ch 21 sir please
The silence in Aarav Malhotra's cabin was not ordinary it was heavy, oppressive, like the air itself bowed under his presence.
She placed the files on his desk, her voice soft, carefully steady.
"Sir... the files you asked for."
Her sleeves were neatly pressed, but he saw through them. The faint scar on her forehead glimmered in the afternoon light. She tried to lower her gaze, but nothing escaped him.
"You've barely been here half the day," his baritone rumbled, steady, dangerous. "And yet you already look like you've lived a lifetime."
Her lips parted then fire sparked through her exhaustion.
"Sab aapke jaise nahi hote jo kursi pe baith kar sirf order dete hain. Main intern hoon... poora din daudna padta hai. Aur aapki hundred-floor building kabhi kabhi toh main floor hi bhool jaati hoon."
["Not everyone is like you, who sits in a chair all day and just gives orders. I'm an intern — I run around all day. And in your hundred-floor building, sometimes I even forget which floor I'm on."]
Her hazel eyes flashed, chin raised, breath sharp.
Aarav's lips curved, almost mocking. "You're an intern... but the way you speak, it's as if you're a shareholder."
She stiffened, clutching her file. "Sir, bas file check kijiye. Mujhe aur kaam bhi dekhna hai." She turned, desperate for escape.
["Sir, just check the file. I have other work to look after as well."]
"Ruko."
The single word snapped the air still. She froze.
He rose. One moment he was at his desk the next, his hand clamped around her wrist, yanking her back until her spine struck the wall. Her gasp broke in the silence.
His palm landed flat beside her head, caging her in, his towering frame blotting out the light. The grip on her wrist was unrelenting, the heat of his body suffocating.
"You really think I don't see it?" His voice was velvet wrapped in knives, every word deliberate.
"The scars you try to hide... the truths you bury... you really believe you can h yourself from me?"
Her lips trembled, her eyes darting away, but his free hand lifted slowly deliberately. Two fingers brushed against her forehead, right over the scar. She flinched.
"You run," Aarav murmured, his breath brushing her cheek, "from every question... every gaze. But your silence... your eyes... they confess everything."
She tried to turn her face, but his grip on her wrist tightened, dragging her gaze back into his storm-grey eyes. His nearness was unbearable the heat of his breath at her cheek, the lethal calm of his tone.
"You hide pain," Aarav whispered, dark and certain. "But pain has its own scent... and I can recognize it from miles away."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, panic thrumming through her veins.
"Sir... please—"
He leaned in, so close that the warmth of his body pressed subtly against hers, his breath ghosting over her ear.
"You don't need to tell me," he whispered, low and lethal. "I'll find out myself..."
His jaw flexed, eyes locking onto hers, sharp and unyielding. "And when I do... the man who dared touch you... I'll make him wish he had never drawn breath."
The promise was cold, merciless.
And then he let her go. Just like that. The absence of his grip was almost as crushing as his hold.
He walked back, reclaiming his chair like a king reclaiming his throne. Flipping open the file, he didn't even look at her when he said—
"You may go,"
But just before he lowered his gaze, his eyes cut into her one last time not as an intern. Not as an employee. But as a possession fate had already placed in his shadow.
Her legs wobbled the moment she took a step, A dull ringing filled her ears, her vision swimming, edges of the world bleeding into black.
She blinked, trying to steady herself just two more steps... just make it to the door but her body had already betrayed her.
The room tilted violently. Her knees buckled. The floor rushed toward her.
But she never hit it.
A strong arm caught her mid-fall, the sharp scent of expensive cologne and the firm press of his crisp shirt against her cheek grounding her as her body sagged helplessly against him.
Another hand gripped her shoulder, holding her as if she weighed nothing. His jaw tightened, storm-grey eyes flashing with something she had never seen before raw, sharp panic lurking beneath the mask of control he always wore.
"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, lowering her carefully into the leather chair across from his desk. His hands lingered a moment longer, ensuring she wouldn't slump to the floor.
He reached for the glass of water on his desk, sliding it within her reach, though her eyes were already half-lidded. His gaze swept over her pale face, the faint scar on her forehead, the shadowed bruises she had tried so hard to hide.
For a man who rarely faltered, the tension in his eyes said everything. And as she sat there, breath shaky, she felt it: he wasn't letting this go.
Not now. Not ever.