The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
A suffocating kind of silence—the kind that pressed in from all directions, thick enough to drown in. Only the dull hum of the AC and the throb of his own heartbeat filled the room. Too loud. Too fast. Too alive.
He loosened his tie, but he still didn't sit. He couldn't—not with the way his chest felt tight, as if something inside him was straining against its own cage. His eyes stayed locked on the empty space where she had stood moments ago.
Khushi Kumari Gupta.
He closed his eyes briefly, tasting the shape of her name in the darkness of his mind. A name that should have meant nothing.
A girl who should have been forgettable in a city of millions. Just another girl. Replaceable. Forgettable.
Except she wasn't.
She was the opposite of forgettable. She was… imprinting. A single glance had struck him harder than a blow, one shy smile sliding under his skin, one breath of hers—too soft, too startled—had carved its place inside him with terrifying ease.
He dragged a hand down his jaw, exhaling through clenched teeth.
"Get a grip," he muttered.
The words had no weight. No power. They bounced back at him, empty and useless.
Because he didn't have a grip. Because he had lost it the moment her eyes—wide, uncertain, impossibly earnest—had lifted to his.
He turned toward the frosted glass and touched it lightly, fingertips brushing the cool surface. Her shadow had been here, a faint outline, delicate and momentary.
He could still see the ghost of it if he forced his imagination to replay the moment. And he did.
Helplessly.
Small.
Uncertain.
Warm.
The memory tightened something low in his chest until he felt the pressure against his ribs.
This was wrong.
He knew it.
He had lived by rules carved in stone for years—rules that had kept him alive, focused, untouchable.
No attachments.
No emotions.
No vulnerability.
He had sworn that nothing would cross the wall he had built around himself. Ever.
But she wasn't emotion.
She was impulse.
Instinct.
Pull.
A gravitational force dragging him toward her without consent, without warning, without logic. That terrified him more than anything else ever had.
He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, as if the room still held the faint trace of her scent. It probably didn't. He knew that.
But logic didn't matter when his senses were traitors.
Sweet.
Soft.
Something like sunlight in human form—warm, bright, painfully pure.
A dangerous contrast to the shadows he carried.
"Why you?" he whispered into the empty room.
There was no answer. There never would be. It was a question he didn't want the answer to, because the answer would mean acknowledging that he wasn't in control anymore.
He braced both palms against the glass, lowering his head, trying to breathe past the storm in his veins.
His mind replayed every second since she'd entered AR—every tiny detail, every stumble, every breath. The way she had held her bag too tightly, knuckles turning white.
The tremor in her voice when she introduced herself. The way she peeked into his cabin as if expecting to be turned away.
She didn't belong here.
Not in his world.
Not in this life of steel and glass and ruthless precision.
But she did belong.
Because he wanted her to.
Because he had already—somewhere between reason and madness—made room for her.
In this building.
On this floor.
In his schedule.
In his orbit.
He had built this day, piece by piece, deliberately. He had told himself it was strategic—new hire, new project, new assistant, nothing more. But it wasn't strategy. Not anymore.
It was instinct.
Impulse.
A decision made by something deeper than thought.
He knew it was wrong.
But when his lips curved slightly, he didn't try to stop himself.
He didn't regret a damn thing.
Another exhale slipped out of him—slow, controlled—before he pushed off the frosted glass where her silhouette had lingered in his mind.
He should get back to work. There were contracts waiting. Meetings. A schedule planned down to the second.
He didn't care.
Instead, he walked to his desk, sat down with deliberate calm, and pressed a discreet button beneath the table.
A monitor lit up instantly.
Executive Floor — Corridor 02
And there she was.
Khushi.
Walking beside Anjali, her steps small and careful, as if she didn't want to disturb the air around her. As if she was trying to disappear into the polished floors.
Something sharp twisted inside him—protective, irrational, immediate.
She touched her dupatta, smoothing the border with trembling fingers. Such a tiny gesture. Meaningless.
But not to him.
His pulse stuttered.
She looked like she was preparing herself for something.
For who?
For him?
His jaw clenched.
He shouldn't be watching this.
He knew he shouldn't.
But he didn't look away.
Not when NK appeared beside her, talking too loudly.
Not when she smiled—small, shy, hesitant.
Not when she looked around like the world was too big and she was too soft for it.
He leaned back in his chair slowly, eyes fixed on the screen as NK reached the break room door and opened it for her.
Arnav switched to another feed.
Executive Floor — Pantry Cam
Khushi stepped inside, eyes widening with innocent surprise at the coffee machines, stocked fridge, polished steel counters. The shiny orderliness of a space designed for efficiency and ease.
She looked as though she had stepped into a world she didn't think she was allowed in.
A world he ruled.
A world she didn't know she belonged to now.
His world.
His part of the universe.
NK wasted no time launching into his theatrics—hands moving, voice booming, dramatics on full display.
And she… laughed.
The sound was tiny. Fragile. Unpracticed, like she wasn't used to letting it out. Light enough to lift something inside him he didn't permit to rise.
His fingers tightened around the armrest, knuckles paling.
He didn't know this feeling.
Not irritation.
Not jealousy.
Something sharper.
Something that bordered on possessive instinct.
NK leaned closer.
Too close.
Arnav clicked the zoom without thinking.
His eyes narrowed. A spike of heat shot through his chest, fast and territorial. He reminded himself—pointlessly—that NK meant no harm. NK was harmless.
But logic didn't matter in this moment.
Khushi's laughter softened the entire room.
Not NK's words.
Her response.
Her smile.
Her eyes brightening just a little.
Her shoulders relaxing.
She hadn't looked like that when she stood in front of him.
When she faced him, she had been overwhelmed. Breathless. Flushed.
Because of him.
A dark satisfaction curled through him—dangerous, undeniable.
NK continued talking, gesturing dramatically, giving her some kind of impromptu tour.
And Arnav watched.
Watched too closely.
Watched until something in him frayed at the edges.
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
Barely a gesture.
Barely a breath.
But something inside him… snapped.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Deadly.
Mine.
The word cut through him like a blade. Harder this time. Sharper. Unavoidable. Unforgiving.
He closed his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. This was madness.
Absolute madness.
He didn't let people in.
He didn't let people close.
He didn't allow anything he couldn't control to have a place in his life.
And yet here he was—
watching her every blink
every breath
every nervous gesture
like it mattered.
It did matter.
That was the problem.
He opened his eyes again.
On the screen, NK was explaining something with wild enthusiasm. Anjali was smiling warmly. And Khushi was listening with full, earnest attention—as if everything being said was somehow important.
She didn't know she was being watched.
She didn't know she was already orbiting him, pulled into his gravity long before she realized it.
She didn't know she was walking deeper into something she couldn't even begin to understand.
He whispered it before he could stop himself.
"Khushi… you have no idea what you've stepped into."
His gaze darkened, softening only at the edges, but filling with a possession that scared even him.
"But I'm not letting you walk out."
Not out of the company.
Not out of this building.
Not out of his orbit.
Not now.
Not ever.
---