My breath hitched. The man who had shredded my future was now my reluctant savior. Aditya Singhania—the last person on Earth I wanted to see—was my only lifeline as I stood stranded, lost, and watching the shadows lengthen into the Mumbai night.

  I didn't move, my feet rooted by a potent cocktail of shock and sheer panic. My mind screamed the command to flee, but my body recognized the brutal truth: I was absolutely out of options.

  Aditya did not repeat the demand. He simply stared, his stunningly handsome face utterly devoid of emotion, his eyes conveying a chilling, powerful impatience. The sheer intensity of that gaze was enough to snap the paralysis and propel me forward.

  Muttering a silent curse for my desperate plight, I wrenched open the passenger door and slid onto the cool, supple leather. The luxury car’s interior smelled expensive, alien, and utterly detached from the chaos outside. I pulled the door shut with a soft, decisive click, and the silence inside felt suddenly louder than the roar of Mumbai traffic.

  He pulled away from the curb instantly, driving with a focused, almost aggressive control. We sped past the towering high-rises that had so recently trapped me. I clutched my bag tightly in my lap, trying to compress myself, to become as inconspicuous as possible.

  The silence stretched, thick and agonizing. I watched the streaks of the city blur by, bracing for the inevitable interrogation.

  Finally, his cold voice sliced through the tension like a razor.

  "What were you doing here?"

  My heartbeat accelerated. His dominating presence made me stumble over my words.

  "I... I came to collect some proprietary data for... for my midterm project," I stuttered.

  He was silent for a moment, processing my weak defense. His next question was a direct challenge: "Who brought you here?"

  Why does he want to know? Why does he even care? I desperately wished to avoid this conversation. When I hesitated, he glanced over—a look that simply demanded immediate obedience. And I instantly caved.

  "Vicky... he brought me here," I confessed.

  I saw the muscle in his jaw tighten at the periphery of my vision.

  "And he abandoned you here, all alone?" he pressed.

  My nerves were fraying. "Yes," my voice finally came out firm, fueled by a rising, acidic anger—at Vicky, at him, and most of all, at my own poor judgment.

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  "What happened?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the road. His grip on the steering wheel clenched, as if he already knew the answer.

  Frustration boiled over. I cursed silently. Why couldn't he just drop me at the campus? First, that wolf-in-sheep's-clothing, Vicky, had cruelly raised and then crushed my hopes. Now, I was trapped with my arrogant mentor and his unending inquest. Why did it matter to him? I just wanted him to leave me in peace. But deep down, I knew he wouldn't let it go.

  So I told him the unvarnished truth, my voice brittle with suppressed tears.

  "Vicky promised me the proprietary market data for my project. He said it was on his laptop at his apartment. He asked me to go there to get it. I refused to go to his apartment, and in anger, he simply drove away leaving me here on my own."

  I was on the brink of tears just recalling the humiliation.

  "Why didn’t you just go with him? You could have easily met your... Needs," he said, the sarcasm a lash that emphasized the last word.

  My whole body burned with indignation at his cruel, cynical remark.

  "I DIDN’T GO WITH HIM BECAUSE I AM NOT READY TO COMPROMISE MY VALUES FOR ANY BENEFIT OR NEED!" I shouted the words, clear and ringing, meeting his eyes head-on. He was momentarily taken aback, and I thought—just for a flash—I saw a flicker of admiration, immediately masked. No... it couldn't be.

  "WHO IS YOUR ASSIGNED MENTOR, MS. SHRISHTI VERMA?" he demanded in a cold, sharp tone, not looking at me this time.

  He remembered my name. I was surprised.

  I understood the underlying accusation in his tone.

  "MY ASSIGNED MENTOR DOESN’T HAVE TIME TO MENTOR 'SCARED CATS,'... SIR," I retorted with equal sharpness, turning to look out the window. In the rear-view mirror, I saw his lips curve into a brief, almost-smile at my defiant comeback.

  Then he shifted his gaze to mine. "I WOULD HAVE APPRECIATED IF YOU HAD SHOWN THIS SHARPNESS WHEN VICKY ASKED YOU TO COME HERE WITH HIM", he stated, his eyes boring into mine.

  "YOU DIDN’T ASK ME FOR HELP. BUT YOU CAME HERE ALL ALONE WITH A STRANGER YOU MET FEW HOURS BACK. WHY?" He challenged, raising a brow.

  I fell silent, suddenly realizing the profound mistake of trusting a stranger so quickly in my desperation for data.

  When I didn’t reply, he continued, his voice heavy with pronouncement, "LET ME TELL YOU WHY. BECAUSE YOUR EGO IS MORE IMPORTANT TO YOU THAN YOUR SAFETY."

  My jaw dropped. What? So easily he had spun my stand for self-respect into a trivial ego battle. I had no defense.

  "YOUR FIRST LESSON," he said, his voice now calm and composed, "Never let your emotions cloud your judgment. All your emotions—anger, greed, fear, pride—set them aside before making a decision. Focus on the facts."

  He pulled the car to a smooth stop right outside the hostel gate, but he did not immediately dismiss me. He turned off the engine and looked at me, his gaze intense. There was a hard, almost protective edge to his voice, barely masked by his usual aggression.

  "You're lucky I was leaving for a meeting at the right time," he stated, not as a boast, but as a simple, powerful fact, implying a layer of unexpected vigilance. He pulled a business card from the console and scribbled something on the back before handing it to me.

  "You will get all the data you need in the morning. Meet me at the library sharp 10 a.m." His eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped into a sharp, clear warning. "And the most important thing," he paused, the finality absolute, "I don't like latecomers."

  He didn't wait for my thanks or my agreement. He simply started the engine, leaving me with the knowledge that my project was saved, but my humiliation was far from over. I now had a mandatory, high-stakes appointment with the devil himself. He had seen my vulnerability, and in his own harsh way, he had shown me a glimpse of something beyond mere coldness. But for now, that connection was buried under layers of his arrogance and my simmering resentment.