Katha's POV

Location: Rathore Industries, CEO’s Office Time: 9:30 AM

The coffee was perfect.

I knew it the moment Dhruv took the first sip. He didn't smile—he wasn't a man who gave away smiles for free—but his shoulders dropped an inch. The tension lines around his eyes softened. He let out a low, almost inaudible hum of satisfaction.

"Passable," he muttered, setting the cup down, though he immediately took another sip.

I sat on the plush leather sofa in the corner of his massive office, clutching a magazine I wasn't reading. A small, triumphant smile bloomed on my face.

Passable means perfect in Dhruv-speak, I thought.

For twenty minutes, it was peaceful. The only sounds were the scratching of his pen and the hum of the city below. I watched him work. I watched the way his brow furrowed when he read a contract. I watched the way his large hand gripped the pen.

I was content. I was just the wife in the corner, but I was his wife in the corner.

Then, the heavy oak doors swung open.

There was no knock. No pause.

Meera walked in.

She didn't look at me. It was as if I were a piece of furniture—a lamp or a coat rack. Her eyes were locked on Dhruv with a laser-like intensity.

"Dhruv," she said, her voice dropping to a low, intimate register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "We have a problem with the Singapore tender. I need you to look at this right now."

She walked around his desk.

Usually, an assistant stands across the desk. Or to the side.

Meera walked right behind his chair.

She leaned over him. She placed the tablet on the desk in front of him, planting one hand on the back of his leather chair and the other on the desk, effectively boxing him in.

From where I sat, I could see everything. I saw how her hip brushed against his shoulder. I saw how her perfectly blow-dried hair fell forward, grazing his cheek. I saw how she leaned down, her face inches from his ear, whispering something about numbers and clauses.

She is too close, a voice screamed in my head.

Dhruv didn't push her away. He was focused on the screen, scrolling through the data.

"Zoom in on the third paragraph," Dhruv murmured.

Meera reached over, her arm brushing against his chest as she pinched the screen.

"Here?" she whispered, turning her face so her lips were hovering near his jaw. "See? They changed the terms."

Something inside me snapped.

It was a physical sensation—like a rubber band breaking in my chest. Heat, hot and blinding, flooded my veins.

It wasn't the contract. It wasn't the "image." It was... mine. He was mine.

Get your hands off him, I thought, gripping the magazine so hard the paper tore.

I stood up.

My heels sank into the thick carpet as I walked toward the desk. I didn't rush. I moved with the same predatory grace Dhruv used.

"Excuse me," I said.

My voice was calm, but it was cold enough to freeze water.

Meera didn't move. She just glanced back over her shoulder, looking annoyed. "One moment, Mrs. Rathore. This is critical business."

She turned back to Dhruv, leaning even closer, her chest practically pressing against his arm. "Dhruv, if we don't sign this—"

I didn't wait.

I walked right up to them. I didn't go to the other side of the desk. I walked right next to Dhruv's chair, invading the space Meera had claimed.

I reached out and placed my hand firmly on Dhruv’s shoulder, my fingers curling into the fabric of his suit. I felt him tense under my touch. He stopped reading. He looked up at me, surprised.

"Meera," I said, offering her a sharp, dangerous smile. "You are standing on him."

Meera blinked, straightening up slightly. "Pardon?"

"Personal space," I said sweetly, though my eyes were deadly. "You are practically sitting in his lap. Is the font on the tablet that small? Or do you just need glasses?"

Meera’s face flushed a blotchy red. "I am just showing him the data. It's confidential."

"I am his wife," I countered, stepping closer to Dhruv until my hip bumped his arm, forcing Meera to take a step back. "There is nothing confidential between us. Right, darling?"

I looked down at Dhruv.

His dark eyes were wide. He was looking from Meera to me, processing what was happening. He saw the fire in my eyes. He saw the way my nails were digging into his jacket.

A slow, wicked smirk curved his lips. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He was enjoying this. The monster was enjoying the catfight.

"Right," Dhruv drawled, looking at Meera. "She has a point, Meera. You are hovering."

Meera looked as if she had been slapped. She took a hasty step back, clutching the tablet to her chest. "I... I was just..."

"And another thing," I continued, not letting her recover.

I reached out. With steady, deliberate movements, I brushed the shoulder of Dhruv’s suit where her hip had been pressing. I dusted it off as if she had left dirt on him.

"This suit is Italian silk," I murmured, my eyes locking with hers. "It wrinkles easily. Please be careful where you lean."

The silence in the room was deafening.

Meera looked furious. Humiliated. She glared at me, her professional mask crumbling.

"I will... send the file to your computer, Sir," she spat out stiffly.

"Do that," Dhruv said, his voice amused.

Meera turned on her heel and marched out of the office, the door clicking shut a little too loudly behind her.

We were alone.

My heart was hammering against my ribs like a jackhammer. I realized my hand was still gripping Dhruv’s shoulder.

I snatched it back, suddenly feeling exposed.

"I..." I started, my voice trembling slightly as the adrenaline faded. "She was... she was too close."

Dhruv didn't speak. He just watched me. His gaze was intense, traveling from my flushed face to my heaving chest.

He stood up slowly.

He walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of me. He was so tall. So overwhelming.

"You are jealous," he stated. It wasn't a question.

"I am not!" I lied, looking away. "I was protecting the contract. Rule Number Two. Public image. If someone walks in and sees her climbing on you, what will they think?"

"There is no one here, Katha," Dhruv whispered. He took a step closer, trapping me against the edge of the desk. "Just you. And me."

He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my jaw.

"You were marking your territory," he murmured, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. "Like a little tigress."

I looked up at him. I wanted to deny it. I wanted to push him away.

But I couldn't.

"She touched you," I whispered, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. "I didn't like it."

Dhruv’s eyes darkened. The amusement vanished, replaced by a raw, burning hunger.

Dhruv's POV

"Good," I had rasped, telling her I liked her jealousy.

And God help me, I meant it.

As Katha stepped back, cheeks flushed pink, smoothing her beige dress as if she hadn't just verbally eviscerated my top executive, I stared at her. My brain was trying to run a diagnostic, but the system was failing.

Who is she?

Yesterday, she was shaking in my car, terrified of a party. Last night, she was crying on a terrace, holding me like I was fragile. This morning, she was tripping over her own feet in my bedroom.

And now? Now she was a tigress marking her territory.

She touched me, I thought, the ghost of her hand still burning on my shoulder. She looked Meera dead in the eye and claimed me. Not for the money. Not for the cameras. There was no one here to perform for.

She did it for... me?

I walked back to my chair and sat down, but the leather felt uncomfortable. I loosened my tie.

"I am going to read a book," Katha announced softly, retreating to the sofa in the corner as if the explosion hadn't just happened. She picked up a business journal, holding it upside down for a solid ten seconds before realizing and flipping it.

I watched her over the rim of my laptop.

She is confusing, I admitted to myself. I deal in logic. I deal in profit and loss. Katha is... chaos.

Why did she care if Meera touched me? It’s a contract. She shouldn't care.

Unless...

No, I shut that thought down instantly. Don't go there, Dhruv. She is playing the part. She is just earning her keep. Don't mistake performance for passion.

But as I watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, looking serious and professional in that dress that was driving me insane, I knew one thing for sure.

I was in deep trouble.