My Cruel Love
(Arman had seen Disha's sly move—how she intentionally spilled the soup on Maya's hand.)
Just then, at Disha's words, Arman let go of Maya's hand and took a step back. In doing so, he "accidentally" tipped over a steaming hot bowl of soup—right at Disha's feet.
He put on a straight face and said coldly, "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Disha. I didn't notice. No idea how that bowl slipped."
Disha let out a shriek and began hopping from foot to foot in pain. The scorching soup had splashed all over both her feet. She screamed in pain, "Oh God! It burns!"
But the truth? Arman had done it deliberately. Just moments ago, he had clearly seen Disha sneakily spill that same bowl of hot soup onto Maya's hand. Maya had been lost in thought, stirring her plate absentmindedly with her right hand, unsure whether to eat or not. Her left hand had been resting beside the steaming bowl.
And Disha, seizing the perfect opportunity, had casually leaned in during conversation and tipped the hot bowl right onto Maya's hand when no one else was watching.
No one else—but Arman had seen it all.
Fury boiled inside him. Without a word, and with frightening calm, he returned the favor—by dropping another bowl of soup on Disha's feet. The perfect revenge.
Now, Disha was on the floor, clutching her feet and crying. Abir, who knew Arman like the back of his hand, didn't need long to realize what had really happened. Everyone else stared, stunned, trying to piece together how things had escalated so fast.
Maya, too, forgot her own pain for a moment, glancing in disbelief between Arman and Disha. She had noticed that Arman had done it intentionally—for her. That realization left her speechless.
Abir grabbed a pitcher of water and poured it over Disha's feet. But the sudden cold on her already burned skin only made her scream louder.
Arman turned to Miraj and ordered coolly, "Miraj, take her out of here. Get some medication for her burns."
Miraj looked hesitant. "boss, how will I get her there? I don't think she can walk properly."
Arman's expression darkened. Abir snapped, "Then call someone to help you! Get assistance from outside!"
Mr. Daniel, watching with concern, said, "Yes, yes—medicine is needed immediately!"
Abir turned to him with a serious expression. "I'll take care of Maya, Mr. Daniel. You're our guest. Please don't worry. Just finish your lunch."
By then, Miraj had called in two female staff members to help. With great difficulty, they lifted Disha—her feet already blistered in multiple spots—and carried her out. She limped away with their support.
Tanisha approached Maya, touching her gently. "Come on, Maya, you need treatment too."
Maya was still stunned. Her hand had developed small blisters, and the burning hadn't stopped. Silent tears slid down her face—not just from the pain, but from sheer disbelief. She had never imagined Arman would do something like this for her. She knew Disha had hurt her on purpose, but Arman avenging it so directly? That had left her shaken.
Seeing her frozen, Abir said gently, "Maya? What are you thinking? Come on."
Maya glanced at Abir, then back at Arman.
Arman's voice was firm. "Miss Maya, please go with Abir and get your hand treated."
Maya swallowed hard and nodded silently.
Mr. Daniel stood up. "I'll go too—"
Before Arman could respond, Abir cut in, his voice steady. "No, Mr. Daniel. You're our guest. Please, don't worry. Enjoy your meal. Everyone else—please continue your lunch."
Maya gave Arman one last look before leaving the room. Tanisha and Abir followed her out. Mr. Daniel remained seated, watching Maya walk away. He had wanted to apply the medicine to her hand himself—but that chance was lost. He sighed and sat back down, clearly disheartened.
Arman finally addressed him, "Mr. Daniel, please continue eating."
"Yes, Mr. arman," Daniel replied quietly, his voice heavy.
Everyone else slowly returned to their seats and resumed lunch, though the mood had drastically shifted.
The massive hall of Arman's office buzzed with tension. All the employees were waiting anxiously for their boss. Lunch had been provided in celebration of a successful business deal, and everyone had been in a cheerful mood.
But that mood didn't last.
News spread like wildfire—Arman had called an emergency meeting in the hall. No one doubted something serious had happened.
Then came the shocking rumor: the original design file was missing. Someone had swapped it with a fake. The entire office fell into hushed panic.
Whispers filled the room.
Who did it? Why? What happens now?
Nobody spoke aloud, but everyone was murmuring behind cupped hands.
Suddenly, silence fell.
All eyes turned to the door.
Arman entered with the usual gravity of a man who needed no introduction—chin held high, stride firm, presence commanding. His expression was like stone. No smile. No emotion.
Behind him came Abir, Miraj, and Maya.
Abir's face was grim, Miraj expressionless, and Maya looked visibly shaken—her eyes full of worry, confusion, and an unspoken dread.
Arman walked straight to his chair at the head of the hall and sat down—crossing one leg over the other with deliberate ease. His confidence radiated like a force field. Without a word, his mere presence silenced the room.
Abir, Maya, and Miraj stood beside him, tense and alert. The atmosphere was so heavy, even breathing sounded too loud.
Then, Arman spoke.
His voice rang out like a thunderclap—deep, cold, absolute.
"Who moved the file?"
The words sliced through the air like bullets. Even the walls seemed to flinch.
Shock rippled through the room. Not a soul moved. It felt as though even blinking would draw suspicion.
Faces drained of color. Hearts pounded. Nobody could meet his eyes. Some looked down. Others exchanged nervous glances. But no one dared to speak.
Arman remained seated, still as a predator poised to strike. His eyes, however, burned like fire—scanning every face.
The silence threatened to explode.
To be continued...