At exactly 9:07 a.m., Kaya Kapoor was running for her life.
Not metaphorically.Not dramatically.
Literally.
Her heels slapped against the marble floor of the Sinclair Holdings lobby like gunshots announcing a crime. Her tote bag banged against her hip, papers threatening mutiny, her hair half-pinned and half-regretting every decision she had made since waking up late.
Again.
"Please," she whispered under her breath, palms pressed together as the elevator doors slid shut behind her. "Dear universe, God, karma, my dead alarm clock—whoever is listening—just let him be in a meeting. Or unconscious. I'll take unconscious."
The elevator ascended far too calmly for a machine carrying a woman about to meet her doom.
The digital numbers blinked.
Twenty-eight floors.
floor for the executives.
Her workplace.
Her prison.
And the kingdom of Asher Sinclair.
Kaya exhaled slowly, fixing her blazer in the mirror. Big brown eyes stared back at her—wide, anxious, and annoyingly expressive. Her skin glowed despite the stress, the contrast of her wheatish warmth against the pale white of her shirt making her look far more put together than she felt.
Three years.
She had survived three years as Asher Sinclair's assistant.
Which either made her exceptionally competent—or incredibly unlucky.
The elevator doors opened.
Silence greeted her.
Too much silence.
The entire executive floor was unnaturally still, employees frozen at their desks like prey sensing a predator nearby. Phones were muted. Typing was cautious. No one made eye contact.
She starts moving, Each step felt heavier than the last.
She slowed, then stopped near the long glass corridor that led directly to Asher Sinclair's private chamber.
This was it.
She closed her eyes and pressed her palms together.
Okay. Hi. Hello. Me again.
I know we only talk when I'm desperate, but this is urgent.
She inhaled.
Please don't let him be here yet.
She cracked one eye open, glancing down the corridor.
Let his meeting run late.
Let traffic destroy his soul.
Let his car refuse to start out of spite.
She swallowed.
You can lock him in an elevator.
She paused.
Actually no. He'd just intimidate the elevator.
Her shoulders slumped.
Fine. Let Rowan distract him. Or let the board kidnap him.
A beat.
You can send a meteor too. I'm flexible.
"But Careful," a voice said calmly behind her."You'll need to file a request for that."
Kaya froze.
Her blood turned to ice.
Slowly—painfully—she turned around.
Asher Sinclair stood directly behind her.
Tall. Immaculate. Completely unbothered.
Dark hair perfectly styled, suit sharp enough to cut glass, dark eyes watching her with quiet amusement. At twenty-eight, he looked like the kind of man who ruined lives before breakfast and still made it to the gym.
"How long," he asked mildly, "have you been negotiating with God in my hallway?"
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"…Good morning, sir."
He glanced at his watch. "Is it?"
She winced. "Technically."
He stepped past her, unlocking his office with an ease that suggested complete ownership of everything around him. "You're late."
"It was a good morning," he replied. "Before 9 a.m."
She nodded seriously. "Understandable."
His brow arched. "Do you understand what time discipline means?"
"Yes."
"And yet?"
"And yet," she said carefully, "New York traffic has a personal vendetta against me."
A ripple of suppressed laughter passed through the floor.
Asher's gaze flicked sideways. Instantly, silence returned.
"You've used traffic," he said. "Rain. Subway issues. A sick aunt—"
"She was sick."
"—and once," he continued, "you blamed planetary misalignment."
Kaya shrugged. "Mercury was in retrograde."
"As was your brain," he snapped.
She flinched—then recovered. "Sir, if you fire me, who will tolerate you?"
That did it.
A muscle ticked in Asher's jaw.
"You're replaceable."
"Emotionally?" she asked sweetly. "Or functionally?"
A gasp echoed somewhere.
Asher took a step toward her. "You're walking on very thin ice, Kaya."
She smiled nervously. "Sir, I'm Indian. I've been walking on thin ice since childhood."
For a split second—just a fraction—something like amusement flickered in his eyes.
"Wow. I leave for one meeting and come back to a murder scene."
Rowan Sinclair strolled in like the human embodiment of chaos control. Same sharp jawline as his brother, but warmer eyes. Same tailored suit, but worn with ease.
Younger. Handsome. Smiling.
He clapped his brother on the shoulder, then leaned toward Kaya.
"Late again"
"I told you to set two alarms."
"I did."
"And?"
"They betrayed me."
Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rowan. Don't encourage her."
"I'm not encouraging," Rowan said. "I'm emotionally supporting."
"She doesn't need support," Asher said. "She needs punctuality."
Rowan grinned at Kaya. "See? No empathy."
"None," she confirmed.
Rowan dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Between us, he woke up on the wrong side of capitalism."
"I can hear you," Asher said flatly.
Rowan shrugged. "You always can."
Asher turned back to Kaya. "Those reports. Board-ready by noon."
She stared at the stack. "Noon?"
"Yes."
"That's humanly impossible."
"Then be inhuman."
She narrowed her eyes. "If I miss lunch, I'm blaming you."
"I'll survive."
Rowan laughed. "Barely."
Asher shot him a look. "We have a meeting."
Rowan saluted Kaya. "Good luck. May your coffee be strong and your spreadsheets merciful."
When they disappeared into the office, Kaya slumped back in her chair.
"May your ego deflate," she muttered.
"I heard that."
She gasped, nearly dropping her mug.
"Why do these walls hate me?" she whispered, grabbing her phone and sprinting toward the break room.
The morning became chaos.
Typing. Formatting. Fixing mistakes that shouldn't exist. Kaya moved fast—clumsy in motion, deadly efficient at work. Coffee fueled her veins. Spite sharpened her focus.
By noon, the reports were done.
Barely.
The executive meeting room felt heavy with importance.
Rowan occupied the seat to his right, relaxed but alert. Kaya sat slightly behind them, tablet in hand, posture perfect, expression professional.
Her thoughts, however, were anything but.
The projector flickered to life.
Mr. Donovan, head of operations, cleared his throat first. "Before we begin, I'd just like to say—this entire project exists because of Mr. Sinclair's vision."
Asher nodded once.
Ah yes, Kaya thought. Step one of survival: praise the king.
Donovan continued enthusiastically. "The way you anticipated market fluctuations six months in advance—it was brilliant. Truly."
Six months in advance, she repeated mentally. Because paranoia counts as foresight when you're rich.
Ms. Reynolds from finance leaned forward eagerly. "Absolutely. I've worked in this industry for fifteen years, and I've never seen leadership as decisive as yours, Mr. Sinclair."
Decisive, Kaya mused. Also known as terrifying. Blink wrong and you're unemployed.
Asher's voice was calm. "Let's focus on the numbers."
"But of course," Reynolds said quickly, smiling. "Your ability to cut through inefficiency is what makes Sinclair Holdings unstoppable."
Translation:Please don't fire me next quarter.
Rowan cleared his throat, hiding a grin.
Mr. Patel from marketing jumped in. "And the brand credibility—sir, your name alone opens doors. Investors trust you."
Because they're scared you'll buy their companies and rename their children, Kaya thought.
Asher's gaze flicked briefly toward Kaya—as if sensing something.
She lowered her eyes to her tablet instantly.
Patel went on. "Honestly, sir, working under your leadership is… inspiring."
Blink twice if this is a hostage situation.
Asher leaned back slightly. "The presentation."
"Yes—yes, of course."
Slides resumed.
Ten minutes later, the buttering intensified.
"Your negotiation tactics are legendary," Donovan said."You've redefined corporate dominance," Reynolds added."No one commands a room like you," Patel finished.
Kaya typed furiously.
Corporate dominance = emotional intimidation.Commands a room = everyone fears oxygen around him.Legendary tactics = threaten, acquire, repeat.
Asher folded his hands. "Are we done praising me, or should I schedule a separate meeting for it?"
The managers laughed nervously.
Kaya bit the inside of her cheek.
Oh look. Self-awareness. Rare species.
Rowan leaned toward Kaya slightly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She didn't look up. "I'm writing a mental comedy special."
The meeting wrapped up quickly after that.
As chairs scraped and managers hurried out—relieved to escape intact—the room emptied.
Except for Kaya.
And Asher.
She stood, clutching her tablet. "I'll be leaving now, sir."
Silence.
Then Asher spoke from behind her.
"You should stop thinking so loudly."
Kaya froze.
Her eyes widened.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
She turned slowly.
Asher's gaze was sharp. Knowing.
She ran.
Behind her, Asher Sinclair smiled—slow, dangerous, and knowing.
And just like that, the game had begun.