Katha's POV

The silence in the car was deafening.

Minutes ago, his lips had been hovering over mine. Minutes ago, I had felt his breath on my skin, hot and heavy with want. But now? Now Dhruv was staring out the rain-streaked window, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle feathering in his cheek.

He looked like a man who had just survived a car crash—shaken, pale, and terrified.

I sat on my side of the seat, my hands clasped in my lap, trying to calm my racing heart. He almost kissed me, I thought, touching my lips. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't seeing Tara. He was seeing me.

A small, fragile hope began to unfurl in my chest. Maybe... maybe the monster was finally gone. Maybe he was ready to let me in.

"Stop the car," Dhruv suddenly barked.

I jumped. The driver slammed on the brakes, pulling the sleek Maybach over to the curb. We were parked in front of one of the city's most expensive hotels.

"Sir?" the driver asked, confused. "We are ten minutes from home."

"I said stop," Dhruv snapped. He turned to me, his eyes avoiding mine. "Get out."

I blinked. "What? Here? It's raining."

"There is an arcade inside," he muttered, grabbing his umbrella. He didn't wait for the driver. He pushed his door open and stepped out into the drizzle.

He walked around to my side and yanked the door open. He held the umbrella, but he didn't offer me his hand this time.

"Come with me," he ordered. His voice was stiff. Professional. Cold.

I stepped out, confused and anxious. Is he angry? Is he going to leave me here?

I followed him into the hotel lobby. The air was cool and smelled of lilies. Dhruv walked fast, marching past the reception and straight toward the high-end shopping arcade lined with glass-fronted boutiques—Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Harry Winston.

Most were closed. But one—a high-end jewelry boutique—had its lights on, a private viewing apparently taking place inside.

Dhruv pushed the glass door open. The bell chimed.

The staff looked up, startled. But the moment they saw Dhruv Rathore, their expressions shifted from annoyance to sycophantic delight.

"Mr. Rathore!" the manager rushed forward. "What a surprise. We were just closing, but for you—"

"I need a bracelet," Dhruv cut him off, walking to the diamond counter. He didn't look at the displays. He looked impatient. "Something expensive. Something... heavy."

I stood by the door, dripping slightly onto the plush carpet. A bracelet?

"Dhruv?" I whispered, walking up to him. "What are you doing? I have jewelry. Suhana gave me—"

"That is Rathore family jewelry," Dhruv interrupted, still not looking at me. He was staring at a tray of diamond cuffs the manager had placed on the velvet counter. "Those are heirlooms. They are loaned. I want to buy you something that is... yours."

He pointed to a thick platinum cuff studded with solitaire diamonds. It looked heavy. It looked like a shackle.

"That one," Dhruv said. "Wrap it up."

"An excellent choice, Sir," the manager beamed. "Twenty-five lakhs. It’s exquisite."

Twenty-five lakhs?

"Dhruv, no!" I grabbed his arm. "I don't want this. Why are you buying this?"

Dhruv finally looked at me.

I expected to see affection. I expected to see the man who had almost kissed me in the car.

Instead, I saw a wall. His eyes were flat, dead, and terrifyingly empty. He pulled his arm away from my touch gently but firmly.

"For today," he said, his voice void of emotion. "You did a good job at the office. You handled Meera. You handled the investors. You saved the deal."

He pulled out his black credit card and tossed it onto the glass counter.

"This is your bonus," he stated.

I felt like he had punched me in the gut.

"My... bonus?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

"We have a contract, Katha," Dhruv said, focusing intently on the card machine. "You perform a service. I provide the compensation. That is how this works, remember? I don't want you to think that... whatever happened in the car... meant anything else."

The air left my lungs.

Oh.

He was embarrassed. He felt guilty for almost kissing the hired help. So now, he was throwing money at me to remind me of my place. He was buying my silence. He was paying me off to forget the intimacy.

The manager handed him the velvet box. Dhruv took it and turned to me.

"Give me your hand," he commanded.

I stood frozen. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the box in his face. I wanted to tell him that a sandwich on the floor meant more to me than this cold, hard rock.

But I looked at his eyes. Beneath the coldness, I saw panic. He was terrified. He was scared of what he felt, so he was trying to turn it back into a transaction.

I slowly lifted my hand.

Dhruv snapped the bracelet around my wrist. The metal was cold. It clicked shut with a heavy sound.

Click.

Another lock on the cage.

"There," Dhruv said, stepping back, looking relieved. "Now we are even."

I looked down at the diamonds glittering under the harsh store lights. They were beautiful. And they were the ugliest things I had ever seen.

I looked up at him. I didn't cry. I didn't shout. I summoned every ounce of pride I had left.

"Thank you, Sir," I said, my voice as cold as his. "It is very generous. I will make sure to earn it."

Dhruv flinched. The words hit him harder than a slap. He looked at me, realizing that by trying to protect himself, he had just shattered the fragile bridge we had built.

"Let's go," he muttered, turning away quickly.

I followed him out into the rain. The bracelet weighed down my arm, a constant, heavy reminder.

He was the Boss.

And I was just the employee of the month.

Dhruv's POV

The car door slammed shut, sealing us back into the leather-scented silence.

"Home," I muttered to the driver, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears.

The partition slid up. We were alone again.

But this time, the air wasn't charged with electricity. It was sucked dry of it.

I sat stiffly on my side of the seat, staring straight ahead at the rain lashing against the windshield. But my peripheral vision was glued to her.

Katha was sitting as far away from me as physics allowed, pressed against the door. Her hands were in her lap.

On her left wrist, the platinum cuff glinted under the passing streetlights.

Twenty-five lakhs.

It was a beautiful piece. It was heavy, expensive, and flawless. It was the kind of gift that made women in my circle scream with delight.

But on her wrist, it looked like a handcuff.

I fixed it, I told myself, gripping my knees. I stopped the madness. I reminded her of the deal. I reminded myself of the deal.

So why did I feel like I had just kicked a puppy?

I risked a glance at her face.

Katha wasn't crying. I almost wished she was. Tears I could handle. Tears meant emotion, and emotion could be soothed.

But she wasn't crying. She was staring out the window, watching the city blur into a wet, grey mess.

Her eyes were blank.

The spark—that fierce, defiant fire she had shown Meera in the office, the soft warmth she had shown me on the floor with the sandwich—was gone. Extinguished.

She looked like a shell.

In the reflection of the dark window, I saw her lift her hand slowly. She touched the cold metal of the bracelet. She didn't caress it. She touched it like one touches a scar.

Her lips moved slightly, no sound coming out.

What is she thinking?

I felt a surge of panic. Is she questioning why she is here? Is she calculating how many days are left in the year? Is she realizing that selling her life to a man like me was a mistake no amount of diamonds can fix?

Say something, Dhruv, my conscience screamed. Tell her you didn't mean it. Tell her you were scared because you almost kissed her and it felt too real.

I opened my mouth. "Katha..."

She didn't turn. She didn't blink. She just kept staring at the rain, utterly unreachable.

"It's raining hard," I finished lamely, cursing myself.

She didn't answer. She didn't even nod.

The "employee" I had demanded had arrived. She was silent. She was submissive. She was accepting her "bonus."

And I hated it.

I looked down at my own hands. They felt empty.

I had won the battle. I had re-established the boundaries. But as I looked at the desolate girl staring out the window, wearing my expensive apology like a chain, I realized I had lost something much more valuable.

I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, the image of her blank stare burning behind my eyelids.

Congratulations, Dhruv, I thought bitterly. You wanted a doll? You finally got one.