Rahat leaned back in his chair and pressed two fingers against his temple. "Listen, I want all of you to think about what just happened. Logically.
Whoever did this operated at a level that no ordinary person can reach. This wasn't some script kiddie running a toolkit they downloaded off the internet.
This was someone who understood our network architecture better than half the people standing on this floor.
Someone who read a Mirza-level intrusion in seconds, traced it back to its source and rewrote the entire system state without leaving a single trace.
We have some of the best hackers in the country on this team. Priya. Dev. Meera. All of you."
He gestured vaguely at the room. "And none of you could stop it. So—who does that leave?"
A long silence. Then Dev spoke up, quietly. "We're not the only hackers out there."
"Correct. But most of them—most of them are already accounted for. They work for the other three families."
The room went still.
Rima, who had been leaning against a desk with her arms folded, straightened slightly. "You mean the Mirzas."
"The Mirzas," Rahat agreed. "The Ashrafis. The Kainats. The other three pillars of The Big Four .
Each of them keeps a private security apparatus. Each of them employs hackers at a level that can compete with ours .... And tonight during a Mirza-level attack —
someone from outside our network, someone we don't have on file, someone we have never even heard of — walked in and cleaned up the entire mess in five minutes."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"So. If our team couldn't do it and Mirzas wouldn't do it and the Ashrafis have no reason to do it, and the Kainats have never once made themselves known in twenty years —"
He let the sentence hang. "Then who?"
No one answered.
Priya shifted in her seat. "Maybe it's not one of the four families. Maybe it's someone new."
"Someone new," Rahat repeated. "At this level. Who has never appeared anywhere. Who has never been seen or heard or tracked."
He shook his head slowly. " That's someone who has been hiding from everyone who would notice if they existed. This continent has no genius left.
Every hacker worth knowing has already been hired. Every prodigy has already been claimed. Every mind that could do what was done tonight is already inside one of the four families. Then who is it??? "
Rahat pushed his chair back and stood up, he rolled his shoulders and glanced at the clock on the wall.
"Alright, Everyone take a break. Get some air."
He reached for his jacket, which was still draped over the back of his chair and pulled it on, picked up his tablet, tucked it under his arm, and walked toward the elevator.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke. The floor was quiet except for the low hum of the machines and the distant sound of traffic from the street below.
Then from somewhere near the coffee machine — a voice broke the silence. "Honestly," a young woman said, "have you seen our boss? He's so handsome."
Another woman laughed. "Which one? Sir Rahat or Mr. Sunayana?"
"Both .... Especially did you see Mr. Sunayana?How is it fair? How can one person look like that and also run an entire empire? Money. Good genes. Ruthless discipline. Take your pick."
"I know. That's the problem. He's always like that, and he never notices."
A third voice joined in — older, more tired but amused. "He notices. He just doesn't care."
"Still. It's unfair."
"He's also your supervisor," the older voice pointed out. "So maybe stop staring at him during work hours."
Rima, who had been standing near the window with her arms crossed, turned her head slightly. Her expression somewhere between tired and thoughtful — suggested she had been listening more carefully than she wanted to admit.
Sadia, beside her, took a slow sip of her coffee and smiled into the cup. "Young people this days."
Rima glanced at her. "We're not that young."
"You're young enough to talk about a man's shoulders at night after surviving a cyberattack."
"It's not just the looks. It's the way he walks. Like he owns the floor."
"He does own the floor."
"Okay but like — metaphysically."
"Did you just say metaphysically? I'm tired. Give me a break."
A woman from finance leaned closer.
"You know what I heard? He hasn't dated anyone in three years, the magazines have been trying to figure out who he's seeing but nobody has ever found out."
"Maybe he's waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"For someone worth the wait."
A pause. "That's the most romantic thing anyone has said in this building all year."
"It's also the most tragic."
"Why tragic?"
"Because if Fahad Sunayana has been waiting for someone worth the wait for three years and no one has shown up then what chance do the rest of us have?"
Nobody answered that.
Near the back of the group, a younger analyst — Meera spoke up without thinking. "Do you think he's ever been in love?"
The older woman beside her snorted "That man? He doesn't look at anyone long enough to fall in love."
"Maybe he looks at people when no one is watching."
"Now who's the romantic?"
"I'm serious. You can't be that beautiful and that cold unless something happened. Something that made him that way."
The older woman considered this. Then she shrugged.
Across the room, Priya had already turned back to her screen but her cheeks were slightly pink.
Dev, who had been standing nearby the entire time, cleared his throat. "So, dinner?"
The room turned toward him.
"Sir Rahat said it's on him," Dev reminded them. "I'm not letting that offer expire."
A beat of silence. Then the floor began to move again, chairs scraping, keyboards shutting down, tired voices rising into something closer to life.
Fahad walked back toward his office. He had spent the last hour in the middle of a crisis, he pushed the door open.
The office was exactly as he had left it. And on the sofa, in the same corner where he had left her.
For a second — just a second — something crossed his face. Something that looked for a moment, like confusion.
He had expected — what? He didn't know. He had expected something, expected her to be standing at the window, watching the chaos below. He had expected her to be anxious or asking questions.
Instead, she was sitting on his sofa, eating chips, as though nothing had happened. She didn't look up when he entered, she didn't ask what had happened, didn't even ask why he had been gone for an hour.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.The click of the latch sounded loud in the quiet room. Maya still did not look up.
"You're still eating."
"You told me to eat. Mr. Fahad."
Fahad opened his mouth. Then closed it. He had, in fact, told her to eat. He had not expected her to still be doing it two hours later.
Rahat stepped in — his jacket was on properly now, his tie was fixed and his hair was pushed back from his forehead. "The car is ready, sir."
Fahad closed the laptop with a soft click. He adjusted his cuffs, "Come on, Maya."
Maya was mid-reach for another chip, already lifting it toward her mouth but the moment the words registered, something shifted — a small, almost imperceptible break in her stillness.
She put the chip down, Immediately .... The bag crinkled faintly under her hand as she placed it on the table and aligning it with the edge as though restoring order to a room. "Alright, Mr. Fahad."
She stood. Her gloved hands folded loosely in front of her. Fahad noticed the speed of it, the way her entire body had shifted from stillness to readiness in the span of a single breath.
He said nothing. He turned and walked toward the door."Come on." Maya followed half a step behind. The door closed behind them with a soft click.
The corridor was quiet at this hour. The chaos of the IT wing had long since faded, swallowed back into the hum of a building.
The car was waiting beneath the broad stone portico. The night air had turned cool, carrying with it the faint scent of rain that had not yet fallen.
The driver stood beside the rear door, he opened it with a practiced motion as Fahad approached.
"Sir."
Fahad stepped aside — just slightly, just enough — and gestured once toward the open door.
Maya understood.
She stepped forward, her small figure — slipped past him into the dark leather interior. She looked smaller in the car, somehow. Younger. Fahad slid in beside her.
The city rolled past the windows in long, blurred ribbons — streets emptying, shops closing, the last of the crowds dissolving into the quiet of the night.
Fahad watched her from the corner of his eye.
She had not spoken, not once. She hadn't asked where they were going.
She had simply sat there, hands folded, eyes on the road ahead as though the entire evening had been nothing more than a appointment.
It Unsettled Him.
He had spent his whole life in rooms full of people who wanted things from him. Investors. Rivals. Reporters. Every one of them filled the silence with questions , with stories designed to pull something out of him. Maya did none of it.
[ 20 MINUTES LATER ]
The car slowed. The wrought-iron gates of Tears of Pearl rose before them, the car eased to a stop before the broad marble staircase.Fahad opened his door before the driver could reach it.
He stepped out into the cool night air. He turned and for the second time that evening, he reached back, his hand held at the edge of the open door, waiting.
Maya looked at it for a fraction of a second. Then she stepped down on her own, without taking it.
Fahad withdrew his hand without a flicker of expression.
The grand hall had settled into its usual nighttime quiet. Fahad and Maya stepped through the main doors, servants straightened. Somewhere on the second floor, a door opened. Then another.
The devils had begun to gather — drawn out of their rooms by the simple, undeniable fact that Fahad Sunayana had left the house with a girl.
Faha appeared first, leaning over the railing of the upper landing with a script still clutched in one hand and his hair hopelessly disheveled. Fahish followed a moment later, pencil still behind his ear.
Ohi emerged from the east corridor, wrapped in a soft shawl, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement.
They lined the railing like a row of curious birds, all of them staring down at the hall below.Fahad did not look up. He was already halfway up the stairs, loosening his tie as he went.
"Big brother!"
Fahad paused on the stairs. "Yes?"
"How was it?" Faha leaned over the railing, his voice carrying that particular blend of genuine curiosity and theatrical mischief that only he could manage. "The office?"
Fahad resumed climbing. "Fine."
"Fine?" Faha repeated, clearly unimpressed. "That's it? Just fine?"
"Fine."
Fahish tilted his head slightly, watching Maya from above. "And you little sis? How was your first day out?"
"Fine, Mr. Fahish."
Naya's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Just 'fine'? From both of you?"
Nahi snorted from the back of the group. "This family has a serious problem with words."
Naya glanced at him. "Says the man who once described a funeral as 'okay.'"
"That was a compliment."
Fahad had reached the top of the stairs by now. He stopped beside the group, his expression as unreadable as ever, "Good night."
A servant stepped forward from the shadows — near the entrance, carrying three large shopping bags, each one bearing the elegant silver emblem of ÉLYSÉE.
Faha pointed at the bags. "What — what is that?"
The servant bowed her head respectfully. "The parcels for Miss Maya, Master Faha. Master Fahad instructed that they be placed in her room."
"Parcels?" Faha repeated. "Oh. Oh. Ohhh I see what happend here. That's—"
He stopped,his eyes moved slowly from the bags to Maya, who was still standing at the foot of the stairs.
Fahish's voice was calm. "How many bags?"
"Three, Master Fahish."
"And inside?"
"Twelve pieces, sir. Shirts and trousers from the latest collection."
Faha shook his head slowly, " Fahad Sunayana just bought a wardrobe for someone he's known for one day."
"The man who," Naya said, a faint smile touching her lips, "doesn't do things like this." She turned toward her. "Maya. Did you enjoy your day?"
A pause. Then, quietly — "Fine. Miss Naya."
Nahi groaned. "Again with 'fine.'"
"Good night, Miss Naya."
Maya climbed the stairs. The family watched her go — Faha and Fahish with their questions still unanswered, Nahi with a look that was almost impressed despite himself.
[ HALF AN HOUR LATER ]
The brass lamp cast a small circle of light across the desk. Mahim sat behind it, his hands loosely interlaced, his eyes fixed on the middle distance.
A soft knock. "Enter."
Butler Saad stepped inside, "Sir."
"Report."
"Master Fahad returned with Miss Maya at approximately ten forty-five. They spent the afternoon at the city mall, where Master Fahad purchased pieces of clothing for Miss Maya.
He then took her to the Group headquarters, where she remained in his office for over two hours."
Mahim's fingers stopped moving. "Group headquarters. "
"Yes, sir."
Mahim turned his head toward the window— just barely, just for a moment the corner of his mouth lifted.Then he looked back at the butler. "Anything else?"
"Nothing of note. Miss was quiet throughout. She didn't complain. She didn't ask for anything. She did not—" Saad paused, choosing his words carefully.
"She did not behave like a child who had spent the day shopping." Mahim nodded slowly. "No. She wouldn't."
He reached for the cold cup of tea and took a sip. "That will be all, Mr. Saad."
"Sir." Saad bowed and turned to leave.
The door clicked shut. Mahim sat alone and for the first time in fourteen years, something in his chest felt lighter than it had the night before.
------
Rahat sat in the back seat, tablet resting on his knee, staring out the window at the city lights sliding past. His driver knew better than to ask questions.
The night was quiet now — the streets half-empty, the shops dark, the city folded into the kind of hush that only comes after midnight.
He reached for the paper cup in the holder beside him and took a slow sip of coffee. Then he picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts, until he reached one he rarely used this late.
He pressed call. It rang twice.
"Hey ....hey Rahat?" The voice on the other end was groggy — the sound of someone who had been asleep. "It's midnight."
"I know what time it is, Dev."
"Then why are you calling me?"
Rahat took another sip of coffee.
"Listen carefully. I want you to contact everyone. Everyone who worked on the attack and want you to put together a team."
Dev exhaled slowly. Rahat could hear the sound of a man sitting up in the dark. "Okay. Okay, fine. What am I telling them?"
"Tell them we're looking for the unknown entity. I want you to find that unknown thing, pull the logs. Find out who walked into our network tonight and why.
I want to know where they came from. And I want to know why they helped us.Do it quietly however you need to do it — whatever methods you need but quietly. I don't want this reaching the press. I don't want it reaching the other families."
Dev was quiet for a moment. Then, carefully — "Rahat, with respect we already looked for an hour. There's nothing. Whoever this was, they didn't leave a trace. Not one."
"Then look again."
Dev let out a long breath. "You realize I'm going to have to call Priya, right? Do you know what Priya is going to do to me if I wake her up at this hour?"
"I don't care what Priya does to you."
"That's cold, Rahat."
"I'm aware."
A beat of silence. Then Dev spoke again, his voice shifting into something more resigned.
"Fine. Fine, I'll call them. But I'm telling you right now — if Priya kills me, I'm haunting you. I'm saying this as your friend, if I die from exhaustion.
And I become a ghost — I'll be the ghost who makes your coffee cold. And every late-night phone call. I will be there with you. And haunt you as a scary ghost."
Rahat's voice was dry. "A scary ghost."
"The scariest. I'll stand at the foot of your bed at 3 AM. Every night."
"That's already what you do at work."
"I do not stare at you at work."
"You do ... When you think I'm not looking. You stare at me the way a man stares at a puzzle he can't solve."
Dev opened his mouth. Closed it. "That's — that's different. That's professional staring."
"There's no such thing. And you're not going to die."
"You don't know that."
"You drank three espressos before I left the office. You'll survive that. So—"
"That's not the point." Dev sat up straighter.
"The point is, I want you to feel guilty. I want you to remember that you did this to me. You took a perfectly normal, hardworking young man and you turned him into a sleep-deprived ghost hunter."
Rahat almost smiled. Almost. "Just make the calls, Dev."
"Alright, alright." There was a pause, then Dev's voice dropped, more serious now. "But Rahat —"
"What?"
"Why the urgency? The attack is over. The system's stable. Why are we hunting for someone who helped us?"
Rahat's grip tightened around his coffee cup.
"Because I don't believe in help that comes from nowhere. And I don't believe in a stranger who knows our network better than our own team. Whoever this is — they weren't just passing by."
"So you think they're a threat."
"I think they're a question. And I don't like unanswered questions."
Slence on the other end. "Okay, I'll make the calls. But Rahat—"
"What now?"
"Next time, call me in the morning."