front of me.

"I'll walk you inside. You take the file and come back out. Quick. No wandering."

Ugh! This guy is loyal as fuck to his boss.

Just as we're about to step inside-

A scream rips through the air, specifically, Ella's high-pitched dramatic scream filled with perfect panic. Thank you, drama queen.

Oscar stiffens, his head snapping toward the direction of sound. "Stay here," he orders, reaching for his radio.

"Of course," I murmur, sweetly, fluttering my lashes, just before slipping inside.

Finally. Finally.

I just lied to Alonzo and his most trusted man.

My footsteps echo loudly against the hallway floorboards. Doors line the corridor, silent sentinels, secrets trapped behind them. My fingers trail along the walls, memorizing the grooves, stopping at the third last door on the right.

Because, of course, no one hides anything valuable right at the beginning. You've to dig deeper for secrets.

It creaks open. Inside smells like old books and a familiar cologne. I flick on my phone's flashlight.

It's... unexpectedly cozy and surprisingly normal from what I expected. A neat desk in the corner, an unhealthy amount of trophies, a large bookshelf and a bed with faded navy sheets tucked in military perfection. There's a familiar, obsessive neatness in the room.

I saunter towards the study desk above which frames are lined across the shelf.

I pause in front of the first picture. A toddler with large forest-green eyes, sitting on the floor, spoon clutched in his tiny hand, chocolate smeared across his chin. His cheeks are puffed, grin so bright, sunshiny, that it could light up a galaxy.

I want to reach across decades and brush that chocolate from his chin, though I know it's impossible. A small smile tugs at my lips anyway.

In one the baby Alonzo is biting a man's ear- his father, maybe. Same lopsided smile, same curly hair.

In one he's cuddling a soft toy.

Another: A woman with matching green eyes is holding a cake while, boy with missing front teeth is beaming innocently at her.

Jane once mentioned his late father, but what about his mother? Where's she?

The frames march forward in time. Smiles start losing their spark, replaced by discipline, control, and distance.

His eyes now are guarded, holding a wariness, a fear I know too well. Something inside me aches to reach into the picture and pull him out before life hardens him.

Before he becomes this version of Alonzo Accardi, everyone's scared of.

I inhale softly, almost holding my breath. I'm drawn, not just to the boy, but to the man he has become. I want to unravel him, piece by piece, even knowing some pieces will cut me.

My fingers itch to linger on the desk, to leave traces unseen, yet part of me wishes he would notice. That someone sees all of him... and perhaps wants him anyway.

"Focus, Iraanya."

I shake off the strange feeling in my heart.

This isn't why I came here.

The next few doors open to empty rooms, ghosted by furniture draped in white sheets and dust gathering over them.

So this was his home in childhood.

Then why does he lives in somewhere else?

And even when he's here, he lives in the right wing, not this one?

But when I reach the last one, at the corridor's end, something feels different.

I hesitate for a second, a bad feeling washing over me.

My fingers tremble slightly, around the chipped door handle. I push it open, regardless, the hinges creaking in protest.

The dense, thick air hits me, laced with the metallic tang of burnt wood and something older. Like smoke contained in the air.

I cover my mouth instinctively. The faint taste of ash coats my tongue.

Through the cracks of the curtains, slight light falls on the blackened walls, their paint cracked into jagged lines. Half-burnt, half-decayed furniture stands in disarray. The broken chandelier droops from the ceiling like a dying star, covered in black soot. A vanity's mirror cracked, glasses spread all over the floor. The bedframe leans to one side, half turned to ash.

My throat goes dry.

What happened here?

How did it catch fire?

I take careful steps, avoiding splinters and the remains of what used to be a dressing table.

A fallen frame catches my eye. I pick it up, flip it. Alonzo, maybe eight or nine, standing in front of his mother, halfway covering her. The man beside her, his father, has a possessive grip on her waist.

My hand slips and the frame falls on the floor accidentally, cracking again, small shards flying, slicing through my skin on my knee.

"Ahh!" I hiss softly, grabbing my knee. The sting blossoms fast, blood trickling down my leg, mixing with the dust and ash that coat the floor as I crouch down on the floor.

That's when my eyes fall on something strange.

The floor beneath me...it's... wrong.

The boards here aren't like the rest. They're polished, newer enough to stand out from the ruined ones around them. Six long planks, forming a perfect rectangle.

I kneel down on the floor, my fingers tracing the seam between old and new boards.

A chill races down my spine on the new mystery in front of me.

Why would someone rebuild just this part?

Slowly, I lower myself onto my stomach, ignoring the sting from my knee and press my ear to the wood.

At first, there's nothing but the rush of my heartbeat.

Then I feel something like a hollow echo.

My breath catches. I shift slightly, pressing harder. The wood answers with a faint, muffled thud, probably with my shifting on it along with the abandoned stuff of room crunching beneath me.

"What's inside it?" I whisper to myself.

A faint drip of blood slides down from my knee, landing on the polished wood, disappearing into the seam between the planks.

About a minute later, a shadow stretches across the floor in front of me.

I freeze, my pulse slamming against my ears. For a heartbeat, I can't even move from my crouched position, ear still pressed on the board.

Because I feel it.

That presence. His presence.

Slowly, I lift my head. Alonzo is standing a foot away. His face carved from fury and disbelief. His eyes are burning with a dangerous intensity, probably this burning room wouldn't have been able to match.

Jai hanuman gyaan gunsagar.....

He takes one step forward, the broken glasses crunching beneath his shoe.

"Iraanya," he growls.

I scramble to stand, pain shooting through my knee, but his gaze pins me down harder than gravity ever could.

He looks down at me, to the floor, to the blood, to where my ear had been pressed a moment ago.

Then back at me.

"What part of 'don't enter this wing' did you not understand?"

I feel the air between us thicken, charged with anger so vicious that could snap a person in two.

Would he snap me in two? God, he looks like he could, effortlessly.

I hope he doesn't. I'm injured, disarmed, and... and a woman.

He won't lift his hand on a woman, right?

Ram doot atulit baldama....

"If anyone... anyone apart from you," he says, his voice a weapon, "I wouldn't have let them walk out of here alive."

The weight of his words settles in my chest, cold and suffocating. He won't kill someone just because they entered the forbidden place, right? But he's not bluffing and that realization steals the air from my lungs.

"I-" My voice falters, too weak for the words I need to say. I feel exposed, caught, like a deer in headlights.

Mahavir Vikram Bajrangi....

"You what, Iraanya?" The way he says my name feels like a bruise pressed open. "You enter my private space, touch things you have no right to touch... Do you have any idea where you are sitting?"

Something beneath his tone shifts, as if he's not only warning me about the room, but about him. About the places in his life that are just as forbidden.

I can't lie, not under this scrutiny but panic pushes the words out anyway. "I- I was looking for the files," I stammer. "Oscar said to get them... and then....then there was... someone screaming..."

He lifts a finger. I shut up instantly.

Right now, he doesn't need words to silence me. That's anger. Pure deadly anger.

Gone. I'm gone for real.

My father won't even find my dead body, because this guy right here is gonna swallow me.

Alonzo steps closer, slowly crouching down, towering over me until the space between us shrinks to mere inches.

"One more lie like this," he whispers, "and I will send you back to California. I'll erase every privilege I've granted you. Tutoring? Gone. My patience? Gone. Your little rebellion? Consider it finished."

His words hit harder than any slap.

Papa's disappointed face flashes behind my eyes.

"Iraanya..." he calls again, warning laced through every syllable. "Do you understand me?"

I straighten slightly, trying to stand up, masking the tremor in my knee with sheer will.

Then his hand moves to my arm, guiding me up, surprisingly cautiously.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Yes what?"

When I sway because of the room spinning around me, his hand slides around my waist immediately, steadying me. The heat of him seeps through my skin, his breath ghosting against my temple.

His fingers flex slightly against my waist, as if weighing whether to pull away or hold on tighter. My pulse stutters, and for one reckless second, I forget that I'm supposed to be afraid.

I look up at him. "I understand, Alonzo, I- I'm sorry." His grip tightens, dragging me against the solid line of his body.

Without another reply, he coaxes me forward with a hand still on my waist.

When we reach outside, Ella and Oscar freeze, their eyes widening. I can feel the air charging with tension.

Alonzo looks at Ella. "Were you part of this?"

Her gaze darts from me to him.

I step forward without thinking. "It wasn't her. Or anyone. It was me."

His head turns toward me so fast I flinch.

"You think you can protect her by lying to me again?"

"I'm not lying!"

He takes one step forward, and I can't help it, I step back.

His voice drops to a near-whisper, "Don't test how patient I can be, Iraanya."

My stomach twists. Shame rushes in hot. I want to step back, but there's something in his eyes that stops me.

His gaze drops to my bleeding knee. A muscle jumps in his jaw, but he looks away fast, like the sight burns him.

"Go inside."

I look at Ella and Oscar standing there, their heads down. Fuck. What if Oscar loses his job just because of my stunt. And... Ella, I manipulated her into this. I hope Alonzo doesn't complain to Carlo about this.

He says my name again.

Lower. Colder. "Now, Iraanya."

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