Chapter 5: The Face Behind a Fake Smile
The silence in Heer's top-floor office was absolute, save for the muffled roar of the city far below. She sat behind her expansive mahogany desk, the cold glow of a cloned smartphone illuminating her sharp features.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. A part of her, the side raised to be a cold, calculating heiress, told her this was necessary "vetting." The other part, the woman who had seen the warmth in Aslam's eyes, felt like a thief.
She bypassed his family photos first. A father with tired eyes, a mother in a simple lawn suit, a sister with a bright, hopeful smile. "Clean," she whispered to the empty room. "Too clean." Then, she found it. A folder hidden behind a secondary password—one she had cracked in seconds.
The Private Folder
Inside, there were no secrets of corporate espionage. There were no hidden bank accounts. There was only one single screenshot of a message sent eighteen months ago. "Aslam, if you want this to happen, tell your family to come and get me now. Do it today, or you will lose me forever. I can't fight them alone anymore."
Heer felt a strange, sharp pang in her chest. She checked the contact name: Mehrina. "So, this is the ghost you're running from," Heer murmured, her eyes narrowing as she studied the date. The message was old—a relic of a life that had been shattered.
Suddenly, her own phone vibrated on the mahogany desk, the caller ID flashing: THE FIXER. She picked up on the first ring. "Update?"
"His background is as white as a shroud, Madam," The Fixer's voice was like gravel, devoid of emotion. "But your instincts were right. The boy is walking through a graveyard of his own making."
"Explain," Heer commanded, leaning back into her leather chair, the shadows of the room swallowing her figure.
"A year ago, he was a different person. He had a future, a bike, and a girl he was ready to marry. But then, his father's health collapsed. A rare condition—Pulmonary Arterial Hypertension. The surgery alone cost more than his entire family had ever seen. He didn't hesitate. He sold his bike. He sold his phone. He spent every night sleeping on the cold floor of a private hospital while the girl waited for a sign that he still wanted her."
The Fake Smile
"He never told her why he went silent," the Fixer continued. "He was too busy fighting for his father's life to fight for his own happiness. Her family used that silence. They convinced her he had moved on, that he was a liar. They married her off to her cousin within months. By the time Aslam brought his father home, she was already gone."
"And now?" Heer asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"He's here for the money, Madam. His father needs a follow-up surgery within the year, or the first one was useless. He's smiling in front of his family to keep them from seeing his heart is broken, and he's smiling in front of you because he needs that contract more than he needs air."
Heer looked at the screenshot on the cloned phone again. The desperation in those words felt like a physical weight in the room. "The girl," Heer said suddenly, her voice sharp. "What is her name?"
There was a brief pause on the other end, the sound of paper rustling. "Her name is Mehrina, Madam."
The name hung in the air like a heavy mist. Heer didn't blink. She didn't even breathe. She simply stared at the flickering cursor on the cloned screen, the name etched into her memory.
"I see," Heer said, her voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. "Now, listen closely. You have to do something for me. Something outside of your usual scope."
"Tell me, Madam," the Fixer replied. The gravel in his voice seemed to settle, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.
Heer leaned in, her lips inches from the receiver. She didn't want the walls to hear. She didn't want the security cameras to record her intent. In a cold, serious whisper, she laid out a precise, three-step plan. Her words were sharp, calculating, and carried the weight of her family's immense fortune. It wasn't a request. It was a rewrite of Aslam's destiny.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Even the Fixer, a man who had seen the darkest corners of the city, seemed to take a moment to process the scale of what she was asking.
"Well?" Heer prompted, her eyes tracking Aslam's smiling figure on the monitor.
"Consider it already done, Madam," the Fixer finally replied, his tone formal. "The wheels are already in motion."
Heer cut the call without a 'thank you.' She didn't need to say it. In her world, results were the only currency that mattered. She leaned back, watching the screen. Aslam was waving goodbye to the guard now, heading toward the staff quarters. He looked so light, so carefree.
"You played your part well, Aslam," she whispered to the empty office, a ghost of a smirk appearing on her lips. "But the real game hasn't even started yet."
The Weight of a Smile
Aslam's phone vibrated in his pocket, the familiar ringtone cutting through the quiet hum of the office hallway. He pulled it out, and for a split second, the professional mask slipped. The screen read: Maa.
He quickly stepped into a vacant side office, closing the door to find a moment of privacy. He took a deep breath, smoothing out the tension in his voice before pressing the green button.
"Salaam, Maa," he said, his voice instantly softening. "How are you? Is everyone okay at home? How is Shazia? Did she finish her exams?"
"We are all fine, beta," his mother's voice came through, warm and crackling with the distance of the miles between them. "The house is quiet without you. But tell me, are you eating well? You sound tired."
Aslam leaned his head against the cold wall, closing his eyes. "I'm eating like a king, Maa. Don't worry about me. Tell me... how is Abu? Is he taking those blue tablets every morning? Is he walking to the park?"
"He is stubborn as always," she chuckled, "but yes, he is taking them. He's sitting right here. He's been bothering me to give him the phone for ten minutes."
There was a muffled sound of the phone being passed, and then a deeper, slightly raspy voice filled the line. "Aslam? My son?"
"Abu! How are you feeling?"
"I am fine, I am fine," his father replied, though Aslam could hear the slight shortness of breath that always made his heart tighten. "But listen, Aslam... your mother and I have been talking. My friend from the old neighborhood, the one who moved to the village? He has a daughter. A very nice, educated, and pious girl. She is beautiful, beta. We want you to come home next month. We want to go see her and fix the engagement."
The air in the small office felt like it had been sucked out. Aslam gripped the edge of a desk. The irony was like a knife—his family was planning a future for him with a stranger, while his heart was still buried in the folder on Heer's desk.
"Dad..." Aslam started, his voice thick. "I've... I've earned a good amount of money here. The contract is going well. By the time the final surgery date comes, I'll have enough. I promise. Don't worry about the costs."
"Aslam," his father interrupted, his tone shifting into something deeply emotional. "I didn't call you to talk about money or surgeries. I am your father. I called because I wanted to hear my boy's voice. I wanted to know if you are happy."
Aslam bit his lip, staring at his own reflection in the dark window. He looked like a man who was winning, but he felt like a man who had lost everything. "I'm happy, Abu. Truly."
Suddenly, the heavy door of the office suite burst open. Jack's voice boomed through the hallway, loud and urgent. "ASLAM! Where the hell are you? Get over here quickly! We have a situation!"
Aslam jumped, the spell of the phone call broken. "Dad, I have to go. My boss is calling. I'll call you back on Sunday, okay? Give my love to everyone."
"Go, beta. Work hard. Allah Hafiz."
Aslam stared at the screen as the call ended. He stood in the silence for a moment, the emotional weight of his father's love pressing down on him. He wiped a stray moisture from the corner of his eye, straightened his jacket, and stepped back into the hall. The mask was back on.
The Uninvited Guest
Upstairs, in the shadowed silence of her office, Heer didn't move. She was still holding the cloned phone, the audio from Aslam's private call still echoing in the room. She had heard it all—the father's fragile hope, the mention of a "new girl," and the way Aslam's voice had cracked when he lied about being happy.
A cold, calculated spark lit up her eyes. She wasn't just a spectator anymore; she was the director of this play.
A few minutes later, the elevator dinged on the main floor. The heavy glass doors swung open, and Heer stepped out. It was rare to see her on the floor after hours, and the air in the room instantly shifted from relaxed to alert.
"Listen up, everyone," Heer announced, her voice carrying a rare, upbeat lilt. "You've all been working incredibly hard on the production flow. To celebrate, we're having a team dinner tonight. My treat."
A cheer went up from the desks. Jack pumped a fist in the air, and even the weary packing staff started grinning. A free meal from the boss was the best news they'd heard all week. "And," Heer added, a mysterious smile playing on her lips, "I'll be joining you all tonight."
The silence that followed was deafening. The smiles vanished so fast it was as if someone had flipped a light switch. Jack's hand froze mid-air. The staff looked at each other with wide, panicked eyes. A "team dinner" with the Boss wasn't a party—it was an interrogation.
"But... Madam," Jack stammered, his face pale. "You've never joined us before. In three years, you've never even had tea with us. What... what happened?"
Aslam, standing by the pillar, shifted his weight. His face was a mask of professional seriousness, but his eyes were sharp, scanning Heer for the "why."
"Hey, what's wrong with you, Jack?" Ben's voice cut through the tension, stern and protective. "She's the Boss. If she wants to join her team, she joins her team. Madam, please ignore him. We would be honored."
Heer looked directly at Aslam, her gaze lingering just a second too long. "Don't worry, Jack. The company is paying the entire bill. Order whatever you want. Top shelf."
Like magic, the fear dissolved into greed. "Top shelf? Steaks? Seafood?" The room erupted in chatter again, the "Boss tension" buried under the promise of expensive food.
The Scene Shift: The Grand Grill Restaurant
The atmosphere at The Grand Grill was a mix of luxury and awkwardness. The long table was covered in white linen, sparkling silver, and enough appetizers to feed an army. Jack and the other supervisors were at one end, already laughing too loudly as the first round of drinks arrived. But at the center of the table sat Heer, with Aslam positioned directly across from her.
The light from the crystal chandeliers danced in Heer's dark eyes. She wasn't eating. She was watching Aslam. She was watching the way he handled his cutlery, the way he smiled at the waiters, and the way he carefully avoided her gaze. She knew about the surgery. She knew about the girl in the village. She knew he was broke and broken.
"So, Aslam," Heer said, her voice cutting through the noise of clinking glasses. The table went quiet. She leaned forward, swirling a glass of sparkling water. "Your father... I hear he's been unwell. Is he recovering well from his... recent treatments?"
Aslam's hand froze over his water glass, the condensation turning his grip slick and cold. The laughter of the staff at the far end of the table felt miles away. The "Fake Smile" didn't falter, but for the first time, a flicker of genuine fear flared behind his eyes.
Heer didn't look away. She simply took a slow, deliberate sip of her water, her eyes locked onto his over the rim of the glass. She wasn't just his boss anymore. She was the one who knew the price of his silence.