Chapter 4

(Aadhya’s POV)

I didn’t sleep that night.

No matter how many times I closed my eyes, the same moment replayed in my mind — Advik Singhal standing in front of me, silent, unreadable, while I stood my ground and told him something no one else ever dared to say.

You don’t need an assistant. You need a shadow.

The words echoed like a mistake I couldn’t undo.

By morning, the courage I had felt yesterday was gone. All that remained was a heavy, sinking fear.

What have I done?

I had challenged the CEO of Singhal Groups. Not privately. Not emotionally. Publicly. In his own boardroom.

I dressed mechanically, my hands trembling slightly as I tied my hair. Every scenario played in my head — HR call, termination letter, security escorting me out.

And the worst part?

He hadn’t reacted.

That kind of silence was more terrifying than rage.

The staff canteen was unusually crowded, but I barely noticed the noise. My food sat untouched in front of me.

Sneha slid into the seat opposite me with her tray.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “What happened?”

I hesitated. Then I sighed. “I think I messed up. Badly.”

She leaned forward immediately. “Define badly.”

“I argued with Advik Singhal.”

Her spoon froze mid-air. “You… what?”

“In the boardroom. After he fired Raghav Malhotra.”

Sneha stared at me like I had just confessed to a crime. “Aadhya, do you have a death wish?”

“I didn’t plan it,” I said quietly. “It just… happened.”

She lowered her voice. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

“He’s the CEO.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “That’s the official version.”

My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

Sneha looked around, then leaned closer.

“There are rumors about him. Serious ones. People say he doesn’t just run Singhal Groups. They say he has connections in places even politicians don’t touch.”

I frowned. “That sounds exaggerated.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But tell me this — have you ever seen someone fire a board director like that and face zero consequences?”

I didn’t answer. Because I hadn’t.

Sneha continued, her voice dropping further. “One of the legal managers resigned last year after a dispute with him. The next week, his entire professional record vanished. No LinkedIn. No company references. Like he never existed.”

A chill ran down my spine. “That’s not possible.”

“That’s what everyone said.”

I stared at my phone.

For the first time, the thought entered my mind clearly.

What if I don’t actually know who I work for?

Back at my desk, I typed his name into the search bar.

Advik Singhal.

Dozens of articles appeared — business achievements, global partnerships, healthcare awards, billionaire lists.

Everything looked… clean. Too clean.Then I scrolled deeper. Page two. Page three.

And finally, I found it.

A small article from a foreign business journal.

Singhal Groups under investigation for international security violations. My breath hitched. I clicked it. The page loaded for exactly three seconds.

Then refreshed.And disappeared.

404 — Page Not Found.

I tried again. Same result.

I copied the link. Opened it in another browser.

Nothing.

My hands felt cold.

I searched the headline again.

Gone.

Completely erased. Like it had never existed.

My heart started pounding. Sneha’s words echoed in my head. People don’t just disappear. Suddenly, every detail from yesterday felt different.

The way the board went silent. The way security entered immediately.The way Raghav sir didn’t even try to fight.

And Advik’s voice.

Send the clearance. I’ll handle it personally.

What kind of CEO spoke like that?

I leaned back in my chair, my chest tightening with a feeling I couldn’t define.

Fear.

The kind that settles slowly and makes you question every decision you’ve already made.

I didn’t notice my eyes filling until a tear slipped down. I wiped it quickly.

This was stupid. I was overthinking. Rumors. Articles. Office gossip. Still, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Why did I challenge him?

Why didn’t I just stay quiet like everyone else?

I had wanted to be honest. To be professional. To be real.

But maybe honesty was dangerous in a place built on power.

Maybe I had just painted a target on my own back.

My phone buzzed.

Once. Then again. I looked down.

Unknown Number.

For a moment, I didn’t open it.

I already knew. My throat went dry as I unlocked the screen.

Advik Singhal:

Come to my office. Now.

My pulse raced. This is it.

Termination. Warning. Replacement. Or something worse.

I stood up slowly, my legs weak.

As I walked toward the elevator, one thought repeated in my mind over and over.

I challenged a man whose past couldn’t even be found on the internet.

The doors slid open.

And for the first time since I met Advik Singhal, I truly understood something.

The problem was no longer that he was powerful.

The problem was that I had no idea what kind of power I had just stood against.