Aisha adjusted her blazer for the third time before stepping into Malhotra Enterprises.
Her hands were steady now, but her mind wasn’t.
Last night replayed in her head like a broken reel.
The masked man.
The gun.
His voice — sharp, husky, so dangerously familiar.
And the worst part?
She hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.
Shaking the thought away, she clutched her files tightly and entered his cabin.
Arhan Malhotra was already there, sitting like a king on his throne, one hand tapping against the desk rhythmically. His eyes lifted from the papers and met hers.
Something flickered in them. Something unreadable.
Arhan (smoothly): “You’re late.”
Aisha (calmly): “By two minutes, Mr. Malhotra. Not late. Precise.”
He leaned back, watching her. His gaze was sharp, scanning her face, her movements — as if he was searching for something he couldn’t quite name.
Because all night, he hadn’t slept either.
Her eyes. Her defiance. The way she’d aimed that gun at him — masked, yet unforgettable.
And now, sitting across from him in the daylight, he couldn’t help but wonder… why did she feel like her?
Arhan (suddenly): “Tell me, Ms. Khurana… do you believe everyone hides a secret?”
The question hit her like a bullet. For a moment, she almost faltered.
But she forced a polite smile.
Aisha: “If they do, Mr. Malhotra… then maybe some secrets aren’t meant to be found.”
His lips curved, half amusement, half challenge.
Arhan: “Oh, but I always find what’s hidden.”
The room went silent. Their eyes locked.
Neither blinked.
For a moment, it felt as though the walls between their two worlds had cracked — but only for a heartbeat.
She broke the gaze, placing the files on his desk.
Aisha (softly): “Shall we start the meeting?”
Arhan leaned back, smirking faintly, though his eyes burned with unspoken questions.
Arhan (to himself, watching her leave): “One day, angel… your mask will fall. And when it does… you’ll be mine.”
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