The clock on Kaya Kapoor's screen blinked 4:58 p.m.
Two minutes to freedom.
She leaned back in her chair for exactly three seconds—no more, no less—before straightening again. At Sinclair Holdings, even relief had to be measured.
Around her, the executive floor was winding down. Assistants logged out. Managers wrapped up calls. The glass-walled offices glowed softly, the city beyond already slipping into dusk.
It had been a normal day.
Which, in her experience, meant it was suspiciously calm.
"Kaya."
There it was.
She stood instantly and turned toward Asher Sinclair's cabin. He hadn't raised his voice. He never did. He didn't need to.
"Yes, sir?"
"Inside."
She grabbed her tablet and walked in, posture professional, expression neutral. Asher stood by the window, suit jacket still on, tie loosened just enough to suggest the day was over—though for him, work never really ended.
"There's a party tonight," he said without preamble.
Her fingers tightened around the tablet.
Here we go.
"Yes, sir," she replied cautiously.
He turned slightly, sharp profile outlined against the city lights. "You'll accompany me."
That wasn't phrased as a question.
Kaya hesitated just long enough to be noticeable. "Sir, I usually don't attend—"
"It's a Sinclair Holdings event."
"I understand," she said evenly. "But my role—"
"Your role," he cut in, finally facing her, "is to be where I need you."
Something about the way he said it irritated her more than usual.
"I'll need you tonight," he continued. "You're observant. You read people well. And you don't panic under pressure."
I panic. I just do it internally.
"Yes, sir," she said after a beat.
"Dress appropriately," he added. "Car will pick you up at eight."
She nodded.
As she turned to leave, he spoke again.
"Kaya."
She looked back.
"This isn't optional."
Her jaw tightened slightly. "It never is."
By the time night settled over New York, the city had transformed into something sharp and glittering—ambition wrapped in lights.
Kaya stood in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection.
The dress was elegant. Too elegant for her liking. Deep emerald, clean lines, fitted just enough to make her uncomfortable.
She sighed.
"I hate these parties," she muttered.
They were loud. Fake. Exhausting.
Rooms full of people pretending they weren't measuring each other's worth in real time.
The car arrived at exactly eight.
Asher was already inside when she slid in beside him. He glanced at her once—quick, assessing—and then looked away.
"You're late," he said.
She checked her watch. "By thirty seconds."
"Try not to make a habit of it."
She bit back a reply.
The drive was silent after that.
Not awkward.
Controlled.
Which somehow felt worse.
The venue rose ahead of them—grand, glowing, guarded. Valets moved with precision. Cameras flashed somewhere beyond the entrance.
Asher stepped out first.
Kaya followed.
The moment they entered, she felt it—the shift in attention, the subtle pause in conversations, the way eyes turned.
Not just toward him.
Toward her.
Great, she thought. I've been upgraded from invisible to questionable.
Asher didn't acknowledge it. He never did. He moved through the space like it belonged to him, exchanging handshakes, nodding greetings, his presence effortlessly commanding.
"Kaya," he said quietly as they paused near the bar, "stay close."
It wasn't said harshly.
It still sounded like an order.
She nodded.
For a while, things stayed… professional.
Asher spoke with ease—about expansions, market shifts, political climates disguised as small talk. Kaya stood beside him, occasionally stepping in to clarify a figure or timeline, earning impressed looks from men who hadn't expected her to speak with such authority.
She was used to that.
The surprise.The recalibration.
She ignored it.
After nearly forty minutes, the noise began to press in on her skull. The laughter felt forced. The smiles too practiced.
She leaned slightly toward Asher. "I'm going to the washroom."
He nodded absently. "Don't take long."
She didn't answer.
The washroom was blissfully quiet.
Kaya rested her hands on the counter, breathing out slowly.
Just get through the night.
She fixed her expression, squared her shoulders, and stepped back into the party.
That's when she heard a voice—not loud, not rehearsed.
"Not exactly your favorite crowd, is it?"
She turned.
The man smiled easily, holding a drink he barely touched. He looked… normal. Relaxed.
"No," she admitted. "It's not."
"Same," he said. "Feels like everyone's auditioning."
She laughed softly. "That's exactly it."
"I'm Alex," he said, extending his hand.
"Kaya."
They talked.
Not about power. Not about leverage.
About work frustrations. About how exhausting pretense was.
She relaxed without realizing it.
Across the room, Asher finished a conversation and instinctively glanced to his side.
Empty.
His eyes scanned the space.
Nothing.
A faint irritation sparked.
She said washroom.
He waited.
Minutes passed.
Something unsettled stirred.
Without acknowledging it, he began to look—just casually, he told himself.
And then he saw her.
Laughing.
With another man.
From a distance.
Something tight and unpleasant twisted in his chest.
Why was she smiling like that?
Why did it matter?
Asher told himself it was nothing.
Just an observation.
Just situational awareness—something he prided himself on. He was trained to read rooms, to track variables, to notice shifts before they became problems.
And Kaya Kapoor laughing with another man?
That was simply a variable.
It meant nothing.
He turned back to the group he had been speaking with, nodding at the right moments, responding with polished precision. His voice remained calm, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable.
But his attention fractured.
He heard words, not meaning. Saw faces, not people.
His gaze drifted again—unbidden, unwelcome.
She was still there.
Still smiling.
Still engaged.
The man—Alex, someone said his name nearby—leaned in slightly as he spoke. Kaya tilted her head, listening, her expression open in a way Asher rarely saw directed at anyone who wasn't… safe.
Something sharp pressed behind his ribs.
Unacceptable.
The word surfaced without explanation.
He dismissed it.
Forced his focus back to business.
But when Kaya returned several minutes later, sliding seamlessly back into her place beside him, Asher felt it immediately—the subtle shift in air, the faint scent of her perfume, the way her presence grounded and irritated him all at once.
"You took your time," he said, voice cool.
She glanced at him. "I didn't realize I was on a stopwatch."
"I assumed efficiency applied outside office hours."
Her jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
They moved on.
Asher introduced her to another executive. She responded flawlessly. Professional. Composed. Untouchable.
And yet—
"You seem… different tonight," he said quietly as they paused near the bar.
She turned toward him. "Different how?"
"Relaxed," he replied. "Careful."
Her brows knit. "That's not a crime."
"No," he said. "But it can lead to mistakes."
Her eyes sharpened. "You're being vague."
"I'm being observant."
She stared at him for a moment, then looked away. "Funny. You don't usually observe me this closely."
The comment landed harder than either of them expected.
Asher didn't respond immediately.
Alex approached again then, a polite smile on his face.
"Sorry to interrupt," he said, glancing between them, "but I was telling Kaya about the terrace. The view's incredible."
Asher's answer came too fast.
"She's occupied."
Kaya turned sharply. "I don't recall agreeing to that."
A flicker of irritation crossed Asher's face. "You're here with me."
"I'm here for work," she corrected. "Not supervision."
His voice dropped. "You represent Sinclair Holdings."
"And you represent control issues," she shot back, low enough that only he could hear.
Silence tightened between them.
Alex shifted awkwardly. "I can—"
"I'd love to," Kaya said suddenly, turning to Alex with a smile that was far too deliberate. "Show me."
Asher stared at her.
She met his gaze—challenging, unflinching.
Then she walked away.
On purpose.
Asher didn't follow immediately.
He stayed where he was, jaw clenched, hands curled loosely at his sides. The room felt louder suddenly, harsher, like something vital had been knocked out of alignment.
She was doing this deliberately.
That realization burned.
He excused himself from the group with curt efficiency and moved toward the terrace.
He found them near the railing.
Alex was talking. Kaya was listening—arms folded, posture relaxed, eyes bright.
Asher stopped a few steps behind them.
"Kaya."
She turned slowly.
"Yes?" she said, tone neutral, expression unreadable.
"We need to talk."
Alex glanced between them. "I'll—"
"No," Kaya said calmly. "Stay."
That was the moment Asher felt it.
Not irritation.
Not annoyance.
Something darker.
"You're crossing a line," he said quietly.
Her laugh was short, sharp. "That's rich coming from you."
"You're deliberately provoking me."
Her eyes flashed. "You don't get to claim ownership over my actions."
"I didn't say ownership."
"You implied it," she snapped. "All night."
"You're misinterpreting—"
"No," she cut in. "I'm finally understanding."
Alex shifted again. "Maybe I should—"
"I said stay," Kaya repeated, firmer now.
Asher's gaze hardened. "This isn't a game."
"Then stop playing it," she shot back. "You don't get to mock me, monitor me, and then act offended when I don't comply."
"You know exactly what you're doing," he said.
"Yes," she replied coldly. "I do."
The words hung between them—charged, deliberate.
Asher took a step closer, lowering his voice.
"Enjoy the walk," he said quietly. "Because you're not walking away from this."
Her pulse jumped—but she refused to show it.
She smiled instead.
"Watch me."
she turned back to Alex and leave.
Kaya didn't look back.
That was the part that cut deepest.
She walked beside Alex through the crowd, her posture calm, her steps measured, as if she hadn't just detonated something behind her. Conversations blurred around them, laughter ringing hollow in her ears.
Her heart was racing—but her face remained composed.
You don't get to control me, she repeated silently, clinging to the thought like armor.
Alex glanced at her as they reached the edge of the hall. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes," she said immediately.
The answer came too fast.
He studied her for a second longer, then nodded. "There's a quieter place nearby. We can just talk."
She hesitated.
Just a fraction.
Then she said, "Okay."
And with that single word, she crossed a line she didn't fully understand yet.
Asher Sinclair stood exactly where she left him.
He didn't follow.
Didn't call out.
Didn't stop her.
From the outside, he looked composed—hands relaxed, posture unshaken, expression neutral as he accepted a drink he didn't intend to finish.
No one noticed the shift.
No one saw the way his jaw locked.
The way his grip tightened just enough to crack ice in the glass.
He watched Kaya disappear through the doors with another man, her silhouette fading into the night.
Something settled inside him.
Cold. Precise. Unforgiving.
You think this is rebellion, his mind murmured calmly.You think this is defiance.
He took a slow breath.
This is provocation.
Asher turned away from the doors, already recalculating, already reclaiming control in the only way he knew how—strategically, silently, and without mercy.
Kaya Kapoor, he thought, dark eyes narrowing.
People who challenge me don't leave unchanged. They just don't realize it yet.
The danger wasn't in what he would do immediately.
It was in the fact that he would do it eventually.
And when he did—
She wouldn't see it coming.