Kabir Rathod returned to the city without announcement.
No headlines. No convoy. Just a black car cutting through familiar streets as the skyline rose to greet him like an old enemy that never forgot its place.
He should have felt victorious.
The trip had been successful. The project was secured. His authority reaffirmed. The underworld had been reminded—subtly, efficiently—where the boundaries lay.
Yet as the car slowed near his office building, his thoughts were fixed on only one thing.
Aara.
---
The party was meant to celebrate success.
Rathod Industries' top floor had been transformed for the evening—soft lighting, polished floors, glasses clinking with restrained laughter. Executives, partners, and selected staff moved through the space, dressed in elegance and ambition.
Kabir arrived late.
The moment he stepped in, the atmosphere shifted.
Conversations lowered. Eyes turned. Respect—and fear—followed him like a second shadow. He acknowledged no one immediately, his gaze scanning the room instinctively.
And then he saw her.
Aara stood near the far side of the hall, dressed simply but beautifully, speaking to a small group from her department. She smiled politely, her posture composed.
She didn't look at him.
Kabir's jaw tightened.
---
Aara had known he would return.
The news had traveled fast—whispers of his arrival, the reason for the celebration. She had debated not coming to the party at all, but avoiding it would raise questions she didn't want to answer.
So she came.
Prepared.
She kept her distance deliberately. She laughed when spoken to, excused herself gracefully, shifted positions whenever she sensed Kabir's presence drawing closer.
She felt his eyes on her anyway.
Heavy. Unavoidable.
But she didn't turn.
---
Kabir accepted congratulations mechanically. A glass appeared in his hand. Names blurred together. His attention remained fixed on the space Aara occupied—and the people who occupied it with her.
When a junior executive leaned closer to say something that made her smile, something sharp twisted in Kabir's chest.
Jealousy.
Unwelcome. Uncontrolled.
He took a slow sip of his drink, reminding himself that he didn't own her. That she had asked for boundaries. That this distance was her choice.
It didn't make it easier to watch.
---
Rahul noticed immediately.
"You're staring," he murmured beside Kabir.
Kabir didn't look away. "She's doing it on purpose."
Rahul exhaled. "You gave her reasons."
Kabir's expression darkened. "I gave her safety."
Rahul glanced toward Aara, then back at Kabir. "Safety without freedom feels like a cage."
Kabir said nothing.
Because some part of him knew Rahul wasn't wrong.
---
Across the room, Kavya leaned toward Aara. "You're handling this well," she whispered.
Aara kept her eyes forward. "I'm just… reminding myself that I don't disappear when he enters a room."
Kavya nodded approvingly. "Good. Let him feel what distance looks like."
Aara's fingers curled around her glass. "I don't want to hurt him."
"Then don't," Kavya replied softly. "Just don't lose yourself either."
---
Kabir finally moved.
He crossed the room with controlled steps, stopping a careful distance from Aara. She sensed him before she saw him.
"Enjoying the party?" he asked.
She turned slowly, meeting his gaze with calm restraint. "Yes. Congratulations on the project."
Her tone was polite. Professional.
It cut deeper than anger would have.
"Thank you," Kabir replied. "I didn't see you earlier."
"I was here," she said. "Just busy."
A pause.
"Busy avoiding me?" he asked quietly.
Her eyes flickered—not away, but steady. "Busy respecting the distance I asked for."
Something dangerous stirred behind Kabir's eyes.
"I don't like this," he said.
"That doesn't make it wrong," Aara replied.
Before he could respond, someone called her name. She excused herself smoothly and walked away.
Leaving Kabir standing there.
Watching.
Burning.
---
As the party continued, Kabir remained outwardly composed.
Inside, control was slipping.
Jealousy coiled tight in his chest—not just of the men who spoke to her, but of the ease with which she existed without him.
That night, as the guests departed and the music faded, Kabir stood alone by the glass wall.
Distance, he realized, was far more dangerous than closeness.
Because distance didn't weaken his obsession.
It sharpened it.
And Kabir Rathod had never been good at letting go of what he wanted.