The Calm Before the Fire

My Cruel Love

Previously:

(Samir revealed Disha's name—now, the storm breaks loose.)

As Samir spoke, he broke down at Arman's feet. Fear, shame, guilt—all of it shattered his mental composure in an instant. In a desperate, humbling gesture of apology, he grasped Arman's feet with both hands, begging for forgiveness.

But Arman raised one hand gently to stop him—no shouting, no anger, just a calm gaze. And yet, within that gaze was a chilling firmness, like a man burning in a cold fire.

Wiping his tears, Samir stood up and quietly stepped aside, his head lowered. Silence fell across the hall.

Then Arman's eyes shifted to Disha. Deep, silent, still. As if his eyes alone said it all—"You've been caught."

And Disha? Her face had turned pale in panic. Despite the air-conditioned room, sweat trickled down her forehead. With a trembling voice, she suddenly shouted,

"L-lies! It's all lies! I'm being framed!"

Tanisha stepped forward and said,

"But ma'am, the girl in that CCTV footage looks exactly like you. And the saree she was wearing—it's the same one you wore yesterday."

Disha responded hastily, "I'm not the only one who wears that kind of saree, Tanisha. There are many women in this office. And the girl's face wasn't clearly visible in the footage. So how can you be sure it was me?"

Tanisha had no answer. She hesitated and fell silent. And in that moment, Disha allowed herself a faint smile—thinking she had just escaped.

But Abir didn't stay quiet. He steadied his voice and said,

"Miss Disha, how much more proof do you need? Samir admitted it himself—you ordered him to put sleeping pills in the guards' tea. Unbelievable? Maybe. But he said it—clear and without hesitation."

Now more confident, Disha replied,

"He's lying. Does he have any proof? Any concrete evidence that I told him to do such a thing?"

Samir stood with his head bowed, voice heavy with shame.

"she asked me to meet her outside. Said there was a job for me, and if I did it right, I'd be paid a large sum. When I met her, she gave me the offer. At first, I refused. I said no at first… My mom's sick—her treatment's expensive. She knew that.

She used it to get me to agree. Eventually, I gave in… but I have no proof."

Arman still remained silent, his eyes fixed on Disha. He said nothing, but in his gaze were a thousand unspoken truths. Every layer of guilt seemed to be unraveling from Disha's very being.

Yet, Disha showed no sign of breaking. Sitting upright in her wheelchair, she looked as if nothing had happened. As if she were completely innocent.

Then Abir called in another guard. The guard reported,

"Sir, while patrolling last night, I saw Disha coming out of the dark corridor. No one else was in the office at the time."

There was a murmur in the room. But Disha still didn't flinch. Her jaw clenched, she replied,

"All of us have permission to go anywhere in this office. I was heading to Mr Arman's office. But seeing that the lights were off, I figured he wasn't there and returned home. Can this guard confirm that I was carrying any file or documents?"

The guard hesitated, then shook his head.

"No, ma'am. I didn't see any file or document with you."

At this, a shadow of relief passed over Disha's face. It seemed her defensive strategy was working. But the hall still remained tense—an eerie calm between the fear of truth and desperate attempts to hide it. And in the middle stood Arman—quiet, unmoving, but inside, a storm was brewing.

Arman sat silently, but a fire burned in his eyes. Everyone around sensed it—the silence before the storm. Finally, he broke it, his voice heavy and grim:

"Miss Disha… I saw you myself—coming out of Maya's office. You thought because my office was dark, I wasn't there. But you were wrong. I was inside, working silently on some important matters. With the lights off, I saw you clearly—how you entered Maya's office and came out moments later holding files."

The room froze. No one moved. No one spoke.

Arman continued, his voice even heavier,

"You heard the guard approaching. So in a rush, you slid those files—yes, the real files—under the door of the adjacent locked room beside Maya's office. You may not have realized, but my office door is made of glass. I saw everything—from your every movement to the files in your hand."

With those words, whatever confidence and defiance Disha had seemed to vanish. Her jaw slackened, her eyes flickered, and her throat dried up. She stared at Arman, pale and speechless.

Still—despite the shame, fear, and exposure—Disha was not one to give up so easily. After a pause, she gathered her voice and argued again,

"Sir, the girl in the CCTV footage had her face covered. And there were no lights in the corridor—it was pitch dark. How could you be sure it was me? Just because the saree matches? Many wear sarees like mine. And as I said—I came to meet you. But seeing no light, I turned back. Please, sir… don't accuse me falsely."

Her voice trembled, yet her expression was stubborn. But her last effort at defense shattered in an instant when Arman's face turned red with rage. His fists clenched so tightly, he seemed to be restraining himself with all his might. The muscles in his throat tensed, and fire flashed in his eyes.

No one had ever seen Arman this angry. The entire hall went silent. No one even dared to breathe. Even Disha was frightened—she could hear the pounding of her own heart. Yet, she showed no fear on her face. Clenching her lips, she tried to hold onto her composure. But at that moment, it was clear to everyone—Disha had broken inside.

To be continued…