I left work early.
Not because I was tired.
Not because Arvan told me to.
Because staying felt like standing in the middle of a storm and pretending it wasn't raining.
The city outside was loud—traffic, voices, life moving forward without caring what was unraveling inside me.
I walked without direction, phone buzzing in my bag more than once.
I didn't check it.
I needed to think.
This isn't the end of anything.
It's just the first time power has pushed back.
Arvan's words stayed with me, heavy and calm in a way that scared me more than anger ever could.
By the time I reached my apartment, my chest felt tight with a decision I didn't want to make—but knew I couldn't avoid.
I showered. Changed. Sat on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing.
Then my phone buzzed again.
This time, I looked.
Unknown Number:
You should reconsider your position.
My heart dropped.
Before I could react, another message followed.
Unknown Number:
People who don't understand the rules tend to get hurt.
My hands went cold.
This wasn't office gossip.
This was a warning.
I typed back before fear could stop me.
Me:
Who is this?
The reply came almost instantly.
Unknown Number:
Someone who knows how this ends.
My chest tightened painfully.
I didn't respond again.
Instead, I did the one thing I'd been avoiding all day.
I called Arvan.
He answered on the first ring.
"Mira?"
My breath shook. "I got messages."
Silence.
Then his voice hardened—not loud, not angry.
"Tell me."
I read them out loud.
When I finished, he didn't speak immediately.
"Are you alone?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I'm coming."
"No," I said quickly. "Arvan, don't—"
"I'm coming," he repeated.
Not forceful.
Final.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at my door.
When I opened it, he stood there without his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up, tension written into every line of his posture.
He stepped inside and scanned the room automatically—windows, locks, space.
"Show me," he said.
I handed him my phone.
His jaw tightened as he read.
"This crossed a line," he said quietly.
"I don't want this to become a war," I whispered.
He looked at me then—really looked.
"This already is," he replied.
"Someone just made it personal."
I hugged myself instinctively.
"I don't want to be the reason you escalate things," I said.
"I don't want to be used as leverage."
He stepped closer.
"You're not leverage," he said firmly.
"You're not a weakness."
"Then why does this feel like one?" I asked.
Because the truth was shaking inside me.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he said something that changed everything.
"Because you matter to me."
The words landed quietly.
He didn't dress them up.
Didn't soften them.
He just… stated them.
My breath caught.
"That's exactly the problem," I whispered.
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"If I stay close to you," I said slowly, "this won't stop. It'll get worse."
"And if you walk away?" he asked.
I looked at him, heart breaking open.
"Then maybe it ends."
Silence fell between us.
Heavy. Painful. Honest.
Arvan stared at me like he was trying to understand something he didn't want to accept.
"You'd leave," he said slowly, "to protect me?"
"And myself," I replied. "Before this turns into something that destroys us both."
His jaw tightened.
"Don't do this alone," he said.
"I have to," I whispered.
He stepped closer, voice low.
"Mira, if you walk away now—"
"I know," I interrupted.
"I know what it costs."
Because I felt it already.
I took a step back.
Then another.
"This isn't goodbye," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice.
"It's just… space."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then nodded.
Once.
"I won't chase you," he said quietly.
"But don't mistake that for not caring."
My chest shattered.
He turned toward the door.
Stopped.
And said the words I wasn't ready to hear.
"Just don't disappear."
The door closed behind him.
I sank onto the couch, breath coming in shallow bursts.
Because the choice I made wasn't about courage.
It was about fear.
And deep down, I knew—
Walking away from Arvan Raichand might be the most dangerous decision I'd made yet.