Chapter 5

Advik’s POV

She opened the door and walked in.

Just straight inside my cabin, like she had done this a hundred times before.

Aadhya Suryavanshi stood in front of my desk, her back straight, her face calm. There was fear in her eyes, yes — but it wasn’t the kind that makes people shrink. It was the kind that sharpens them.

“Close the door,” I said.

She did.

The sound echoed softly in the room.

I didn’t tell her to sit.

I wanted to see what she would do.

She stayed standing.

I looked at her for a few seconds longer than necessary.

“You are not nervous,” I said.

“I am,” she replied. “I just don’t show it.”

Most people would lie.

She didn’t.

“You found something about me today,” I said.

“Yes."

“You searched my name.”

“Yes.”

“You read the article.”

“Yes.”

I leaned back in my chair slowly.

“And yet you still came here.”

She met my gaze. “You called me.”

Interesting answer.

I reached for the tablet on my table and turned the screen toward her.

The CCTV feeds lit up.

Her desk. The staff canteen. The corridor near the elevators. All from less than an hour ago.

She looked at the screen. Then back at me.

“So this is how you work,” she said calmly. “By watching people.”

“I monitor what belongs to me,” I replied.

“People don’t belong to companies,” she said. “They work for them.”

I smiled slightly. “That’s a very ideal way of seeing the world.”

“And this is a very dangerous one,” she replied.

“You are not shocked,” I said.

“I am disappointed,” she said.

“You know I can see your search history,” I continued. “Your movements. Your conversations.”

“I assumed that the moment the article disappeared,” she replied. “Nothing vanishes from the internet that easily.”

“You are smart.”

“No,” she said. “I am observant.”

“You should be scared,” I said quietly.

She held my gaze. “I am. But fear doesn’t mean silence.”

The same one she had used in the boardroom, in a different form.

“You challenged me yesterday,” I said.

“Because what you did was wrong.”

“You think firing Raghav Malhotra was wrong?”

“I think humiliating him was wrong,” she replied. “There was a difference.”

“He questioned my authority.”

“And you proved it by destroying his career,” she said. “That is not leadership. That’s ego.”

The word hit cleanly.

“You are crossing your limits Ms. Suryavanshi,” I said.

“No,” she replied. “I am using them.”

“You are standing in front of the most powerful man in this company,” I said. “And you are talking to me like I am your colleague.”

“I am talking to you like you’re human,” she said. “Not like you are untouchable.”

“You are not afraid I will fire you?”

“I am,” she said honestly. “But I won’t beg to stay.”

Most people would have softened by now. She didn’t.

“You know I erased that article,” I said.

“Yes.”

“You know I can erase more than articles.”

“Yes.”

“And still you stand here like this.”

She looked at me steadily.

“Because I don’t want to work in a place where I’m scared to think.”

The words stayed in the air.

“You went to the canteen,” I said. “You talked to Sneha.”

“Yes.”

“You discussed about me.”

“Yes.”

“You searched deeper.”

“Yes.”

I smiled faintly. “You are not even trying to hide it.”

“I don’t see the point,” she replied. “You already know everything.”

That was the problem. She knew I was watching. And still didn’t change herself.

“You think I called you here to threaten you,” I said “Did you?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

I looked at her carefully before answering.

“Because I wanted to see if you would still speak after knowing what I am capable of.”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Then she said, “And I wanted to see if you would admit it.”

I paused.

“You are enjoying this,” I said.

“No,” she replied. “You are.”

That made me laugh softly.

“You like that I don’t bend,” she added.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You like being challenged,” she continued. “That’s why you didn’t fire me. That’s why you’re watching me. That’s why you deleted the article.”

“You think you understand me very well for someone who met me two days ago.”

“You’re not complicated,” she said. “You are just used to being obeyed.”

“You are saying I am lonely.”

“I am saying you are surrounded by people who never tell you the truth.”

The room went quiet. Not uncomfortable. Exposed.

“You fired a board director” she said. “And not one person questioned you. That should have scared you more than his words.”

I looked away for a second.

Then back at her.

“You are dangerous,” I said.

“I know,” she replied. “So are you.”

I turned back to the tablet. The CCTV feeds were still running.

“You want me to stop watching you,” I said.

“Yes.”

“You want me to stop tracking your searches.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to trust you.”

“I want you to treat me like an employee, not a subject.”

I stared at the screen for a few seconds. Then I tapped it. The feeds went black. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“That was too easy,” she said.

“It wasn’t easy,” I replied. “It was a choice.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to see how far you will go when I am not controlling you.”

She looked at me.

“You are still testing me.”

“Of course.”

She turned toward the door.

Then stopped.

“You know what scares you the most?” she asked softly.

“What?”

“That I am not impressed by your power. I am interested in your reasons.”

She opened the door and walked out.

I stayed where I was.

And for the first time since I became Advik Singhal, I realised something that made no sense at all.

I didn’t summon Aadhya Suryavanshi because I wanted to control her.

I summoned her because she was the first person who refused to be controlled — and I didn’t want her to stop.