Katha's POV

The bathroom door was still closed. The sound of the shower had stopped minutes ago, but Dhruv hadn't come out yet.

I sat on the edge of the bed—the bed, the one I had just shared with him—and wrung my hands together. The memory of the morning was still burning my skin. His arm around my waist. His hand under my kurti. The way he had looked at me with sleepy, unguarded eyes.

Physics, he had said.

I let out a shaky breath, forcing the heat in my cheeks to subside. Stop thinking about it, Katha. He was embarrassed. That’s why he ran away.

But as the silence of the massive bedroom settled around me, a different kind of anxiety took over.

What now?

He would dress up. He would go to his office. He would conquer the world.

And I?

I looked around the room. It was huge. Luxurious. And utterly empty.

I would stay here. I would walk around this museum of a house. I would eat food I didn't cook. I would sit on furniture that cost more than my life. I would wait.

For a year.

The thought made my chest constrict. I had worked every single day of my life since I was ten. I scrubbed floors, I cooked meals, I haggled with vegetable vendors. I was used to being tired. I wasn't used to being... useless.

I can't stay here, I realized, a wave of desperation hitting me. If I stay in this golden cage all day, staring at the clock, waiting for the master to return... I will go mad.

I needed to do something. I needed a purpose.

Click.

The bathroom door handle turned.

I jumped up, smoothing my kurti nervously.

Dhruv stepped out.

I stopped breathing.

He wasn't dressed. He had a white towel wrapped low around his hips, and another smaller towel in his hand, drying his wet hair.

Water droplets clung to his broad shoulders, sliding down the defined muscles of his chest and disappearing into the waistband of the towel. He looked... powerful. Raw.

He looked up and saw me staring. He paused, his hand freezing in his hair.

"What?" he asked, his voice guarded. He was clearly remembering the morning cuddle too.

I quickly averted my eyes, staring at the carpet. "Nothing. I... I needed to ask you something."

Dhruv walked to the walk-in closet, completely unbothered by his state of undress. "Make it quick. I'm running late."

I followed him to the doorway of the closet. He was pulling a crisp white shirt from a hanger.

"I want to come with you," I blurted out.

Dhruv paused, the shirt halfway off the hanger. He turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised.

"Come where? To the car?"

"No," I took a step forward, gathering my courage. "To the office. To Rathore Industries."

Dhruv stared at me for a second, then let out a short, dismissive scoff. He turned back to his clothes.

"Don't be ridiculous. Stay here. Relax. Watch TV. Isn't that what women like you want? A life of leisure?"

"Women like me?" I repeated, a spark of anger igniting in my chest. "You mean women who are bought? Dolls?"

Dhruv stiffened. He pulled the shirt on, his back muscles flexing.

"I didn't say that," he muttered, buttoning it up.

"I can't sit here all day, Dhruv," I pleaded, my voice softening. "Please try to understand. I have worked my whole life. I am not used to sitting idle. The silence in this house... it eats me up. I feel like a prisoner."

Dhruv turned around, tucking his shirt into his trousers. He looked at me, really looked at me.

"And what exactly will you do at my office?" he asked, his tone dry. "It's a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, Katha. Not a playground. Do you know how to analyze stocks? Can you negotiate mergers?"

"I can learn," I said quickly. "But... if not that, I can do other things. I can be your assistant."

Dhruv laughed. It was a genuine, startled laugh. "My assistant? I have a Personal Assistant. Her name is Meera, she has an MBA from Wharton, and she is terrifyingly efficient. I don't think she needs help."

"Then... I'll be the personal one," I countered, desperation making me bold. I stepped into the closet, invading his space.

"I'll carry your files," I listed, counting on my fingers. "I'll make your coffee—I make really good coffee, by the way. I'll answer the phones that you don't want to answer. I'll organize your... your pens!"

Dhruv looked down at me, a hint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "My pens are already organized."

"Then I'll disorganize them and organize them again!" I argued. "Just... please. Don't leave me here alone. I'll go crazy. I won't disturb you. I'll sit in a corner. I'll be invisible."

Dhruv stopped smiling. He studied my face. He saw the genuine fear of isolation in my eyes.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.

"You are stubborn," he muttered. "Clumsy and stubborn. A dangerous combination."

He walked past me to the tie rack, selecting a silk navy blue tie.

"It's a place of business, Katha," he said, his voice serious again. "No drama. No crying. And definitely no tripping over furniture during meetings."

My heart soared. "So... yes?"

He looked at me in the mirror as he knotted his tie.

"You are my wife," he said, fixing his collar. "Legally, you own half the shares—well, until the contract expires. I suppose I can't ban you from the building."

He turned around, looking sharp, intimidating, and devastatingly handsome.

"But you are not my assistant," he stated firmly. "You are Mrs. Rathore. If you carry files or fetch coffee, people will talk. They will think I'm a tyrant."

"I don't care what they think," I whispered.

"I do," Dhruv countered. "You will sit in my cabin. You can bring a book. You can... organize my pens if you are truly that desperate. But you stay where I can see you."

He checked his watch.

Dhruv's POV

You have fifteen minutes to get ready," I said, checking my watch. "Wear something... professional. Not a saree. Do you have anything western?"

Katha bit her lip, looking down at her worn-out kurti. "I... I have jeans and a shirt. From my college days."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

I turned around slowly to look at her.

"Jeans?" I repeated, my voice flat. "You want to walk into Rathore Industries, on the arm of the CEO, wearing college jeans?"

She shrank back slightly. "It’s... it’s all I have that isn't Indian wear."

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Absolutely not. You are Mrs. Rathore now. You represent me. And I don't do casual."

I walked over to the intercom on the wall and pressed the button for the main house line.

"Suhana," I spoke into the receiver before she could even say hello.

"Dhruv?" Her voice crackled back, sounding surprised. "What is it?"

"Come to my room. Now," I ordered. "And bring that beige blazer dress you bought last month. The one you said was too tight for you. Bring it."

I cut the line.

Katha was staring at me with wide eyes. "Sir... Suhana Ma'am won't like—"

"I don't care what she likes," I muttered, leaning against the dresser to wait. "I pay the bills."

Two minutes later, there was a sharp knock. Suhana breezed in, holding a garment bag, looking annoyed but too intimidated to argue. She shoved the bag at Katha.

"Here," Suhana snapped. "It’s brand new. Don't ruin it." She shot me a questioning look, but I dismissed her with a wave of my hand. She huffed and left.

"Wear it," I told Katha, pointing to the bathroom. "And be quick."

Katha grabbed the bag and rushed into the bathroom.

I stood there, adjusting my cufflinks, waiting. I told myself I was doing this for the company's image. I couldn't have my wife looking like a teenager. It was just business.

Then the bathroom door opened.

"I... I am ready," a soft voice said.

I turned around.

The breath jammed in my throat.

I had expected her to look professional. I had expected her to look presentable.

I didn't expect this.

She was wearing the beige blazer dress. It was a structured piece, with a sharp collar and double-breasted buttons running down the front. It should have looked strict.

But on her? It looked like a weapon.

The fabric hugged her frame perfectly, cinching in at that small waist—the same waist I had held this morning—and accentuating the soft curve of her hips. It fit her like a second skin. The hem fell to her knees, but there was a slit on one side that offered a glimpse of her thigh every time she shifted her weight.

She looked elegant. She looked expensive. And she looked devastatingly sexy.

My eyes traced the line of the buttons, lingering on how the fabric strained ever so slightly across her chest.

Katha shifted nervously under my gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of the dress. She had tied her hair up in a messy ponytail, and her neck looked long and exposed.

"Is... is it okay?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "It feels a bit... tight."

I cleared my throat, forcing my eyes up to her face. I had to physically stop myself from walking over there and checking exactly how tight it was.

"It fits," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "It’s better than jeans."

I grabbed my blazer, needing to look away before I did something stupid like cancel the meeting and keep her in this room.

"Let's go," I commanded, walking toward the door.

I paused with my hand on the handle. I didn't turn around. I couldn't. If I looked at her in that dress again, I wasn't going to make it to the car.

"And Katha?"

"Yes?" she breathed.

"The coffee..." I cleared my throat, gripping the cold metal handle. "Black. Two sugars. If it's bad, you're fired."

I heard a small shuffle behind me, and I could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"Yes, Sir!"

I walked out into the hallway, loosening my tie just a fraction. It was going to be a very long day at the office.