Chapter 7: Shadows and Shards
"Jack... this is a Black Card with an infinite spending limit, isn't it?"
Jack's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide as he stared at the sleek, heavy metal card in her hand. The weight of it alone spoke of a world he couldn't touch. He looked at her, truly shocked for the first time. "Ma'am... how did you get this?"
The entire room went silent. Ben stood frozen, his mouth hanging open in disbelief, while the surrounding staff exchanged wide-eyed glances. Every pair of eyes in the area was locked onto Heer, the air thick with a mixture of awe and confusion.
Heer didn't blink, but her fingers gripped the edge of her purse a little too tightly. A small, forced laugh escaped her lips as she quickly tucked the card back into its slot, hiding it from their sight.
"No, no, Jack! It's—it's not that kind of card," she said, her voice rising slightly in pitch. "My friend... he's a graphic designer, you see? He creates these custom-made skins and metal cards just for fun, for the aesthetic. I just asked him to make me something that looked cool, and I guess he went a bit overboard with the details. Does it really look that real? It's just a toy, really."
She looked around at their stunned faces, her smile wavering for a split second. "It's not that card, really. Believe me... what would a card like that have to do with someone like me?"
Suddenly, Ben's hand froze mid-air, his fork clattering against his plate. "Hey... look! Isn't that our company on the news?"
Everyone turned their heads toward the large TV mounted on the wall. The noisy restaurant went bone-chillingly silent as the breaking news jingle played. The news anchor looked grave, adjusted her papers, and announced: "Breaking news from the corporate world. Queen's International, the global powerhouse, has just confirmed they will officially launch their new CEO in exactly one week. After months of speculation, the board of directors has finally made their choice."
A giant graphic appeared on the screen behind the anchor. It was a silhouette of a sharply dressed man's figure with a massive, glowing question mark (?) over his face. The figure was powerful, shoulders broad, a stark contrast to the small, delicate woman sitting next to Jack. The bold text below it read: WHO WILL BE THE NEW CEO OF QUEENS GROUP?
Jack's jaw dropped. "A new CEO? Man, the whole industry is going to flip. I wonder what kind of brilliant mastermind could run a place like Queens." He turned to Heer, who was still casually sipping her drink, her expression unreadable. "Ma'am, you work at the company—you've got to have some inside scoop. Do you think that guy on the screen is as scary as he looks?"
Heer nearly choked on her drink. She set the glass down with a sharp clink, her voice sounding suddenly stunned and distant. "Hah... what? What did you just say?"
She blinked rapidly, as if waking up from a trance. Before Jack could repeat himself, she was already reaching for her purse, her movements fast and calculated. "Oh! I—I just remembered. I have to go now. I have some very important work to do that cannot wait."
She stood up, smoothing her skirt with trembling hands, though her face remained a mask of professional calm. "Enjoy the meal, all of you. I'll settle the bill on my way out. See you tomorrow."
Before they could even say thank you, she was gone, leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of expensive perfume and a table full of unanswered questions.
Aslam watched the door swing shut behind Heer, his eyes lingering on the empty space she had just occupied. He looked back at the TV, where the masculine silhouette still loomed over the news anchor, then back at the door again.
"She's weird, man," Jack said, breaking the silence as he reached for a piece of garlic bread. "But hey, she's a great boss. I'm not complaining about a free meal like this."
"Hmm," the others hummed in agreement, their attention already returning to their food. But Aslam didn't join in. A strange, heavy feeling settled in the back of his mind—a nagging doubt he couldn't quite name. Something about the way her voice had cracked, and the way she had looked at that shadowy figure on the screen... it didn't feel like a boss being busy. It felt like someone seeing a ghost. Despite the luxury of the meal, the food felt tasteless to him now.
After a while, the group finished and gathered at the restaurant's grand entrance. The night air was cool as they stood by the gate, exchanging high-fives and tired laughs. Aslam walked away from the bright lights of the restaurant, the laughter of Jack and the others fading into the distance. The street was narrower here, lit by flickering yellow lamps that cast long, dancing shadows against the brick walls.
He had only taken a few steps when he heard it. Thud. Thud. Thud.
It was Parwaiz. Just as the shadow loomed large behind him, Parwaiz launched himself forward, his massive frame flying through the air in a desperate jump. Aslam didn't even look back. At the last possible millisecond, he dropped low, pivoting on his left heel with the grace of a trained fighter. Parwaiz, expecting to slam into a standing target, found nothing but empty air.
CRASH!
Parwaiz hit the pavement hard, sliding across the grit of the alleyway. He groaned, scrambling to find his footing, but Aslam was already standing over him, his shadow cold and steady under the flickering streetlamp.
"You always were too loud on your feet, Parwaiz," Aslam said, his voice dropping an octave, losing all the "worker" politeness he had shown at dinner. "Did you really think I wouldn't hear you coming from a mile away?"
Parwaiz looked up from the ground, brushing the dust off his jacket and grumbling as he stood. "You... you think you're so smart, Aslam? Just because you can dodge a jump?"
Aslam didn't offer a hand to help him up. Instead, he just stood there with a wide, overconfident smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking completely relaxed. "Yes, Parwaiz. Actually, I know I am," Aslam replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "In fact, I'm surprised you haven't realized it after all these years. You move like an elephant in those boots—did you think I was deaf?"
Parwaiz let out a rough laugh, slapping the dirt from his knees. "I almost had you! If that van wasn't in the way, I would have pinned you to the pavement."
"Keep dreaming," Aslam chuckled, his smile growing. This was their way—a rough, physical friendship built on testing each other's reflexes. He slapped Parwaiz on the shoulder. Parwaiz's smile faded just a little, and he leaned in closer. "Hey, Aslam... we're bros, right? And bros help each other out."
Aslam sighed, "Come to the point, Parwaiz. What do you want?"
Parwaiz looked around to make sure no one was listening, then whispered urgently, "The girl... the one sitting right opposite you at dinner. Is she single? Man, I liked her way too much. Can you fix a date for me? Please, Aslam! Just this once!"
Aslam's face went dark. "Do I look like a broker to you?" he snapped, his voice echoing in the alley.
"No, no, no!" Parwaiz waved his hands frantically. "I'm asking as a friend! Just do it for me once, please!"
Aslam looked at him with pity. "Do you even know who she is, Parwaiz?"
"Who?"
"She is our boss," Aslam said slowly. "And she's the one who just asked me to marry her."
When Aslam looked back, Parwaiz was already ten feet away. He didn't say a word; he just turned around and started sprinting. He ran so fast it looked like he was being chased by a ghost, his heavy boots thundering against the pavement.
"See you tomorrow!" Parwaiz yelled over his shoulder without looking back.
"Hey! Don't you want that date anymore?" Aslam shouted, a smirk growing on his face.
"I'm good being single!" Parwaiz's voice drifted back from the darkness. "I'd rather be alone than with a girl who asks random guys for marriage!"
Aslam watched him disappear and shook his head, a genuine laugh escaping him. "Idiot," he muttered, continuing his walk home.
Miles away, in a penthouse that overlooked the entire glowing city, the atmosphere was far from lighthearted. Heer stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, her face twisted in a mask of pure rage. The "cool, calm boss" from dinner was gone. In her hand, she gripped a crystal glass so tightly her knuckles turned white.
With a sudden scream of frustration, she hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the wall into a thousand glittering shards.
Rring. Rring.
Her phone buzzed on the marble table. She snatched it up instantly. It was The Fixer.
"Speak," she commanded, her voice cold as ice.
"The work is done, Ma'am," the Fixer replied, his voice low and steady. "You will get the results tomorrow."
Heer narrowed her eyes, her reflection in the window looking like a stranger. "Good. See that you do. Because if I don't have those results by tomorrow... you already know what will happen to you."
There was a brief, terrified silence on the other end before the line went dead.
Heer snapped her car keys tight in her palm, the metal edges digging into her skin. She didn't feel the pain; she only felt the adrenaline.
She headed to the parking lot in a hurry, her heels clicking like a countdown against the concrete. Every step was a strike. Every strike was a reminder of her power.
She wanted this—she wanted him—so badly that the air in her lungs felt like fire.
Tomorrow, the masks would fall. Tomorrow, the world would finally see what happened behind the closed doors of the elite.
As she threw open her car door, one thought echoed in her mind: there would be no more secrets.
Only the cold, hard reality of the deal she was about to seal
[End of Chapter 7]