The days passed slowly, filled with endless meetings, endless notes, and endless ways for Piya to accidentally embarrass herself. Yet somehow, she managed to survive—mostly by keeping her head down and staying close to Mr. Rao.
Now, the trip was nearing its end. Tomorrow, they would finally return home.
Or so she thought.
That evening, the hotel lobby buzzed with people returning from the day's sessions. Piya, exhausted but carrying a stack of files, tried to rush past without tripping on her heels. She kept muttering to herself, "Just one more day, Piya. Survive one more day without humiliating yourself."
But fate was cruel.
As she turned the corner, the files slipped from her grasp and scattered across the polished marble floor—right in front of Liam Asher.
She froze.
Her world collapsed into that one moment. Papers were sprawled everywhere, and her knees gave a silent no as she crouched to gather them quickly. She avoided looking up, praying he would walk away. But no, his sharp shoes stopped just inches away from her trembling hands.
"Clumsy," Liam's deep voice murmured, low enough that it wasn't mocking, yet sharp enough to make her ears burn.
Piya stammered, "S-sorry, sir," as she tried to collect the files in a flurry. In her hurry, one page fluttered right onto his polished shoes. She reached to grab it but nearly bumped into his leg, jerking her hand back as if she had touched fire.
Her face burned crimson.
She mumbled another apology, finally standing with the messy bundle of files in her arms. Liam's unreadable gaze lingered on her, dark eyes heavy, his expression calm yet suffocating.
"Careful," was all he said before walking past her.
Her heart refused to beat normally for several minutes afterward.
Later that night, Liam sat in his private suite, working in silence. The glow of the desk lamp cut across his sharp features as he scrolled through documents, his mind focused—until his phone vibrated.
The name on the screen made him pause.
Grandfather.
He answered.
"Ah, Liam," the old man's voice was warm yet mischievous. "So, how's the project going? Or should I say, how's she doing?"
Liam's jaw tensed. "...She?"
"The girl. The one whose voice I heard last time. Sweet little thing. Don't tell me you've forgotten already." His grandfather chuckled knowingly.
Liam leaned back, silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing.
Grandfather's tone softened, though amusement still lingered. "You know, boy, Your father is already arranging talks for your marriage, but honestly... I think the real story might already be unfolding in front of you."
The word marriage made Liam's expression darken. "Father can arrange whatever he wants. It doesn't concern me."
"Hmm." His grandfather hummed, unconvinced. "We'll see."
Just then, Liam's gaze drifted. Across the courtyard visible from his window, he spotted Piya on her balcony. She was struggling with something—her hair tangled in her earring. She winced, tugging at it clumsily, lips pressed together in frustration.
For reasons he didn't examine too closely, Liam's eyes grew darker, the corner of his jaw tightening.
He ended the call abruptly, his grandfather's last chuckle echoing in his mind.
Not long after, Karan, his secretary, entered the suite.
"Sir," he said, "a reminder. Tonight there's the collaboration party—the final event before signing tomorrow. Your presence is expected, along with all the managers and interns who were part of this project."
Liam nodded silently, already turning back to his files.
But Karan hesitated. "Also... I thought I should mention. Miss Arora looked... distressed when she heard about it. She's probably nervous about attending."
Liam's pen stilled. His gaze sharpened, though his tone remained calm. "Noted."
Meanwhile, in her balcony, Piya clutched the invitation card in her hand like it was a death warrant.
"A party again? In front of all those people?" She groaned, burying her face into a pillow. "I'm going to embarrass myself. Again."
Her stomach knotted with nerves. Yet she knew she couldn't refuse—Mr. Rao had already warned her.
And somewhere, unseen by her, Liam Asher's quiet, unreadable eyes noticed every hesitation she showed, every flicker of panic.
His interest wasn't loud, but it was there. Silent. Heavy. And dangerous.
The night arrived draped in glittering anticipation.
The entire hotel lobby shimmered under crystal chandeliers, and the grand ballroom had been transformed into a world of polished marble floors, golden lights, flowing champagne, and music that lingered somewhere between elegance and temptation.
Piya stood just outside the entrance, clutching her small clutch bag so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her palms were clammy, her breath uneven.
What am I even doing here? she whispered inside her mind.
She glanced down at herself. Mr. Rao and a few of the senior staff had insisted she dress "appropriately." Somehow, she had been talked into wearing a gown rented last-minute. A soft blush shade, satin that kissed her skin, fitted at the waist and flowing down gracefully. Too glamorous, she thought. Too much for someone who just wanted to hide in corners and avoid attention.
But tonight, there was no hiding.
Because he was here.
Liam Asher.
Piya had seen him earlier that evening when he arrived at the hotel, stepping out of his sleek car in a suit that looked carved for him by the gods themselves. Midnight black, with a crisp shirt, the top button undone just enough to reveal power and ease combined. His aura had filled the lobby without him saying a word. People had whispered, glanced, straightened themselves like schoolchildren before a strict teacher.
And now, in the ballroom, she knew he was inside. She could feel it like gravity pulling her in.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she finally took a step, crossing into the golden glow of the party.
The music swelled, a mix of violins and subtle percussion, as servers moved gracefully with trays of champagne flutes. Men and women in designer gowns laughed softly, their conversations floating like bubbles. Deals were being made behind every smile, alliances sealed with every clink of glasses.
Piya followed her manager, Mr. Rao, into the sea of glittering people, though her eyes were restless, searching. She didn't mean to—but her gaze was a magnet, drawn toward him.
And then she saw him.
Liam stood near the center of the room, surrounded by a small group of businessmen and elegant women. His broad shoulders held perfect posture, his expression calm but unreadable. Every movement of his hand, every tilt of his head, commanded attention.
Her throat went dry.
And as if sensing her stare, Liam's eyes lifted. His gaze cut through the crowd like a blade, finding her instantly.
Piya froze, the champagne flute halfway to her lips. The weight of his eyes—dark, sharp, yet holding that unreadable depth—made her knees weak. She quickly looked away, heat rushing to her cheeks.
But when she looked back a heartbeat later, he was still watching her.
"Relax, Piya," Mr. Rao whispered, mistaking her panic for inexperience. "Just stand, smile, don't speak unless someone asks you something. And avoid wine."
She nodded weakly, trying to calm the storm inside.
But her calm didn't last long.
Because soon, a shift in music happened. The violins softened, and a slower, deeper melody filled the ballroom. Couples began moving to the dance floor, flowing like shadows in candlelight.
And then, as if the universe itself had conspired against her, Liam began to walk toward her.
Her heart stopped.
Each step he took felt louder, heavier, even though the music drowned everything else. His towering figure cut through the crowd, his eyes never leaving hers.
Piya's lips parted, her chest tightening as he finally stopped right in front of her. She caught the faint scent of his cologne—dark, rich, and intoxicating.
For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared, his gaze taking her in from head to toe. It wasn't crude—it was commanding, unnerving, like he could see past her dress, past her trembling hands, straight into her thoughts.
"Miss Arora," he finally said, his voice low, velvet yet edged in steel. "Dance with me."
It wasn't a request. It was an instruction, smooth and undeniable.
Her breath hitched. "I—I don't think—"
His eyes darkened slightly, his jaw ticking. "Do you plan on refusing your CEO in front of all these people?"
Her stomach flipped. Every nerve screamed to run, yet something inside her—something reckless and unexplainable—nodded.
And so, before she could think, she placed her trembling hand in his.
The world blurred as Liam guided her onto the dance floor.
The moment his hand touched her waist, Piya thought she might faint. His palm was firm, steady, resting against the satin of her gown as though it belonged there. His other hand held hers, warm, secure, leading her in the rhythm of the music.
She was painfully aware of every inch between them—and every inch that wasn't. The heat of his body, the strength in his arms, the way his movements were precise, controlled, effortless.
In contrast, she was clumsy, her steps hesitant.
"I'll...step on your shoes," she whispered nervously, her eyes on the floor.
His lips curved slightly, the ghost of a smirk. "Then I'll consider it my punishment for asking you."
Her cheeks burned, her eyes darting up to his. He was so close. Too close. His gaze held hers, unyielding, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
The music guided them, but Liam controlled the dance. Every subtle pull of his hand, every shift of his body, moved her exactly where he wanted her. And the terrifying part? She didn't resist.
Instead, her body responded, her pulse syncing with his rhythm, her steps finding their courage in his lead.
And then, as the music deepened, Liam's grip tightened just slightly, pulling her closer. The distance between them dissolved, and Piya's heart raced so fast it felt like the music had vanished, leaving only the sound of her pulse in her ears.
Around them, the ballroom sparkled with golden light. Yet, for Piya, the world had narrowed to the dark eyes locked on hers.
Her lips parted, words trembling on the edge, but no sound came.
"Relax," Liam murmured, his breath brushing her ear, sending shivers racing down her spine. "You're too tense."
She closed her eyes briefly, his voice wrapping around her like velvet chains.
When she opened them again, he was watching her—not like a CEO watching an intern, not like a man scanning a stranger. But as though she was a puzzle he intended to solve, a secret he intended to own.
Her steps faltered, and she stumbled slightly—but before she could panic, his hand pressed against her back, steadying her, holding her so firmly that her breath caught.
Their faces were inches apart now. So close she could see the flecks of stormy grey in his irises, so close she could feel the faint brush of his breath against her cheek.
Her body burned, every nerve lit, every heartbeat loud.
"Liam..." she whispered before she could stop herself.
His name slipped past her lips like a forbidden prayer.
His smirk returned, sharper this time, though his eyes darkened dangerously. "That's the first time you've said my name."
Heat rushed to her face, her lips parting in shock. She wanted to deny it, to hide—but his gaze held her prisoner.
The music swelled around them, but the atmosphere between them was hotter, thicker, charged with something that had nothing to do with champagne or chandeliers.
When the song ended, Liam didn't let her go immediately. His hand lingered at her back, his thumb brushing—just once—against the fabric of her gown in a way that made her entire body shiver.
Finally, he leaned in, his voice so low only she could hear.
"Runaway now, Miss Arora," he murmured, his breath ghosting her skin. "Before you forget how to."
And with that, he let her go.
Piya staggered back a step, her chest heaving, her hands trembling. She barely remembered to curtsy slightly—awkward, rushed—before turning on her heel and hurrying off the floor.
Her pulse was still racing, her face burning, her lips trembling as though she had tasted fire.
Behind her, Liam watched, his eyes unreadable. Dark. Dangerous. And for the first time in a very long while... amused.