Ajay’s phone vibrated again. Unknown Number.

  His brows furrowed. It wasn’t unusual for him to get calls from unlisted numbers—directors, sponsors, even journalists trying their luck—but something about this one made him hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering.

  “Ajay Rajput.”

  Silence.

  Ajay leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “If you’re wasting my time, I suggest—”

  "You should have kept a tighter leash on her—now it's too late."

  Ajay’s grip tightened around the phone. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You should keep a closer eye on your star.”

  The voice was low, distorted—masked.

  No response. Just the faintest sound of breathing on the other end.

  Then—

  “It would be a shame if something happened to her.”

  Click.

  The line went dead.

  Ajay stared at the phone, his heartbeat steady, but his mind racing. A threat. Direct or indirect, it didn’t matter. Someone was watching Amala.

  Before he could process further, his phone buzzed again. This time, the caller ID flashed: Assistant Director – Paris Unit.

  Not wasting a second, he picked up.

  “Ajay, good, you finally answered. I need the final list of bodyguards and assistants for Amala in Paris.”

  Ajay exhaled slowly, forcing his tone to remain neutral. “I’ll approve them by tonight.”

  “Make it quick and-"

  Ajay barely heard the rest. His thoughts were already elsewhere. The unknown caller and the assistant director’s request weren’t coincidences. Someone was interested in Amala, and not in a good way.

  “What else?” Ajay asked, his tone clipped.

  A pause. Then—

  “We heard a rumor. Someone’s been asking about her. Who she trusts. Where she stays.”

  Ajay’s jaw clenched. The pieces were falling into place.

  “I’ll handle it,” he said sharply, before cutting the call.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  His next move was clear.

  He needed to personally go through the security list. And anyone remotely suspicious? They were getting cut immediately.

  Back at Home

  Alice stepped out of the car, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension from the long day.

  Her bodyguards—two assigned for today—exchanged glances before turning to her.

  “We’ll be off now, Miss Rains,” one of them said.

  She barely spared them a glance. “Go on. Get some rest.”

  They dipped their heads in acknowledgment before heading toward their own transport. She preferred it this way.

  Some celebrities moved with an entourage, a wall of protection. Alice? She liked breathing room. Too many people meant too many questions. Too many chances for a mistake.

  With a soft sigh, she stepped inside her home, locking the door behind her. The familiar stillness wrapped around her, offering a moment of peace.

  Yet, a thought lingered in the back of her mind.

  Something felt… off.

  Shrugging it off, she moved deeper into her house. Tomorrow would be another long day.

  ---

  Ajay leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the profiles before him.

  He knew her well enough to predict her reaction. The trick was to get it right before she had the chance to argue.

  His personal assistant, seated across from him, cleared her throat. “Sir, the team needs to be confirmed within the next hour. Should I send out the final names?”

  Ajay didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted over the list one last time.

  Personal Assistant: Mia Kapoor. A constant. There was no need to even discuss it. Mia had been with Amala long enough to know her moods, her schedule, and exactly how to handle the chaos that followed her. If there was one person Amala wouldn’t argue against, it was her.

  The core styling team—her makeup artist, hairstylist, and stylist—were already settled. They traveled with her wherever she went. That much was routine.

  As for security, one bodyguard and another team member had already flown ahead this evening to check the arrangements in Paris.

  That left him with the new additions.

  Assistants.

  Ajay’s fingers tapped against the desk as he reread the names.

  Aditi Sharma – Experienced. Professional. Knew how to blend into the background when necessary.

  Noel Carter – Logistics expert and a defensive driver. A good asset in case of emergencies.

  Riya Malhotra – Highly recommended. A polished demeanor. Well-connected in the industry. Almost too perfect.

  His fingers hesitated over Riya’s file. Something about it nagged at him. Her credentials were flawless, her references solid. And yet…

  Shoving the doubt aside for now, he moved on.

  Bodyguards.

  Rohan Mehta – Reliable and experienced. Amala wouldn’t argue against him.

  Paul Henderson – Silent, watchful, and efficient. Already vetted, already proven. He had worked with Amala before and earned her trust. If she were to accept any bodyguard, it would be him.

  Ajay finally leaned back in his chair, his decision made.

  “This should do,” he muttered, shutting the file. Not too many, not too few. If he overloaded the team, Amala would slash it down herself. This way, she wouldn’t argue.

  But even as he gave the final approval, that uneasy feeling about Riya lingered.

  Maybe he was just being paranoid.

  ---

  A dimly lit office, late at night. Papers are scattered across a desk, a laptop screen casting a faint glow in the darkness. The assistant director, looking exhausted, stretches and rubs their temples.

  Their phone buzzes—a call. Glancing at the screen, they mutter, “I need coffee first,” and walk out, leaving the laptop open.

  Silence. The only sound is the faint hum of the air conditioning.

  Then—a flicker. The laptop screen glitches, the cursor moving on its own. The email attachment opens, the list of profiles scrolling down slowly.

  A presence—someone unseen—gains access. The list scrolls automatically, as if being scanned by invisible eyes. Then, the movement stops.

  The scrolling stops.

  A single name is highlighted.

  A beat of silence, then a low voice, almost amused, murmurs:

  “…Alice."

  The screen flickers again.

  Then–nothing.

  Who is watching? Who is searching? And more importantly… why?

  Stay tuned for next chapter!