You were in the kitchen. The lights were dim, just how you liked them. But then—creak. A soft, deliberate footstep from the back door. Your body stiffened. That wasn’t just the wind, that wasn’t your imagination. Someone was in the house.

Heart pounding, your fingers curled around the nearest thing you could grab—a kitchen knife. You moved slowly, quietly, your bare feet making no sound against the cold tiles. As you reached the edge of the kitchen wall, you peered around cautiously.

There he was.

A tall, lean figure, back turned to you, standing in the hallway. Army green uniform, broad shoulders, posture too perfect to be casual. What the hell? A thief in military dress? That didn’t make any sense. You frowned, more confused than scared now, but your grip on the knife tightened anyway..

The man turned.

Your breath caught. Time slowed. The knife nearly slipped from your hand. It was him. Anirudh Mehra.