HIS POV
I step out of the bathroom after a shower, water still clinging to my skin.
One of my maids enters the room carrying breakfast.
"Good morning, boss," she says respectfully.
I nod. "Mm."
She turns to leave.
"Wait."
She stops instantly.
"Send Dev upstairs," I say calmly.
She hesitates. "Boss… Dev sir hasn't arrived yet."
I frown slightly. "That's never happened before."
"Boss," she says with a small smile, "Dev sir's wife is pregnant. She's in her ninth month. Maybe that's why."
I pause.
Then a slow smile touches my lips.
"Oh… so Dev is going to be a father."
Interesting.
"Alright," I say. "You can go."
I stop her again.
"By the way—has everyone had breakfast?"
"No, boss," she replies quickly. "Everyone was waiting for you. They said they'd eat only after you do."
I shake my head slightly.
"How many times have I told you all—eat on time. You don't need to wait for me."
"Yes, sir," she says softly.
She helps me into my suit, straightening the collar with practiced hands.
"Thank you. Now go and have breakfast," I say.
She nods and leaves the room.
The door closes.
Silence returns.
And with it—
my thoughts.
Dev may not be here yet.
But the order will still be given.
Because whether through him or through someone else—
My eyes are already on her.I pick up my phone and scroll once.
One name.
I press call.
It rings only once.
"Yes, boss," a voice answers. Calm. Loyal. Dangerous.
"Dev won't be available for a today ," I say evenly.
"So this comes to you."
"I'm listening."
"There's a woman," I continue, walking toward the window. The city stretches below me—silent, obedient.
"Dr. Riya."
No last name. He doesn't need it.
"I want eyes on her," I say.
"Not close. Not obvious."
"Understood."
"Daily routine. Workplace. Who she meets. Who she trusts," I add.
"No interference."
A pause.
"And if someone else gets curious?" he asks.
My expression hardens.
"Remove the curiosity," I reply.
"But she stays untouched."
"Yes, boss."
I end the call.
Simple. Clean.
I adjust my cufflinks, my reflection staring back at me—cold, unreadable.
She thinks today is just another day at the hospital.
She's wrong.
Because from this moment—
She is no longer alone.
And she will never know
how close the shadows really are.I place the phone down slowly.
Orders given.
Executed without question.
That's how my world works.
I move toward the mirror, adjusting my tie with steady hands. The man staring back at me doesn't hesitate. He never has.
She thinks safety is a place.
A hospital. A home. A familiar face.
She's wrong.
Safety is permission.
And I haven't given it.
I walk toward the door, my footsteps measured.
STALKER POV:
She won't feel it today. Or tomorrow. That's the beauty of shadows.
They don't announce themselves. They just stay.
Watching.
Learning.
Waiting.
And when the time comes—
I won't need to step closer.
She'll already be surrounded. I arrive early.
Hospitals are easy—too many faces, too much noise. Perfect cover.
I blend in without trying. A clipboard in my hand, calm expression, steady pace. No one looks twice.
Then I see her.
Dr. Riya.
White coat. Tired eyes. Hair pulled back like she doesn't have time for herself.
She's real.
Not fragile. Not careless.
Alert—but unaware.
She talks to a nurse, nods, checks a file. Professional. Focused. The kind of woman who believes routines keep people safe.
I stop near the vending machines, pretending to read my phone.
Eyes on her.
She walks past me.
No perfume that lingers. No loud laugh. No drama.
Interesting.
I note everything—
her timing,
her posture,
the way she scans rooms before entering.
Someone taught her caution.
Good.
A man approaches her—familiar, close. He smiles too easily.
BoyfriPOV?, I assume.
I don't stare. I never do.
I watch reflections. Glass. Steel. Shadows.
My phone vibrates.
Boss: Report.
I type with one hand.
Me: She's careful. Routine-driven. Not reckless. Someone close to her—male. I'm watching.
A pause.
Then the reply comes.
Boss: Don't be seen.
I slip the phone away.
She turns suddenly, as if she feels something.
Our eyes almost meet.
Almost.
I step aside just in time, disappearing into the flow of people.
She exhales, confused, and keeps walking.
She doesn't know it yet—
But today wasn't just another day.
From this moment on,
every step she takes
has a shadow.
And that shadow answers to him.I don't follow her closely.
That's how amateurs get caught.
I keep distance—two corridors behind, one reflection ahead. Glass doors, elevator mirrors, parked cars. The city gives me eyes if you know where to look.
She leaves the hospital at 6:12 PM.
Always the same gate.
Always checks her phone once before stepping out.
Routine noted.
She walks fast, shoulders slightly tense. Not scared—alert. Good instincts. Won't save her, but I respect it.
A black cab stops. She hesitates, then gets in.
I don't follow the cab.
I already know where it's going.
I take a different route. Reach five minutes earlier. Park where cameras don't cover the sidewalk. Engine off. Window cracked.
She arrives.
Keys in hand before she reaches the door. Looks over her shoulder once.
Not random.
She feels something.
I stay still.
Breathing slow. Heart steady.
She enters the building. Light turns on in the second-floor window. Curtains half-drawn.
I note it.
Time.
Place.
Pattern.
My phone vibrates.
Boss: Anything unusual?
I type without looking away from the building.
Me: She's cautious. No mistakes. Lives alone. Same routine. Same fear she doesn't understand.
Three dots appear. Then stop.
Final message comes.
Boss: Continue.
That's all.
I put the phone away.
Across the street, a woman thinks she's safe because her door is locked.
She's wrong.
I don't need to touch her.
I don't need to speak.
Watching is enough.
Because when he decides to move—
She won't remember when it started.
Only that it was already too late.The door closes behind me.
Lights on. Screens wake up one by one.
This isn't home.
It's a control room.
Maps on the wall. Timings written in neat codes. Photos pinned—blurry, distant, precise.
Her building.
Her street.
Her routine.
I sit down, open my laptop, and start typing.
No emotions. Just facts.
Name: Dr. Riya
Profession: Hospital doctor
Routine: Hospital → home → limited social contact
Living situation: Alone
Behavior: Alert, cautious, senses presence
Weakness: Predictability, concern for others
Close contact: One male (appears to be boyfriend)
I attach timestamps. Locations. Camera angles.
Then I make the call.
It connects immediately.
"Yes," he says. One word.
I speak clearly. Slowly.
"She's careful. Not reckless. Lives alone. Same route every day. Same timing. She checks her surroundings but doesn't know why. She feels watched."
Silence.
"She hasn't noticed me," I add.
"But she will—if you want her to."
Another pause.
"Anyone else?" he asks.
"One man. Close. Protective. Doesn't know he's already visible."
"Good," he says.
The line disconnects.
Report delivered.
HIS POV:
I end the call and set the phone down.
Alone.
Quiet.
Exactly how I like it.
I walk toward the window, city lights spread below me like a map I already own.
Careful.
Alone.
Predictable.
I smile faintly.
"She feels it," I murmur.
"That's good."
Fear sharpens people. Makes them real.
I adjust my watch, thinking.
A boyfriend.
Of course.
Everyone thinks they're protected by someone standing beside them.
They never look at the shadows behind them.
"Keep watching," I say to the empty room.
"No moves yet."
I don't rush things.
I don't need to.
Because now I know everything.
Where she goes.
How she lives.
What she fears.
And soon—
She'll learn something too.
That once my eyes settle on you—
There is no such thing as unnoticed.