---
The morning after the rooftop confrontation, Anaya woke up earlier than usual, but not out of obligation. Sleep had teased her for hours before fading into the background entirely. Her mind was busy replaying the previous evening—the sharp glint in Rihan's eyes, the command in his voice, the strength in the way he stood between her and that leering businessman.
But most of all, it was the way he looked at her afterward—quiet concern veiled beneath layers of control—that clung to her memory like perfume on skin.
She stepped into her walk-in wardrobe, pulling a cream-colored silk blouse off the hanger. Paired with wide-leg trousers and nude pumps, she looked every bit the composed CEO the media loved to photograph. But today, there was a small rebellion brewing beneath the surface. A sense of curiosity, and something more dangerous—longing.
By the time she stepped out of her building, Rihan was already parked by the curb. He didn't honk. He never did. He simply waited, eyes shaded behind matte-black sunglasses, his posture straight but relaxed, as if the world couldn't touch him.
"Morning," she said as she slid into the passenger seat for the first time.
He gave her a small nod. "Good morning."
She buckled in, expecting the usual silence. But her thoughts had grown louder overnight, demanding release.
"About last night…"
Rihan kept his eyes on the road. "You don't have to thank me again."
"I wasn't going to," she replied, then softened. "But I do want to understand."
"Understand what?"
"You," she said simply. "You appear out of nowhere, protect me like it's your job—and I'm not just talking about the contract—and then vanish again. You're either the world's most loyal driver, or something else entirely."
A smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. "Something else sounds dramatic."
She turned her body toward him. "You don't just drive. You listen. You calculate. You predicted that man's move before it happened. You don't get that good unless you've had... experience."
Rihan didn't respond right away. Then, in a voice so even it gave nothing away, he said, "I've lived a lot of lives, Anaya. Some better left buried."
It was the first time he said her name.
No title. No "ma'am." Just her name.
It hit her like a ripple in still water.
"You talk like someone who's been hurt," she said quietly.
"And you talk like someone who's lonely."
That shut her up.
---
That afternoon, a media firestorm erupted.
The video clip of Rihan stepping in between Anaya and Mr. Goyal had gone viral.
Someone had recorded it—likely a waiter or onlooker—and the footage was already trending on every major platform. The headlines were ruthless:
"Kapoor Heiress Manhandled? Mystery Man Steps In"
"Who Is Anaya Kapoor's Silent Bodyguard?"
"Cinderella Flip: Billionaire Beauty Saved by Chauffeur?"
At first, Anaya wanted to throw her phone at the wall.
Then she wanted to sue every gossip site in India.
But instead, she took a deep breath, dialed her PR head, and said, "Control the fire, but don't kill it."
"Excuse me?"
"Let them talk. Let them guess. Just no names. No confirmations."
"Are you sure?"
She looked out the window of her glass-walled office where the city stretched endlessly into the horizon.
"Yes. For once, I want to see how the world reacts when they don't have the full picture."
---
Later that evening, at a smaller investor mixer, Anaya walked into the hall with her chin high and her stride measured. The room stilled slightly as she entered—curiosity dancing in the eyes of every guest.
She was used to being stared at.
What she wasn't used to… was being watched.
Rihan was stationed near the entrance, standing like a shadow no one could command. Dressed in plain black, blending in with the service staff, he still looked like the most dangerous person in the room.
And the most intriguing.
He didn't approach her. He didn't smile.
But she could feel him. Like gravity.
After an hour of mingling and dodging indirect jabs—"We heard you have a new… companion?" or "He looks like the quiet type. Good for a woman in your position."—Anaya had enough.
She stepped outside to the balcony to get some air.
A few minutes later, she heard the door open behind her.
"You shouldn't be alone," Rihan said, stepping into the moonlight.
She gave him a look. "You make it sound like I'm in danger."
"You are," he said. "From people who smile to your face and poison your name behind your back."
"Ah," she sighed. "You've met my board of directors."
He gave a quiet chuckle. It was the first time she heard it—deep, rare, unpolished.
She leaned back against the balcony. "I should be angry at you."
"For what?"
"For causing this media circus."
"I didn't record anything."
"No," she admitted. "But you made it hard to ignore you."
He stepped closer, until they were just two feet apart.
"And what if I wasn't trying to be ignored?"
Her breath hitched.
He was too close.
Too calm.
Too dangerous to her carefully built world.
"I thought you were just my driver."
"People are rarely just anything," he said softly. "You're not just a CEO. You're not just rich or powerful or beautiful. You're something else."
She swallowed. "And what are you?"
"Someone who sees through masks."
A long silence fell between them, filled only by the distant sound of traffic and the thump of her own heartbeat.
"I've had my share of men trying to get close to me," she said.
"I'm not trying to get close."
"Oh?"
"I already am."
And with that, he turned and left her standing in the moonlight, breathless.
---
Two days later, the headlines were dying down, but the whispers had only grown louder. Every major outlet wanted an interview. Her mother had called five times.
This time, Anaya picked up.
"You are destroying your image!" her mother cried. "Everyone is talking about this man. The Malhotras are furious! Do you want to be cast out of society?"
"I want to live, Ma," Anaya said. "Is that so hard to understand?"
"You sound like your father now," her mother spat. "Chasing ideals instead of reality."
Anaya hung up.
She didn't want to explain. Not yet.
Especially not when she wasn't even sure what this thing was with Rihan.
It wasn't love. It couldn't be.
They barely knew each other.
And yet, when she saw him again that evening, waiting beside the car with his unreadable face and stormy eyes, her pulse betrayed her.
---
That night, her company hosted a private charity auction. Guests arrived in gowns and tuxedos, sipping champagne and bidding on artwork.
Anaya wore an emerald-green evening gown, her hair swept up, diamonds glittering on her neck.
She spotted Rihan across the hall, stationed near the entrance again.
But this time, his eyes didn't scan the crowd.
They found her instantly.
And didn't leave.
The entire night, their gaze played a silent game—curious, cautious, smoldering.
By the time the event ended, she could barely breathe.
---
She found him outside, standing beside the car, rain beginning to fall in slow, hesitant drops.
"I need air," she said. "Let's drive."
He opened the door without a word.
They drove for almost twenty minutes without speaking.
Then Anaya said, "Why don't you ever ask me questions?"
"I already know the answers."
"Try me."
He thought for a moment.
Then: "What's the real reason you work this hard?"
She blinked. "Because I'm good at it."
"That's not the real reason."
"…Because if I stop, I'll realize how alone I am."
Silence.
Then she said, "Your turn."
"What do you want to know?"
"Why do you keep yourself hidden?"
His jaw clenched. "Because the last time I showed my face, it cost someone their life."
She turned sharply toward him, but his expression was stone.
"Rihan…"
"I was once someone else, Anaya. Someone with more money than sense. Someone who believed the world couldn't touch me."
"What happened?"
He pulled the car over, the rain heavier now.
He didn't look at her as he said, "One mistake. One betrayal. And a life was lost because I trusted the wrong people. So I left. I vanished. I became no one."
She reached for his hand.
"You're not no one."
He finally looked at her.
And for the first time, Anaya saw pain in his eyes. Not anger. Not guilt.
But deep, soul-breaking pain.
She leaned in.
So did he.
The rain blurred the windows. The city disappeared outside.
And their lips met.
Soft.
Careful.
But electric.
When they pulled apart, breathless, she whispered, "Who are you, Rihan?"
He smiled faintly. "Someone who's falling for you… when he shouldn't."
And for the first time in years, Anaya Kapoor felt something more dangerous than success.
She felt hope.
---