Chapter 12: The Sculptor of Men
The elevator doors hissed shut, leaving the chaos of the room behind. The silence inside the glass box was heavy enough to crush a man's lungs. Miss Asia leaned against the polished railing, her eyes sharp, cutting through Heer's icy exterior.
"Is he the one, Heer? Is he really the same boy from back then?"
Heer stared straight ahead at the digital floor numbers ticking down. She didn't blink. She didn't answer.
"Answer me!" Asia's voice echoed in the small space. "You made his life a living hell once. Are you really going to drag him through that fire a second time? Look at me and tell me what you are doing!"
The elevator chimed as it hit the ground floor. Heer finally turned, her gaze colder than the marble floors of the lobby. "I am not destroying him, Asia," Heer said, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "I am just making my mistakes... correct."
The doors opened, and Heer stepped out, her heels clicking on the marble like a countdown. She headed for the main gate, but a shadow lunged forward. A hand—firm, warm, and steady—snatched Heer's wrist, jerking her to a stop.
Heer froze. No one touched her. No one dared. She turned slowly, her eyes dropping to where Aslam's fingers were locked around her skin. He was breathing hard, his face a mixture of defiance and embarrassment.
"Aslam," Heer warned, her voice dropping an octave. "Rule Number Four. Physical contact is my domain."
"I don't care about your rules right now," Aslam snapped, finally letting go but refusing to back down. "I am not going on this date."
Asia and Parwaiz froze. Their heads whipped toward Aslam.
"You have to come," Heer countered, her voice ice-cold. Their heads whipped toward Heer.
"I will not," Aslam repeated, his eyes burning with defiance. Their heads whipped back to Aslam.
"I cannot!" Aslam finally growled, letting go of her hand.
"Why?" Heer demanded.
Parwaiz cleared his throat, looking awkwardly at his friend. "Because he doesn't have any suits to wear on a date, Miss Heer. Software engineers spend their lives in hoodies and sneakers. He doesn't have a tuxedo in his bag."
A sudden silence fell. Heer and Asia blinked, their mouths forming a small, realization-filled "Ooooh..."
The tension broke for a split second, replaced by the practical reality of the situation. Heer recovered first, her eyes snapping back to her professional, calculating self.
"Fine. Come with me," Heer commanded, pointing at Aslam. Then she turned to Asia and Parwaiz. "As for you two... I will send you the location and the time. You must be there."
"What? Why?" Asia asked, crossing her arms. "I thought this was a date, not a board meeting."
"We need evidence," Heer said sharply. "And we need witnesses. If this contract is going to hold up against my family, we need people who can testify that we were together. And I need someone to capture the pictures too. So don't be late."
She didn't wait for an answer. She grabbed Aslam's sleeve—not his hand, but his jacket—and started pulling him toward the exit. "Now come with me, Aslam. We have a lot of work to do before the sun goes down."
The car pulled up in front of a luxury storefront with a single, perfectly lit tuxedo in the window.
"Where are we?" Aslam asked.
"Come," Heer said.
Inside, the scent of expensive cedar and high-grade wool filled the air. Mr. Charles, the master tailor, spun around with a measuring tape draped around his neck like a royal scarf.
"Oh! Miss Heer! A blessing to see you!" he cried. Then he saw Aslam in his casual tech-gear. "And... who is this?"
"Mr. Charles," Heer said smoothly. "He is my boyfriend. And we need a suit."
Mr. Charles froze, his eyebrows shooting up. "Really?" He looked at Aslam. Heer blinked once. "Yes."
"Everyone!" Charles roared. "Guests on the floor! Now!"
An army of tailors emerged. "Today," Charles shouted, "we have Miss Heer and her boyfriend! He needs a suit. Something legendary!"
"No time for legends," Heer interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "Just find something from your ready-made collection."
Charles nodded. "You heard the lady! Everyone, get to work! And you... stand up, young man!"
Aslam stood, his tall frame finally unfolding. Charles circled him like a shark, his eyes narrowing as he realized the loose clothing was hiding something impressive.
"Chest!" Charles roared. "Broad... expansive... the kind of heavy, muscular chest that women in this city dream of leaning against! Write it down!"
"Shoulders!" Charles continued, grabbing Aslam's frame. "Wide enough to carry the weight of a tech empire. And the height... look at this height! Tall, commanding—he looks like he was built to be a hero."
Heer stood by the door, watching with a flickering intensity she couldn't hide.
"Waist!" Charles shouted, his tape measure snapping tight. "Slim, athletic... a perfect V-taper. He has the body of a predator, Miss Heer. You've brought me a lion and asked me to put him in a cage of silk."
Charles looked at Aslam's sharp jawline. "Good looking? No. He has the kind of face that causes scandals. He is the mightiest specimen I've had in a decade!"
Heer cleared her throat, her voice slightly tighter than usual. "Just... find the suit, Charles. We're losing sunlight."
"Sunlight?" Charles laughed. "With a man built like this, he is the sunlight. Bring the Midnight Blue Silk! If he is going on a date, I want every woman in that restaurant to hate Miss Heer for winning the lottery!"
Minutes later, the heavy velvet curtain of the fitting room slid back with a metallic ring. Silence fell over the store. Aslam stepped out.
The Midnight Blue Silk didn't just fit him; it looked like it had been fused to his skin. The dark fabric caught the light, emphasizing his powerful build. He didn't look like a coder anymore. He looked like the man who owned the servers, the building, and the city.
Heer looked up from her phone. The sentence died in her throat. For the first time since the day they met, the ice in Heer's eyes cracked. She didn't look away. She couldn't. Her gaze traveled from his polished shoes up to the sharp jawline that now looked like it was carved from granite.
I hired a shield, she thought, her heart giving a strange, traitorous thump against her ribs. But I just walked out with a sword.
"Well?" Aslam asked, adjusting the cuffs of the silk shirt. "Will this satisfy your 'evidence' for tonight?"
Heer stood up, smoothing her dress to hide the fact that her heart was racing. "It's... acceptable," she managed, her voice returning to its icy shell. "Don't get used to it. We have a date to attend."
As they turned to leave, Aslam paused at the door. He looked at the master tailor, nodding with a level of respect that the man hadn't expected. "Thank you, Mr. Charles," Aslam said, his voice steady and deep.
Heer watched the exchange, her expression unreadable, before she turned back to the tailor. Her eyes were sharp, carrying a weight that went beyond the cost of a suit. "Please do the work that I have said to you, Mr. Charles," she stated firmly.
"Ok, Miss Heer," Charles replied, his dramatic flair replaced by a sudden, professional seriousness.
Without another word, both Aslam and Heer headed toward the luxury car waiting at the curb. Back inside the store, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Mr. Charles didn't return to his fabrics. Instead, he retreated into his private office and locked the door. He picked up his phone and dialed a number that wasn't saved in his contacts.
"Sir," Charles said into the receiver, his voice low. "I have seen the boy. I am sending you a picture of him now."
He tapped a button on his screen, and the call cut to a silent dial tone.
[End of Chapter 12]