I need Your Help!

Three days after her daring escape, Alisha stood before a towering glass building in the heart of Bangalore, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and determination. The sleek skyscraper loomed over her, its reflective surface mirroring the stormy clouds above—and her own turmoil within. She had to see Samrat Oberoi, the man whose Rolls-Royce windshield she'd shattered, the man whose piercing brown eyes still haunted her. But her earlier attempt to enter had been a disaster. The receptionist, with a sneer as sharp as her manicured nails, had barred her from going up, citing her lack of an appointment. The humiliation still stung, but Alisha couldn't walk away. She needed to see him. Her life depended on it.

Pacing outside the building, she racked her brain for a plan. No appointment, no entry—those were the rules, and the security here was tighter than a film set. Just as despair began to creep in, her eyes caught a familiar figure striding toward the entrance. Rahul, Samrat's driver from that fateful day, his lanky frame unmistakable even in a crisp blazer. A spark of hope ignited in her chest. She hurried over, plastering on a bright smile.

"Hey, hi!" she called, waving enthusiastically.

Rahul turned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Do I know you?" he asked, his tone wary as he studied her.

Alisha's smile didn't falter, though her cheeks flushed. "It's me! You know, the girl who… uh, broke your boss's car window three days ago?" She cringed inwardly, but pressed on. "That's me."

Recognition dawned on Rahul's face, followed by a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Oh, you," he said, crossing his arms. "What are you doing here? Come to smash something else?"

Alisha's confidence wavered, embarrassment flooding her. "No, no, nothing like that," she said quickly, her voice softening. "I need to see your boss. I'm in huge trouble, Rahul. Please, don't say no."

Rahul raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "He's in his office. Just go up and meet him."

"I tried!" Alisha exclaimed, frustration bubbling up. "The receptionist wouldn't let me in because I don't have an appointment."

He shrugged, turning to leave. "Then you're out of luck. No appointment, no meeting. That's how it works with Samrat."

Desperation clawed at her. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a pleading whisper. "Please, Rahul. It's really important. I have to see him. You work with him—can't you do something? Please?"

Rahul paused, glancing at her. Her wide, doe-like eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her face radiating a raw, innocent vulnerability that could melt even the hardest heart. For a moment, she looked less like the fiery girl who'd flipped off his boss and more like someone genuinely in need. His resolve wavered.

"Fine," he sighed, pulling out his phone. "I'll ask him. But don't get your hopes up."

Alisha's face lit up, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. Rahul stepped away, dialing a number and speaking in hushed tones. A minute later, he returned, his expression a mix of surprise and caution. "You're lucky," he said, pocketing his phone. "Or maybe unlucky. He's agreed to see you."

"Unlucky?" Alisha echoed, her joy faltering as confusion set in. "Why?"

Rahul smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "After what you pulled three days ago? Trust me, Samrat doesn't let things go easily. You're walking into the lion's den, kid."

Alisha's stomach dropped, her mind flashing back to Samrat's cold smirk and those intense, unforgiving eyes. Oh, shit, she thought, her bravado crumbling. But there was no turning back now.

Rahul led her inside, past the receptionist who shot Alisha a venomous glare. The woman started to protest, but one look at Rahul—Samrat's right-hand man, second only to the boss himself—silenced her. No one crossed Rahul in this building. He ushered Alisha into the sleek, mirrored elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft ding. As they ascended, Alisha's mind replayed the events of three days ago—the shattered windshield, the chase, her defiant middle finger. Her heart raced.

The elevator hummed as it climbed toward the penthouse floor, each second stretching into eternity. Alisha stood beside Rahul, her hands clenched at her sides, her mind a whirlwind of memories from three days ago. The shattered windshield. The chase. Her defiant middle finger as she dangled from the back of that bus, laughing in Samrat Oberoi's face. Now, she was walking straight into his lair, and the weight of that choice pressed against her chest like a stone. Her Kung Fu training under Master Chen had taught her to face any foe without fear, but Samrat wasn't a thug she could flip over her shoulder. He was something else—something dangerous, unpredictable, and far too handsome for her liking.

Rahul glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Last chance to back out," he said, his voice low. "Samrat's not in a forgiving mood today."

Alisha forced a smirk, though her stomach churned. "I don't back out," she said, channeling the unyielding spirit of her training. "Not from fights, not from him."

Rahul snorted, shaking his head. "Brave. Or stupid. We'll see."

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal a sprawling office that screamed wealth. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of Bangalore's skyline, the city sprawling beneath like a chessboard Samrat had already conquered. Sleek black furniture, modern art, and a massive mahogany desk dominated the space, but it was the man behind that desk who stole Alisha's breath.

Samrat Oberoi stood, his tailored black suit hugging his broad shoulders and lean frame. His dark hair was swept back, a single strand falling roguishly over his forehead. Those molten brown eyes, framed by lashes that could make any actress jealous, locked onto her with an intensity that pinned her in place. His chiseled jaw tightened, and a faint, dangerous smirk curved his lips. He was beautiful—devastatingly so—but it was the kind of beauty that hid a storm, the kind that could ruin you if you got too close.

"Well, well," Samrat drawled, his voice smooth as silk and sharp as a blade. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his gaze raking over her from head to toe. "The windshield-smashing, finger-flipping firecracker herself. To what do I owe this… unexpected visit?"

Alisha's cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but she squared her shoulders, refusing to let him intimidate her. "I need your help," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "And before you say no, hear me out. Please."

Samrat's smirk widened, but his eyes gleamed with something colder—amusement, maybe, or calculation. "Help?" he echoed, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. "You humiliated me, cost me a fortune, and now you waltz in here expecting favors? You've got guts, I'll give you that."

Alisha fell silent, her throat tight as she met Samrat's piercing gaze. His molten brown eyes bore into her, unyielding, and the weight of his scrutiny made her skin prickle. Steeling herself, she took a breath and spoke, her voice urgent. "Please, I don't have time. I need your help, Samrat. Desperately."

Samrat didn't move, his expression maddeningly indifferent, as if her plea was nothing more than background noise. He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his chiseled features betraying no hint of compassion. Alisha's heart sank, but she pressed on, her voice trembling with conviction. "Please. I'll do anything."

At that, a slow, dangerous smile curled Samrat's lips, transforming his handsome face into something both alluring and predatory. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers with unsettling intensity. "Anything?" he repeated, the word dripping with challenge, his voice low and teasing.

Alisha hesitated, a flicker of unease passing through her. But the image of the unconscious man in the hospital—blood staining his face, tubes snaking from his body—steeled her resolve. She squared her shoulders, meeting his stare head-on, her eyes blazing with defiance. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'll do anything."

Samrat's smile widened, but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned and sauntered back to his mahogany desk, his movements deliberate, almost leisurely. "What kind of help?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual as he settled into his leather chair.

Alisha swallowed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "There was an accident. A guy… he's hurt bad. You need to do his surgery. You were a doctor, right? The best?"Samrat's eyes snapped to hers, a shadow passing over his face at the mention of his past. For a moment, he said nothing, his silence heavier than any words. Then, leaning forward, he asked, "Who is this guy to you?"

Alisha's gaze dropped to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know him," she admitted, guilt choking her. "It's just… I think I caused the accident." Her head bowed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her confession.

The room went still. Rahul, standing near the door, exchanged a stunned glance with Samrat. Both men were floored—not just by the fact that Alisha had caused an accident, but that it was severe enough to require Samrat's surgical expertise. Samrat had pegged her as fiery, reckless even, but this? To harm someone so badly she'd come begging for his help? It didn't add up. Either she was more irresponsible than he'd thought, or it was a mistake—a tragic misunderstanding. Unbeknownst to Alisha, she hadn't hit the man at all; the rain and her panic had clouded her judgment, convincing her she was to blame.

Samrat's voice cut through the silence, sharp and probing. "What's wrong with him?" Alisha exhaled shakily. "I… I don't remember the exact medical term. The doctor said something about… bleeding in the brain, maybe…"

Her voice cracked slightly as the weight of the situation pressed on her shoulders again.

I can't remember the term."Samrat's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes flickered with something—curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest spark of the doctor he used to be. He leaned back, steepling his fingers, his gaze never leaving her. Alisha stood there, vulnerable yet defiant, a storm of guilt and determination, waiting for his verdict.

She had no right to be in his office. No appointment, no permission — just desperation in her eyes and a trembling voice that said she'd do anything. And when a girl like her says "anything" to a man like Samrat Oberoi… she has no idea what that might cost.