The city lights shimmered like scattered diamonds when Aisha stepped out of the elevator on the 43rd floor. Her fingers clutched the folder she had carried all day, yet her mind was elsewhere—on the text that had arrived just before leaving the office:
"Meet me at the rooftop lounge of the company building. Now. —RM"
Her pulse quickened. This wasn't an official task. This wasn't a board meeting. This was Raj Malhotra, summoning her.
The rooftop was surprisingly empty, bathed in the glow of the city below. Aisha's heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she approached the glass doors.
Raj was already there, leaning against the railing, hands in pockets, the wind tousling his hair slightly. The city reflected in his dark eyes, but it was his gaze that caught hers—the kind of look that could strip a person bare without a touch.
"You came," he said softly, almost surprised.
"I…" she began, but he raised a hand.
"No explanations," he said. "Not tonight. Not here."
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The space between them was electric, dangerous, charged.
"I need to see how far you will follow me," he continued, voice dropping, intimate and commanding. "Not as an assistant. Not as a subordinate. As someone who has already caught my attention… someone I want to see fully aware of the consequences."
Aisha swallowed. "Consequences?"
"Yes," he whispered, stepping closer. The city lights outlined the sharp angles of his face. "Every choice you make around me matters. Every glance. Every word. Every hesitation. I notice."
Her legs threatened to give out. She wanted to run. She wanted to retreat. Yet something inside her held her in place.
"I don't—" she began.
"You don't get to speak," he interrupted softly. His voice was velvet and steel. "You get to understand."
He stepped so close that the heat from his body brushed hers. The wind carried his presence like a living thing, suffocating yet irresistible.
"You are mine, Aisha," he murmured, almost under his breath, his hand resting lightly on the railing, near hers. "And every moment you think otherwise… will be a test."
Her pulse quickened. The reality of his obsession, so personal and direct, pressed against her. She felt it—not just in her chest, but everywhere: in her fingertips, in the hollow between her ribs, in the heat pooling low in her stomach.
"Raj…" she whispered, voice trembling.
He leaned in slightly, so close that she could feel his breath against her skin, teasing, threatening, claiming.
"You will learn," he said softly, low, dangerous, "that I do not let go of what I want. And right now… I want you to understand exactly what that means."
Aisha's knees nearly gave out. She wanted to step back, but she couldn't. She couldn't look away. She couldn't move.
For a moment, there was nothing but the two of them—the city below, the wind around, the dangerous intimacy that neither could deny.
Then Raj straightened, distancing himself just enough to regain the calm, cold control he always wore like armor.
"You may leave," he said, voice firm, but his eyes—dark, hungry, obsessive—followed her every step. "But know this… every choice, every breath, every glance you give me… will be noticed. And I will not forget."
Aisha turned to leave, her chest tight, her mind racing. The pull of him was magnetic, terrifying, addictive.
And she realized—suddenly, utterly—that she was no longer just part of his world at the office.
She was part of him.