Chapter 14
Valentine’s Day
Ishani lay in bed, counting fan rotations. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine... She’d been at it since the time she slid into bed last night.
It was a Sunday.
She should have been sleeping because she didn’t have to go to the office, but here she was—wide awake, brain buzzing, blanket twisted around her legs like a boa constrictor with commitment issues.
Because it was also Valentine’s Day.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, punching her pillow. “Completely ridiculous.”
The fan made a slight clicking sound on every twelfth rotation.
How had she never noticed that before? Probably because she wasn’t usually awake at dawn, mentally going through seven days of mysterious gifts while wondering if her boss—her impossibly controlled, unreasonably handsome boss—was secretly wooing her or if she’d tripped into some elaborate corporate prank.
She flopped onto her stomach. No office today. No chance to study Raghav’s face for microexpressions. No opportunity to catch him watching her from behind his glass walls with that intensity that made her forget spreadsheets existed.
“Maybe it’s over,” she told her ceiling.
“Maybe yesterday’s puppy was the finale.
” The memory of Raghav cradling that tiny ball of fur against his expensive suit made something flutter in her chest. Who knew the man who terrorized boardrooms could look so...
tender? That image alone had cost her approximately three hours of sleep.
She glanced at her phone. 6:17 AM.
The doorbell rang.
Ishani froze, pulse jumping in her throat. For several seconds, she didn’t move, just listened to the heavy thud of her heart. The bell chimed again, more insistent this time.
She moved through her apartment in measured steps. At the door, she hesitated, then looked through the peephole. A delivery person stood outside, holding what appeared to be an eloquent flower bouquet.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she unlocked the door.
“Ishani Rao?” the young man asked, looking at his tablet.
“Yes.”
“Delivery for you. Need a signature.” He held out the electronic pad, then struggled to balance the massive bouquet while reaching for a second item. It was a small black bag with elegant gold handles. “This comes with it.”
Ishani signed quickly and accepted both items, closing the door with her hip. The roses were stunning—deep red, dozens of them arranged in an intricate design that must have taken hours to create. Their scent filled her apartment immediately, rich and intoxicating.
She set them on her dining table and reached for the black bag hesitantly. Inside was a black velvet box. It was larger than the one that had held the bracelet, smaller than a shoebox. Her pulse quickened as she opened the lid.
Inside was a diamond necklace that sparkled in the morning light, casting bright reflections on her walls. The necklace was simple yet beautiful—a fine chain with three perfectly shaped diamonds that would sit just below her collarbone. It was elegant and thoughtful.
A cream-colored envelope rested among the flowers. Her fingers trembled a little as she opened it.
“Eight days. Eight gifts. Tonight I claim what’s mine. Presidential Suite, Royal Palms Hotel, 8 PM.”
No signature. Just an electronic key card nestled inside the envelope.
Ishani sank onto her couch, card clutched in her hand, heart hammering against her ribs. This was it. The final move. The invitation to step off the edge she’d been walking on all week.
But going meant acknowledging this—whatever this was—had become something real. Something that couldn’t be dismissed as office pranks or casual flirting.
She picked up her phone from the coffee table, scrolled to his name. Her thumb hovered over it. What would she even say?
‘Are you sending me expensive jewelry and asking me to hotel suites?’
She set the phone down again, untouched.
The Royal Palms was Mumbai’s most exclusive hotel. The Presidential Suite cost more per night than most people’s monthly salary. This wasn’t some casual meeting. This was a statement—bold, unapologetic, commanding.
Like Raghav himself.
But what if it wasn’t him? What if Raghav was at home right now, doing anything but with zero thoughts of her? The idea made her stomach flip like she’d swallowed a live fish.
For months she’d told herself the way he looked at her was just... boss stuff. Normal boss stuff. Totally normal boss-looking-at-employee stuff.
“Ugh!” She flopped face-first onto the couch, then immediately popped back up. “I’m losing my mind over jewelry. Actual diamonds. WHO DOES THAT?”
She tried to ignore the gifts. Really tried. Brushed her teeth. Made toast. Folded laundry. But her eyes kept sneaking back to that table like it held the winning lottery ticket.
The clock read 12:37. Still hours before she had to decide. Hours to pace around her apartment like a crazy person, imagining herself in a fancy hotel with her incredibly hot, incredibly intimidating boss.
Except she’d already decided, hadn’t she? The moment she opened that box, felt that thrill race through her at the thought of wearing the gift, she’d already made her choice.
With sudden determination, Ishani crossed to her closet.
At the very back hung the dress she’d bought on impulse months ago and never dared to wear. Deep burgundy silk. Fluid. Dangerous. It skimmed curves without shouting for attention.
She took it down carefully and laid it across her bed.
Back in the bathroom, she studied her reflection. The hesitation that had lingered in her eyes for days had hardened into something steadier. Intentional.
Hours later, she began with her makeup, slower than usual. Foundation evened her skin. Concealer erased the fatigue beneath her eyes. A deeper flush touched her cheeks. Liner darkened her gaze, stretching it into something sharper, more deliberate.
By the time she slipped into the dress, the transformation felt complete.
The silk slid over her skin, settling into place as if it had been waiting. The neckline dipped just enough to tempt the eye. The fabric caught the light when she moved, clinging and releasing in quiet rhythm.
The diamond necklace was last.
She lifted it from its velvet bed, fingers steady now, and fastened it around her throat. The cool metal rested against warm skin. The stones pooled at the hollow of her collarbone, rising and falling with each breath.
She turned slowly before the mirror.
The burgundy deepened the gold in her skin. The diamonds flickered with every subtle shift. The pulse at her throat beat visibly beneath the glittering weight.
She didn’t look uncertain anymore. She looked prepared.
Ishani picked up the hotel key card, slid it into her clutch, and walked toward the door.
◆◆◆
The Royal Palms Hotel rose before her, its illuminated facade gleaming against the night sky. Ishani stepped out of the taxi, clutch pressed tightly against her side. The doorman nodded respectfully, pulling open the heavy glass door.
Inside, the marble-floored lobby stretched before her, impossibly vast and gleaming under massive crystal chandeliers.
A woman in a crisp hotel uniform approached before Ishani reached the main desk.
“Ms. Rao?” she asked, her smile professional but warm. “Welcome to Royal Palms. We’ve been expecting you.”
Of course they had. Nothing about this week had been left to chance.
“This way, please.”
Ishani walked behind the woman through the lobby, feeling the eyes of other guests on her.
The woman guided her to a set of private elevators, not the regular ones that everyone used. These were tucked away in a quiet corner, marked by a single pair of brushed gold doors. A security panel stood beside them, requiring special access to enter.
The woman swiped her own card, then stepped back. “Your keycard will take you directly to the Presidential Suite. Have a wonderful evening, Ms. Rao.”
Then she was gone, leaving Ishani alone before the elevator doors.
This was her last chance to turn back. She could still walk out of the hotel, call a cab, go home, pretend none of this had unfolded over the past week. Return the bracelet. Donate the chocolates. Find a way to send the puppy back.
But to whom? Raghav or someone else?
The uncertainty burned more than the possibility that it was.
Slowly, she pulled the keycard from her clutch. For a second, she simply held it between her fingers. Then she pressed it to the sensor. The panel flashed green. The doors slid open without a sound.
Inside the elevator, mirrored walls surrounded her with endless versions of herself. Dressed well, eyes too bright.
Her fingers toyed with the clasp of her clutch, opening and closing it in nervous rhythm. The quiet hum of the elevator felt too intimate, like a held breath.
The numbers lit up one by one. Each floor climbed felt like crossing a line she could never uncross. Her heartbeat thudded against her ribs, heavy enough she was certain it showed through the silk. When the display shifted to “P,” her throat tightened.
The elevator slowed. Stopped. The doors parted.
Darkness waited on the other side. It wasn’t empty, it was intentional.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward slowly, then took another step. As she moved onto the soft carpet, lights flickered on in a soft glow from hidden fixtures. It was a slow bloom of gold that spread across the suite in careful stages, revealing her surroundings piece by piece.
What she saw made her freeze in mid-step.
The walls were covered. Floor to ceiling. Photographs. Large. Professionally framed. Mounted in perfect symmetry.
Her breath caught.
Every frame held the same subject.
Herself.
The nearest image showed her at her desk, brow furrowed in concentration as she organized files, completely absorbed in her task.
In another, she stood by the conference room window, silhouetted against city lights, head tilted as she studied something in her hands.
A third captured her speaking with Kavya, her face lit with a smile rarely seen in the office.
Ishani moved forward as if in a dream, barely registering the rose petals scattered across the floor that released their scent with each step she took. Candles lined the pathway between the photographs, their flames creating pools of golden light that drew her deeper into the suite.
Every image had been taken carefully. The angles were thoughtful. The lighting intentional. Each moment chosen.
In one frame, she leaned over Raghav’s desk, finger extended toward a spreadsheet. Confidence radiated from her posture. She looked capable. Powerful.
In another, she crossed the lobby, bag on her shoulder, spine straight, chin lifted, untouchable.
Further down, her face filled the frame as she hugged the plush puppy to her chest. Surprise. Joy. Unfiltered.
Her fingers reached out, hovering just above the surface of a photo in which she was gazing out his office window. The light had caught her features perfectly, highlighting the clean line of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows.
She moved deeper into the suite and stopped before a photograph that stole the air from her lungs.
It was from the break room. The call with her mother. Her head was tilted back in laughter, throat exposed, eyes squeezed shut in unfiltered joy. The woman in that image looked untouchable. Free. Alive. It was the most honest portrait she had ever seen of herself.
And it could only have been known to someone who was watching her closely.
Her pulse began to thud against her ribs.
Only one man had access. Only one man had the control, the resources, the precision to orchestrate something like this.
Only one man had looked at her with that intensity. Her breath turned shallow.
Raghav.
Of course it was him. There could be no one else but him.
The air shifted behind her. She felt it before she heard him, his voice, low and familiar, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I wanted you to see yourself through my eyes.”