Dhruv's POV

The day had turned into a catastrophe.

At 11:00 AM, the Singapore deal—the one I had been building for six months—imploded. A regulatory change. A leaked document. It was a mess.

For the next nine hours, my office became a war zone.

I shouted. I paced. I threw a file across the room (it hit the wall, not a person, thankfully). Lawyers streamed in and out. Meera came back—keeping a safe distance of three feet at all times—taking furious notes.

I forgot about lunch. I forgot about dinner. I forgot about the world outside this crisis.

And I forgot about Katha.

It wasn't until the last lawyer left, closing the heavy oak door with a soft click, that silence finally descended on the room.

I slumped back in my chair, rubbing my face with both hands. My head was pounding. My eyes burned. The digital clock on my desk blinked: 8:45 PM.

"Fuck," I groaned, staring at the ceiling. The deal was salvaged, barely, but I was drained.

I spun my chair around to look at the city lights, needing a moment of emptiness.

Then I heard a sound. A soft rustle of paper.

I spun the chair back around.

I froze.

In the corner of the room, on the plush leather sofa, Katha was still there.

She hadn't left.

She had kicked off her heels. Her legs were curled under her. Her head was resting on the armrest, and she was fast asleep, clutching a file I had discarded hours ago like a teddy bear.

I stared at her, stunned.

Why is she still here?

I had ignored her for nine hours. I hadn't offered her food. I had shouted enough to scare off half my staff. Any normal person—especially a contract wife who was only here for the money—would have called the driver and gone home to the mansion hours ago.

But she stayed.

I stood up, my joints popping. I walked slowly across the room, stopping in front of the sofa.

She looked exhausted. The confident  Queen from the morning was gone, replaced by the tired girl I knew.

"Katha," I whispered.

She didn't stir.

I knelt down. I didn't want to wake her, but I couldn't leave her here.

"Katha," I said a little louder, touching her shoulder.

Her eyes flew open. She gasped, sitting up so fast she almost headbutted me.

"I'm awake!" she blurted out, looking around wildly. "I didn't drool on the leather, did I?"

I blinked. A small, dry chuckle escaped my throat. "No. You didn't drool."

She rubbed her eyes, yawning. Then she looked at me, her gaze sharpening. She scanned my face, looking for the stress lines.

"Is it over?" she asked softly. "The crisis?"

"Yeah," I sighed, sitting back on my heels. "It's handled. Barely."

"Good," she smiled. It was a sleepy, soft smile that hit me right in the chest.

She reached down to the floor where her purse was. She pulled out a slightly crushed paper bag.

"I saved this," she said, pulling out a sandwich wrapped in plastic. "I saw you didn't eat lunch. And you were shouting too much to hear me ask if you wanted dinner. So... I hid a sandwich from the catering cart."

She held it out to me. It looked squashed. It was probably cold.

It was the best thing I had ever seen.

I looked from the sandwich to her.

"You stayed," I said, my voice rough. "Why? You could have gone home. You could be sleeping in a bed right now."

Katha shrugged, unwrapping the plastic. "You looked like you were fighting a war, Sir. Soldiers don't leave their general behind just because they're hungry."

Soldiers don't leave their general.

I took the sandwich. My throat felt tight.

"I'm not a general, Katha," I muttered, taking a bite. "I'm just a man losing his mind over money."

"Well," she said, reaching into her bag again and pulling out a bottle of water. "Even men need to eat."

She patted the spot on the floor next to the sofa. The expensive Persian rug.

"Sit," she ordered.

I looked at the floor. I looked at my bespoke suit. Then I looked at her expecting eyes.

I sat on the floor.

There we were. The billionaire and his bought bride, sitting on the floor of a skyscraper, sharing a squashed sandwich.

"It's cheese and chutney," she said apologetically. "Spicy."

"It's fine," I said, chewing. It was spicy. It burned my tongue.

I watched her as she took a small bite of the corner.

"You were scary today," she commented casually. "When you threw that file? I thought you were going to fire everyone."

"I wanted to," I admitted. I leaned my head back against the sofa, closing my eyes. "Sometimes... I hate this."

I didn't know why I said it. I never said that to anyone. Not to Arav. Not to Meera.

"Hate the power?" Katha asked.

"Hate the noise," I whispered. "It never stops. Everyone wants something. Everyone is lying."

I felt a shifting weight beside me. Katha had moved closer.

"I'm not lying," she said softly.

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was staring at me with that same intensity she had shown Meera.

"Aren't you?" I asked, a bitter smile touching my lips. "This marriage is a lie, Katha. You are a lie."

"The marriage is a lie," she agreed. She reached out, her hand hovering near my hand on the floor. "But the sandwich is real. And... me staying here? That’s real."

She touched my hand. Her fingers were cool.

"You don't have to be alone in the noise, Dhruv," she whispered.

I looked at our touching hands.

I should pull away. I should remind her of the contract. I should tell her to get up and go to the car.

Instead, I turned my hand over and interlaced my fingers with hers.

I squeezed her hand.

"You are confusing the hell out of me, Katha Rathore," I murmured.

She squeezed back. "Good. Maybe you need to be confused. You are too certain about everything."

We sat there in silence for a long time, holding hands on the floor of my empire.

But as I looked at the girl in the beige dress who had waited nine hours just to feed me a sandwich, I realized the biggest crisis was just beginning.

My walls were crumbling. And I wasn't sure I wanted to rebuild them.

Time: 10:00 PM

                          Katha's POV

The elevator ride down was silent, but it wasn't the cold silence of this morning. It was a heavy, breathing silence. Dhruv didn't let go of my hand until the doors opened in the lobby. Even then, his palm lingered against mine for a second too long before he pulled away to button his jacket.

We stepped out into the night. Mumbai was drowning. The heavens had opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour that turned the city lights into smeared streaks of neon.

The valet brought the car around—a long, sleek black beast that looked like a shadow in the rain.

Dhruv opened the door for me. He didn't wait for the driver. He placed his hand on the roof to shield me from the water, ushering me inside.

I slid onto the leather seat. Dhruv slid in next to me.

The door slammed shut, sealing us in.

The world outside—the noise, the wind, the chaos—was instantly muted. Inside, it was just the hum of the engine and the rhythmic swish-swish of the wipers fighting the deluge.

"Home," Dhruv murmured to the driver.

Then, the partition slid up.

I stiffened. The last time that black glass went up, on the day he bought me, he had told me not to fall in love with him. He had told me we were strangers.

Now, sitting inches away from him in the dim amber light of the streetlamps flickering past, I felt anything but a stranger.

Dhruv loosened his tie, pulling it off completely and tossing it onto the seat. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing the column of his throat. He looked wrecked. Beautifully, exhaustingly wrecked.

He turned his head slowly to look at me.

"You look tired," I whispered, the instinct to care for him rising unbidden.

"I am," he admitted, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space. "My head is spinning."

He shifted, turning his body toward me. His long legs brushed against the fabric of my beige dress. The contact sent a jolt of heat straight to my belly.

"You saved me today, Katha," he said softy.

I blinked, surprised. "I... I just gave you a sandwich. It was squashed."

"Not the sandwich," Dhruv said. His eyes roamed over my face, tracing my features with a hunger that made my breath hitch. "In the office. With Meera. And with the investors. You played the part better than I did."

"I told you," I managed to say, my voice trembling slightly. "I was just doing my job."

"Were you?"

Dhruv moved closer. He slid across the leather seat until his thigh was pressed firmly against mine. There was nowhere to run.

"When you touched my shoulder," he whispered, leaning in so close I could smell the coffee we had shared and the mint on his breath. "When you told Meera to back off... was that just the job?"

My heart was hammering so hard I thought he could hear it. Thud. Thud. Thud.

"I..." I tried to look away, but his gaze pinned me. "I don't know."

Dhruv reached out.

His hand didn't go to my waist this time. It came up to my face. His fingers—warm, rough, and gentle—brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead. Then, his hand cupped my cheek.

His thumb traced my lower lip.

I stopped breathing.

"You are dangerous, Katha," he murmured, his eyes darkening to absolute pitch black. "You are supposed to be a doll. Dolls don't fight back. Dolls don't make me feel... this."

"Feel what?" I whispered, my lips brushing his thumb as I spoke.

Dhruv didn't answer with words.

He leaned in.

Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

He wasn't drunk. He wasn't hallucinating. He wasn't crying over Tara. His eyes were clear, focused entirely on me.

He tilted his head. His nose brushed against mine. I closed my eyes, my hands clutching the fabric of his shirt instinctively. I wanted this. God help me, I wanted the monster to devour me.

His breath mingled with mine. Hot. Intoxicating.

"Dhruv..." I breathed his name, a plea and a permission.

His lips hovered a millimeter from mine. I could feel the heat radiating from them. I waited for the crash. I waited for the kiss that would seal my fate.

Screech.

The car jerked to a sudden halt.

My eyes flew open. Dhruv froze.

"Sir!" The driver’s voice came through the intercom. "Sorry, Sir. A dog ran onto the road. Sudden brake."

The spell shattered into a million pieces.

Dhruv pulled back sharply, as if he had been burned. He stared at me, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with shock. He looked like he had just woken up from a trance.

He looked at his hand, which was still hovering near my face, and snatched it back.

He turned away, facing the window, running a hand aggressively through his hair.

"It's... it's fine," Dhruv barked at the intercom, his voice strained.

I sat there, trembling, my lips tingling from a kiss that never happened. The cold air rushed back into the space between us.

He didn't look at me for the rest of the ride. But I saw his reflection in the dark window. He was clenching his jaw so hard it looked painful.

He wanted to kiss me, I realized, touching my own cheek where his hand had been. He wanted to kiss me, and he wasn't thinking of Tara.

The car turned into the gates of the mansion. The golden cage was waiting.

But as I looked at the man sitting beside me—the man who was fighting a war against his own heart—I knew the walls of the cage were changing.

I wasn't just a prisoner anymore. I was the temptation.