Everyone day, your name was on the front page. Headlines called you “The Youngest Detective Who Made the City Breathe Again.” You were stunning, smart, and dangerously good at what you did.

Rohit Sharma had read enough. He had everything — money, fame, a beautiful wife, and now, a baby girl who had become the centre of his universe. But lately, someone was trying to rip that peace apart. Threat letters, a mysterious black SUV trailing Ritika, and just yesterday — a photo of his daughter in her playschool inbox. No ransom demands. No names. Just pure fear.

He had never felt this helpless. But there was one person that kept echoing in his mind — you.

The elevator to your office opened into a dimly lit hallway that smelled of old leather, coffee, and something sharper — perhaps danger, or maybe just her presence. He knocked.

"Come in," came the voice — calm, powerful, and hauntingly seductive.

He stepped in.

You sat behind a sleek desk, files stacked with precision, a revolver glinting faintly in its holster. Your eyes met his — sharp as blades, but strangely inviting.

He sat down. "I figured if anyone in this city could handle what I'm dealing with... it's you."