Arvan didn't wait.
He never did when he made a decision.
By the next morning, the atmosphere on the executive floor felt like the calm before something irreversible. People spoke in lower voices. Assistants moved faster. No one lingered.
I felt it in my chest before I saw it.
Arvan's office door was closed.
That never happened.
Ten minutes later, his assistant appeared at my desk.
"Mira," she said quietly, "Mr. Raichand wants you in the conference room."
My stomach dropped.
"Now?" I asked.
She nodded.
The conference room was empty when I entered—except for two people.
Arvan.
And his mother.
She stood by the window, perfectly composed, as if she owned the building as much as she believed she owned him. Arvan stood opposite her, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
The air was heavy.
"This isn't necessary," I said instinctively.
Arvan turned to me. "It is."
His mother's gaze shifted to me, sharp and cold.
"So you're still here," she said. "Impressive."
"I didn't come to impress you," I replied calmly.
Her lips curved slightly. "That's a mistake in my world."
Arvan stepped forward.
"This stops," he said. "The messages. The audits. The pressure."
His mother turned to him slowly.
"You think I don't know?" she asked coolly. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
"I warned you," Arvan said. "You crossed a line."
She laughed softly. "I tested boundaries. That's what keeps people strong."
"You tested her," he replied. "And that makes it unforgivable."
Silence fell.
Then she said the words that cut deeper than anything else.
"You're choosing her over me."
Arvan didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
My breath caught.
His mother stared at him, genuinely shocked for the first time.
"I spent my life shaping you," she said. "Protecting you."
"You controlled me," he answered quietly. "And called it protection."
Her gaze hardened.
"And what happens when she breaks?" she asked, eyes flicking to me. "When the pressure becomes too much?"
Arvan turned to me then—not defensively, not possessively.
Open.
"That's her choice," he said. "Not yours."
I swallowed hard.
"I won't break," I said. "But I won't stay if this continues."
His mother studied me for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
Not kindly.
"You're stronger than I expected," she said. "Which makes you more dangerous."
She turned back to Arvan.
"This won't end here."
Arvan's voice was calm. Final.
"It ends now."
She held his gaze for a few seconds longer, then turned and walked out without another word.
The door closed.
Silence flooded the room.
My legs felt weak.
Arvan exhaled slowly, tension finally leaving his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "You shouldn't have been dragged into that."
"I chose to stay," I replied. "Remember?"
He nodded.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then the dam cracked.
"I hated growing up like that," he said suddenly. "Every achievement measured. Every mistake punished."
I stepped closer without thinking.
"You survived it," I said softly.
"Barely," he admitted. "I learned to be cold because it was safer than being honest."
His eyes met mine.
"And then you walked into my life."
The weight of that settled between us.
"Mira," he said, voice low, "this is the part where most people leave."
I shook my head. "I'm still here."
Something in his expression broke—just a little.
He reached out, hesitated, then rested his hand over mine on the table.
Not urgent.
Not desperate.
Steady.
Grounded.
"This changes things," he said.
"Yes," I agreed.
"But not in a bad way."
He looked at me like he was seeing something solid for the first time.
Outside, the city kept moving—unaware that something fundamental had shifted inside those glass walls.
Because silence had finally broken.
And neither of us could pretend anymore.