The elevator doors dinged open at the top floor of Khurana Industries.
Aanya Verma stepped out, clutching her portfolio like a lifeline, heart pounding so hard she could hear it echo in her ears. Her heels clicked against marble as she rushed forward, breathless and—she checked her watch—seven seconds late.
Her very first day… and she was already late.
Not that anyone seemed to care. The hallway was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that screamed power. The kind of silence that made you straighten your spine.
She reached the frosted glass doors at the end and hesitated.CEO Office. Riaan Khurana.
She'd heard things about him—cold, ruthless, impossibly rich. A man who didn't tolerate mistakes. Or small talk. Or women in his office longer than needed.
Swallowing hard, Aanya raised her hand and knocked.
Nothing.
She knocked again, softer this time.
Still silence.
And then—"Come in."
The voice was low. Deep. Dangerous. Like velvet soaked in poison.
She pushed open the door.
There he was.
Sitting behind a vast black desk in a custom-tailored suit, Riaan Khurana didn't look up right away. He was signing something, his fingers moving with precision, a Rolex glinting on his wrist. When he finally glanced up, his gaze pinned her like she'd walked in wearing nothing but nerves.
Aanya took a shaky breath.
"Miss Verma," he said, his voice unreadable. "You're late."
"Only seven seconds—"
"Eight now."
She opened her mouth to explain, but he stood and walked toward her, slowly, each step like a warning.
"And yet," he murmured, circling behind her, "you still came in."
Aanya's skin prickled. The air felt thick. Charged.
"I—I wanted to be here," she said quietly. "I need this job."
He moved to stand in front of her again. So close she could smell the faint notes of cedarwood and sin.
"Good," he said, eyes scanning her face. "Because I don't tolerate mistakes. I don't like excuses. And I don't repeat myself."
She nodded quickly. "Understood, sir."
His lips curved—not a smile. Something sharper.
"From now on," he said, voice dropping, "you'll follow every instruction I give. Without delay. Without hesitation."
Her breath caught.
"Think you can do that, Miss Verma?"
Aanya met his gaze—and for the first time, felt a heat bloom inside her that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
"Yes, Mr. Khurana," she whispered.
He held her gaze for a beat longer, then turned back to his desk.
"Good. Then sit. Let's begin."