Samrat's piercing gaze held Alisha captive, his silence a storm brewing behind those molten brown eyes. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, his voice clinical, cutting through the tension in his opulent Bangalore office.
Alisha's throat tightened, her memory scrambling for the doctor's words. "I… I don't know exactly," she admitted, frustration lacing her tone. "Something about his brain. Bleeding, maybe? The doctor called it… Shahid, or something."
Samrat went still, his expression unreadable, the weight of her words settling between them. For a moment, she feared he'd dismiss her, his indifference a wall she couldn't breach. But then, after an eternity, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Fine. I'll help you."
Relief flooded Alisha, her face lighting up as she met his gaze, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. But before she could thank him, Samrat closed the distance between them, his towering presence swallowing the space. "And since you've so generously sworn to do anything," he said, his tone laced with a dangerous edge, "let's see how far that promise goes."
Alisha's joy vanished, her heart lurching as his words sank in. She stepped back, her voice sharp with defiance. "Hold on. I said anything, but I'm not sleeping with you. I'm not that kind of girl."
Samrat froze, his eyes narrowing as he looked her up and down, his expression a mix of incredulity and disdain. "Sleep with you?" he scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "Please. I wouldn't dream of it. You're nowhere near my type, firecracker. Seriously, how did you even think I'd stoop that low?"
Alisha's cheeks burned, embarrassment and indignation warring within her. She lowered her voice, forcing the words out. "Then what do I have to do?"
Samrat's lips curled into a predatory smirk as he returned to his desk, settling into his leather chair with the air of a king. "For every hour of that surgery," he said, "you'll serve me for a month. My assistant. My bodyguard. You'll do whatever I say, whenever I say it."
Rage surged through Alisha, her martial arts-honed instincts screaming to fight back. "Your bodyguard?" she snapped, her voice rising. "Why the hell would I do that? And how dare you ask a girl to take on a job like that?"
Samrat's smirk didn't waver. "Oh, I dare," he said, his tone cold as steel. "You'll be my bodyguard, or I won't lift a finger to help you. Your choice."
Alisha's blood boiled, her fists clenching as she glared at him. She wanted to storm out, to tell him to shove his deal where the sun didn't shine. But before she could speak, her phone buzzed, the screen flashing with the senior doctor's name—the one who'd sent her to Samrat. Her heart sank as she answered.
"Alisha, the boy's condition is deteriorating fast," the doctor said, his voice urgent. "We need to operate immediately, or he won't make it."
"I'm coming," Alisha said, her voice trembling. She ended the call and turned to Samrat, her defiance crumbling under the weight of her guilt. "Fine," she said, her eyes blazing. "I'm in."
A devilish smile spread across Samrat's face, his triumph palpable. Rahul, standing silently by the door, felt a pang of pity for Alisha. He didn't want her trapped in Samrat's web, but it was too late—she'd agreed.
Alisha, undeterred, pressed forward, her voice urgent. "I've said yes, okay? Now move! His condition's critical. Please!"
Samrat raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her fire. "Not so fast," he said, sliding a contract across the desk. "Sign this. It binds you to me—assistant, bodyguard, everything. No signature, no surgery."
Alisha's temper flared, her voice sharp with frustration. "There's no time for this! I swear I won't run. I'll do your stupid job, just come with me now! He's dying!" Her desperation, raw and unguarded, hung in the air, her eyes pleading.
Something flickered in Samrat's gaze—something softer, almost human. He held her stare for a moment, then, to her shock, nodded. "Alright," he said, standing. "Let's go." He turned to Rahul, muttering something under his breath. Rahul nodded, replying, "Yes, sir," as Samrat and Alisha headed for the door.
As they stepped into the elevator, Samrat glanced at her. "Which hospital?""KIMS Hospital," Alisha said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "Please."
Samrat's brow twitched, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his usual emotionless mask returned. Alisha caught it, her curiosity piqued, but she held her tongue. Instead, she ventured, "I heard you were one of Bangalore's top doctors. Why'd you quit?"
Samrat's jaw tightened, his voice cold as ice. "I'm not your friend, firecracker. My personal life's none of your business."
Alisha's lips pursed, her irritation flaring, but she turned away, staring at the elevator doors. Samrat continued, his tone sharp. "One more thing. I'm your boss now. Address me with respect—or just call me 'sir.' Understood?"
Alisha gritted her teeth, forcing a saccharine smile. "Of course, sir," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "As you wish."
Samrat said nothing, his focus on the road as he drove, the city blurring past. Minutes later, they pulled into KIMS Hospital, one of India's premier medical facilities. As they stepped out, heads turned—doctors, nurses, and passersby staring at Samrat with a mix of awe and disbelief, as if a legend had walked among them. Alisha noticed, her curiosity burning, but the urgency of the surgery silenced her questions. She'd ask later—if they survived this.
Inside, the senior doctor who'd recommended Samrat rushed to meet them, his face a mix of shock and relief. "Samrat!" he exclaimed, clasping his hand. "It's been years. I can't believe you're here."
Samrat's expression remained stoic. "I hear the patient's in critical condition," he said, cutting through the nostalgia. "Let's do the surgery first. We can talk later."
The doctor nodded, instantly serious, and handed Samrat the patient's chart. As they moved toward the operating room, Samrat paused, glancing at Alisha. "Stay here," he said, his voice firm. Then, softer, almost as if it slipped out, he added, "I'll do my best. Don't worry."
Alisha's breath caught, his unexpected gentleness disarming her. She nodded, her eyes locked on his, and for a moment, the weight of her guilt lifted. As Samrat disappeared into the operating room, a strange calm settled over her. Something about his quiet assurance, his steady presence, made her believe—against all odds—that he'd save the boy. That maybe, just maybe, she could trust him.
Samrat's quiet promise—"I'll do my best"—lingered in Alisha's mind, coaxing an unwitting smile to her lips as he disappeared into the operating room. The heavy doors swung shut, sealing him away, and she sank into a chair in the sterile hospital corridor, her heart a tangled mess of hope and dread. KIMS Hospital buzzed around her, but all she could do was wait, the ticking clock her only companion.
Three hours dragged by, each minute heavier than the last. Alisha's legs ached, her body slumped with exhaustion, but her mind raced. Three hours? She'd expected the surgery to take one, maybe two at most. What was taking so long? Her stomach churned, not just with worry for the boy whose life hung in the balance, but with the suffocating reality of her deal. Six months. Six months tethered to Samrat Oberoi—a man whose every smirk screamed control, whose piercing brown eyes saw too much. How was she supposed to survive him for half a year?
Her thoughts spiraled, but a familiar figure snapped her back to reality. The senior doctor—the one who'd sent her to Samrat—approached, his face alight with astonishment. Alisha scrambled to her feet, her pulse quickening as he spoke, his voice brimming with excitement. "I can't believe it, Alisha. You actually brought Dr. Samrat Oberoi here! That man's so busy, he doesn't even take appointments. How did you convince him to drop everything and come?"
Alisha's cheeks flushed, a wave of awkwardness washing over her. She forced a smile, scrambling for an answer that wouldn't betray the truth—that she'd sold her freedom to a devil in a suit. "Uh… we're friends," she blurted, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue.
The doctor's eyes widened, clearly impressed. "Friends? Well, that explains it." He nodded approvingly, but Alisha, desperate to shift the focus, seized her chance. "So… you know him too?" she asked, her curiosity flaring.
The doctor's expression shifted, a strange mix of surprise and amusement crossing his face. He studied her, as if trying to reconcile her claim of friendship with her obvious ignorance. "Know him?" he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Alisha, didn't you know? Samrat Oberoi was one of us. He was KIMS's top neurosurgeon, a legend in these halls before he walked away. Everyone here knows him."
Alisha's jaw dropped, her mind reeling. Samrat was a doctor here? The pieces clicked into place—the stares from the staff, their hushed whispers, their awe at his return. It wasn't just his billionaire status or his striking looks. He was a ghost of KIMS's past, a prodigy who'd abandoned his scalpel for reasons no one seemed to know. The senior doctor gave her a curious look, then excused himself, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts.
She sank back into the chair, her exhaustion forgotten. Samrat Oberoi wasn't just her captor, her boss, her savior. He was a puzzle—a man with a past as guarded as his heart. And as the operating room doors remained stubbornly closed, Alisha realized she'd just scratched the surface of his secrets. Six months under his command might destroy her—or unravel him completely.
As the operating room doors stayed shut, Alisha's mind churned with the doctor's words: Samrat Oberoi, KIMS's fallen star. Why had he abandoned his legacy? A nurse's hushed warning—"Some things he did, no one forgets"—sent a chill down her spine. She'd signed on as his bodyguard, but what if the real danger was the man she'd sworn to protect?