Chapter 10: First Steps in Shadows

The lift doors slid open with a soft chime, and Maholi stepped into the pristine glass-paneled floor of Ashwin Entertainment Headquarters.

Her sneakers made barely a sound on the polished marble, but every inch of her felt heavy.

Not from fear.

But from doubt.

The air smelled of fresh orchids and power. People moved fast, talked softly, dressed sharply. No one noticed the new girl with the too-big bag and quiet eyes.

She didn't need to tell anyone who she was.

They already had assumptions.

"Isn't she the one he called his girlfriend on stage?"

"No way, right? Just PR."

"Ruchika is his real match."

Maholi heard none of it—but felt every glance like a blade. And Abir?

He was colder than ice.

He hadn't greeted her that morning.

He hadn't called, hadn't texted, hadn't even looked at her during the briefing.

She sat two glass cubicles away, assigned under the assistant script division. Her role: observe, take notes, and blend in.

He made sure she blended in perfectly.

No eyes. No attention. No connection.

It was exactly what Maholi had asked for… and yet, why did it sting?

The Queen Returns

By lunchtime, the office buzzed—phones ringing, schedules shifting—then heels clicked across the hallway like royalty arriving without an invitation.

Ruchika.

Perfect dress. Perfect perfume. Perfectly composed smile.

She held two giant gift bags in one hand and a warm tiffin box in another.

"Where's Abir?" she asked sweetly, though her eyes were already scanning.

"Meeting room," someone offered.

"Of course," she said with a breezy chuckle. "He must be so busy."

As she passed by Maholi's cubicle, her heels slowed—just a little.

Their eyes met for half a second.

Ruchika smiled wider, leaned slightly in, and whispered, "Don't get too comfortable."

Then she was gone—like a storm disguised as spring breeze.

Maholi blinked, lips pressed, shoulders tight.

She didn't care about the girl with designer heels and a smug voice.

She didn't.

Cold & Professional

Later that day, Abir walked past her cubicle. Tall. Sharp. Unshakable.

He dropped a file on her desk without looking up. "Read this script. Mark inconsistencies. Deliver it to Room B5 by 5 PM."

That was it.

No eye contact. No softness. No trace of the man who kissed her, whispered to her, demanded her trust.

She stiffened, took the file, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Their fingers brushed by accident. Both retracted like burned.

Alone in the Elevator

After hours, she found herself in the elevator—alone.

The same elevator where Abir once rode with Ruchika, smiling gently.

And now… Maholi was just another girl who didn't belong in this world.

She looked at her reflection in the glass.

No glamour. No connections. Just a girl with stories in her head and a storm in her heart.

But as the elevator doors closed, she whispered to herself—

"I'm not going anywhere."

The elevator was halfway down when the doors halted—suddenly.

A hand reached through just in time.

Abir stepped in.

Dark shirt, dark mood. Eyes locked on hers like a hawk finding the only pulse in a room full of silence.

He said nothing.

She pressed back, startled—but didn't flinch. She wouldn't show him that.

Not when he'd spent the whole day pretending she didn't exist.

The air between them thickened.

He reached behind her, pressed the top floor button, and the doors shut again.

Silence. One floor. Two.

Then he spoke, voice low. Controlled. Dangerous.

"You're wasting your talent."

She blinked, arms still crossed. "Excuse me?"

He didn't face her directly—just leaned against the mirrored wall and said,

"Starting tomorrow, you'll work directly under me. Personal script assistant."

Her jaw clenched. "I didn't agree to that."

Abir turned slowly now, eyes narrowing.

"You don't need to agree," he said, stepping closer. "You just need to follow."

"I'm your employee,not your pet, or your damn puppet," she snapped.

"No," he murmured, closing the space between them, "you're the girl who bit me and still made me crave more."

The elevator dinged.

Top floor.

Doors opened to silence. No one around.

He grabbed her wrist gently—but firmly—and led her down the hallway, ignoring her protests.

Inside His Cabin

The door clicked shut.

She stood in the middle, angry and breathless.

He didn't sit. Didn't offer a chair.

"Say it again," he said quietly.

"What?"

"That you won't work with me."

"I won't," she snapped.

He stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

She stepped back, until her spine hit the edge of his desk.

He did it again.

This time, his kiss was molten.

Not to silence her—

But to burn her walls down.

His hand curled around her waist, drawing her into him.

The other tangled in her hair, tilting her head just enough to deepen the pressure.

Her fists pounded his chest—but softer this time.

Conflicted. Torn. Melting.

His mouth moved to her jaw, then her throat. "You can say no," he whispered against her skin. "I'll still want you."

Her breath hitched as his fingers slid under the edge of her shirt—slow, teasing, brushing the soft skin of her waist, lower, tracing the lines that made her gasp.

Then—

His palm pressed down. Between her thighs.

Not rough.

Not hurried.

Just… claiming.

Her knees wobbled.

She grabbed his shoulders. "Stop—"

He did.

His forehead pressed to hers, both of them breathless.

"I'll stop," he said softly, "because you asked me to. But don't lie to yourself."

She looked up, trembling.

"You feel it too," he whispered. "Every time I'm near you, your body screams louder than your voice."

He stepped back.

Calm again. Controlled. But his eyes…

They still burned.

"You start tomorrow," he said. "Desk next to mine. Then I won't touch you again… "

Maholi swallowed hard, cheeks flushed, heart in chaos.

She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

But one thought screamed louder than the rest.

he—

He was the flame that would either melt her or burn her alive.