(Author's POV)
Priya exhales slowly, her fingers still clenched around the straps of her bag as she stands frozen in front of the massive glass doors of Infinitum Tech.
The memory plays on a loop in her mind. That moment in the hallway. His voice behind her—sharp and possessive. His breath against her ear.
Those five words "Don't do that again."
She didn't know what "that" meant. But the tone in his voice told her it wasn't something she should repeat.
And now... the idea of walking into that building again—of being around him—makes her stomach twist.
Maybe she should've stayed home.
But no. She shakes her head once. She can't run from this. She didn't fight to leave her village, escape her father's grip, survive in a strange new city—just to flinch at a man who looks at her like she's something he owns.
She is here to learn, to grow, to earn her place. She takes one sharp breath and steps forward.
The security guard nods as she flashes her temporary intern badge and pushes through the tall glass doors.
Cool air washes over her immediately—AC humming, soft music playing faintly in the background, people in formal clothes bustling past, normal, professional. Untouched by the storm inside her.
She walks to the elevator with measured calm, even though her heart is pounding.
And outside, across the road, the man on the bike watches her disappear inside. He lifts his phone again, but doesn't call this time.
He simply sends a message:
> "She went in."
Back inside the elevator, Priya stands alone, facing her own reflection in the mirrored walls. She smooths her hair. Straightens her kurti. Forces her expression into something neutral.
But inside—she's still burning.
(Priya's POV)
The elevator dings softly, and the doors slide open. I step out.
The office floor is alive. People crisscross the hallway with mugs in their hands, ID cards bouncing from lanyards, screens glowing behind glass panels. There's a quiet hum of keyboards, a distant ring of a desk phone, and the kind of low laughter that makes you feel like an outsider instantly.
A few people glance my way, most don't. I feel invisible and exposed all at once. Then I spot a familiar head of curls. "Tanya!" I call out softly.
She turns, sees me, and grins. "There you are!" and then she whispered "I thought you'd taken a day off."
I try to smile. "Almost did."
"Don't worry, I'm with you," she says, looping her arm through mine.
"Come on, Rohit and Sudeep are already setting up for the client mock review. Sudeep's freaking out."
As we walk, my mind drifts—just for a second. "Don't do that again."
His voice comes back like static in my head. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. I shake it off.
This is my space now. Not his.
We reach our desk cluster—four workstations facing each other, tucked between two support pillars. Rohit is hunched over his laptop with a frown, and Sudeep is pacing, muttering something about buttons and alignment issues.
"There she is," Rohit says with a wink. "Queen of HTML."
"Oh please," I mutter shyly, dropping my bag into my chair.
Sudeep looks up, visibly relieved. "Thank god. I need your opinion on the landing page layout. Something feels off, and if I hear one more word from Tanya about 'color palette psychology,' I'm jumping off the terrace."
Tanya flips him off cheerfully. I smiled a little and started to work.
[Author's POV]
Aarav scans his ID at the private basement-level entrance—no crowd, no greetings. Just the soft mechanical beep and the metallic hiss of the glass doors sliding open. His steps are sharp, precise.
The world around him is quiet, modern, professional and is a perfect contrast to the storm running beneath his skin.
He enters the AI Solutions & Deployment Division, the top floor wing designed for senior leads. His corner is far from the intern floors, far from her. And yet...She's here.
Inside the same building, breathing the same air.
Ignoring the polite "Good morning, sir" from his associate. His eyes briefly flick to the large digital wall showing live project data, deadlines, test reports. Numbers. Timelines. Safe distractions.
But his mind is still on the video. Twenty seconds of hesitation.
Aarav steps into his office, closes the door behind him, and sinks into his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the desk surface. Cold, controlled and dangerous. He pulls out his phone and taps on Ritvik's name.
The call picks up on the second ring. "Yo," Ritvik says, his voice casual, familiar.
"Tell Suresh to speed up the API integration," Aarav says, without greeting. "And shift the client sync to Friday."
There's a pause on the line. Then "You're... clearing your calendar?"
"I don't want anyone hovering today," Aarav replies curtly.
Another pause.
"Everything okay?" Ritvik asks, voice lighter, probing.
Aarav turns back his chair to face the glass wall, his eyes unfocused, and stares blankly at his own reflection in the glass, saying flatly, "Yeah."
Ritvik exhales a short breath on the other end. "Okay. I'll take care of it." He doesn't believe him.
The call ends without another word. Jaw tightening as he turns back his chair toward his desk and lowers the phone and toss it on the desk.
(4 hours later)
Aarav leans back in his chair, the soft whirr of the AC the only sound in the glass-walled office. The screen in front of him is filled with data flowcharts, deployment schedules and integration reports, code, logic, structure.
Everything he usually gets lost in but not today.
His fingers hover over the keyboard. He types a few lines, then stops and deletes them. Then again rewrites but pauses again.
His jaw tightens. "What might she be doing right now?"
He pictures her on her desk, laughing too freely. Sitting too close to someone. Maybe one of those boys cracking jokes just to see her smile.
His eyes flick toward the corner of his screen, where a closed folder labeled "Surveillance" sits quietly.
No. He can't keep obsessing.
He slams the laptop shut — then reopens it two seconds later.
Aarav grabs his phone and dials quickly. The line picks up on the first ring.
"Yes, Sir."
"I need access to the fifth-floor internal camera feed. All angles."
A short while later, a cautious reply came "Sir... those are internal security cameras. I will need admin access."
"You have five minutes," Aarav says coldly, his voice dropping an octave.
"Sir... realistically, it'll take at least fifteen to twenty—"
"Ten," Aarav snaps. "No excuses. Connect the live feed directly to my office system. No traces left behind."
The man hesitates.
"...Understood. I'll send the link."
Aarav ends the call without another word.
His fingers drum against the table. His pulse is calm, but his dark, intense eyes remain fixed on the laptop screen.
He tells himself it's for security. But the truth coils under the surface, sharp and dangerous.
He just wants to see her.
Meanwhile, in a dim cubicle tucked in the far corner of the basement level, wires snake like vines across the floor and three monitors flicker with code.
The man stares at his phone screen as the call disconnects.
The man squints at the bright screen, blinking away the fatigue. Aarav's call had ended barely ten seconds ago, but the tension still lingers like static in the air.
He exhales slowly, then rubs his temples with both hands.
"This guy's going to make me bald by thirty." he mutters under his breath.
He cracks his knuckles, sighs again, and opens a secure terminal window.
"He even wants a private CCTV server... and right this second, of course." He leans closer to the keyboard, hands flying over the keys.
A few error codes blink back at him.
He grits his teeth. "Sir wants fifth floor CCTV feed... and that too in five minutes. Kyun bhai, main Tony Stark hoon kya?" ("Sir wants the fifth floor CCTV feed... in five minutes. Why, bro? You think I'm Tony Stark?")
Then, a tiny success chime. One feed connects and then another. He smirks to himself.
"Chal baby, ab dikhate hain Mr. God Complex ko unka daily dose." ("Alright baby, let's show Mr. God Complex his daily dose.")
He encrypts the tunnel and reroutes it to Aarav's office system.
A glance at the clock. Eight minutes. Still two to spare.
He mutters with a grin,"Mr. God Complex wants his personal Bigg Boss. Hacker hoon bhai, jaadugar nahi." ("Mr. God Complex wants his personal Bigg Boss. I'm a hacker, not a magician.")
And then, with one final enter key—The feed begins to stream.
In Aarav's glass-walled corner office, far above the city noise, Aarav sits back in his chair—fingers steepled under his chin, eyes locked on the central monitor.
The hacked CCTV feed flickers once, then stabilizes.
There she is seated at her shared workstation on the fifth floor, eyes narrowed at her screen. She's deep in thought, biting the inside of her cheek as her fingers fly across the keyboard. Even the smallest gestures, the way she taps the space bar twice after a line, the way she pauses to crack her knuckles, he notices all of it.
Aarav narrows his eyes, switching camera angles with a flick of his keyboard. A different feed now is a little closer and sharper.
She's solving a layout bug. He can see it.
Her eyes light up for a second as the issue clears. A small smile flickers on her face, quickly suppressed. She glances around, then quietly straightens up, proud but guarded.
She doesn't even realize she's brilliant. That's the problem.
Someone walks over to her and it's Rohit. Aarav watches the interaction unfold, it was brief, casual, but Priya tenses slightly. Her smile fades a little. She adjusts her hair.
He exhales through his nose, voice low and unreadable. "Too many people. Too much noise."
Aarav switches off the feed for a second, but the image of her lingers behind his eyes.
He swivels slowly in his chair, staring out at the skyline. "Maybe it's time she moved."
His fingers drum slowly against the armrest.
"To my floor. My team. My space."
There, she'll be safe. Protected. Accountable to him.
And better supervised, of course. That's the official angle. She has potential. That's reason enough to recommend a shift, especially if her evaluation after the project goes well.
But he knows himself.
It wouldn't just be about mentorship. It never was. It's about control.
About watching her, through a camera...
And maybe, just maybe making sure no one else gets too close. He glances back on his screen.
Her smile is still there.
"You're too easy to lose in a crowd, Priya." His jaw tightens.
"And I don't like losing things."
Aarav is still staring at his laptop, the feed from the hacked 5th floor camera still running silently. Priya is seated now, chatting with her team, the sunlight from the tall windows catching in her hair. Unaware.
His phone buzzes.
>"Lunch at Oberoi Café. Naina will be there. Don't be late. —Mom"
He exhales sharply through his nose.
Not now. Not her. Not with this chaos in his head.
He taps out a reply. <"Caught up with backend issues. Might be late."
The read receipt pops up instantly. Another ping.
>"No excuses, Aarav. She's flying back next week."
A muscle in his jaw ticks. He stands, slinging his coat over his shoulder, glancing once more at the screen. He saw Priya types away, focused on her screen. She gives a small nod to Tanya beside her, then quietly returns to her work.
And now he has to go sit across a table from a woman who thinks they still have a future?
He mutters under his breath, "I'd rather debug legacy code blindfolded." Still, he strides out of his glass-walled office.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued..........
Write a comment ...