Chetna sat motionless in the dim light of her apartment, the silence around her suffocating, thick with the weight of everything she couldn't say. Her hands gripped the edges of the couch, trembling slightly as her mind reeled, replaying the events of the day before with painful clarity. A hot tear slid down her cheek, quickly followed by another, and she made no move to wipe them away. It felt futile—nothing could erase the mess she was now in, a mess that had started on a day she once believed held all her dreams.

She cursed that moment, that fleeting instant where fate had cruelly intervened. It was supposed to be her big break, the opportunity she had worked so tirelessly for, and yet everything had spiraled out of control. The memory pulled her back with vivid precision.

Chetna had been anxious, excitement and nerves battling inside her as she rushed into the upscale café. Her thoughts buzzed with anticipation about the meeting she had been waiting for, the one that could change her life. With trembling hands, she grabbed a coffee from the counter, barely noticing the barista's smile as she fumbled for her wallet. Her heart raced, but her focus was already elsewhere—on the message she was typing to her mentor, confirming the time, the place, the importance of the moment. She didn't even glance up as she made her way toward a small table tucked in the far corner of the café, the perfect spot to compose herself.

But then it happened.

Her body collided with something—or someone—solid, and in an instant, everything slowed. The coffee cup tipped, its contents splashing across the front of an impeccably tailored suit. Shock rippled through her as she stumbled back, wide-eyed, her phone slipping from her grasp and clattering to the floor.

"Oh God, no," she whispered, her breath catching as she took in the damage she had done.

Before she could react, an outraged voice cut through the moment. "What have you done?" A woman in an elegant suit, clearly the assistant, rushed forward, eyes blazing as she attempted to blot the dark stain now spreading across the expensive fabric. "Do you have any idea what this suit costs? You've ruined an Armani! Completely spoiled it!"

Chetna's heart dropped. "I'm so, so sorry!" she stammered, her voice rising in panic as her hands flew to her mouth. "I didn't see you—I wasn't paying attention—I'll pay for the dry cleaning! I promise, I—"

"Pay for it?" the assistant scoffed, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Do you have any idea what a suit like this costs? Your entire future couldn't cover the cleaning bill, let alone the suit itself!"

Chetna felt the heat rise to her cheeks, shame washing over her in waves. Her thoughts raced, scrambling for a way to make it right, to undo the collision that now felt like a fateful, irreversible mistake.

But then, the man spoke.

"Ms. Nita, that's enough," he said, his voice calm, commanding. Chetna looked up to meet his gaze, her breath catching in her throat. His face was a mask of unreadable emotion—strong jawline, intense eyes—but the anger she had expected wasn't there. Instead, something far more unsettling flickered across his features. His voice softened, though his authority remained. "Let her go. It's fine."

The assistant hesitated, clearly frustrated, but said nothing more, stepping aside. Chetna, still reeling, could only manage a quiet nod as she murmured her apologies again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Thank you," she said, stepping back awkwardly, her pulse still racing. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle, as if he was trying to read her in that split second. He didn't say another word, just brushed past her, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air between them.

As he moved toward the exit, he turned his head slightly, just for a moment, and glanced back at her. His expression softened in a way that caught her off guard, the hardened businessman she had heard whispers about seeming to waver, revealing a brief glimpse of something... different.

Chetna stood there, frozen, watching as he disappeared through the door, leaving her with a strange, disorienting sense of connection. That moment, though brief, would change everything.

Chetna snapped out of her reverie, the cold, harsh reality crashing back over her. His voice still echoed in her mind, each word like a cruel reminder of the chains that now bound her.

"Just keep this in mind: from now onwards, I own every single inch of you. You won't do a single thing without my permission."

The words cut deep, filling her with a sense of dread and helplessness. But it wasn't just that moment that haunted her—it was the memory of that night. The night everything started to shift.

Chetna had managed to reach the presidential suite of the hotel, a place few could access. But driven by guilt and the need for closure, she had found a way. She nervously rang the doorbell, her heart pounding, unsure of what to expect. When the door opened, her breath caught in her throat.

There he was.

Dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, his hair slightly damp, he stood in the doorway with an air of effortless dominance. The soft lighting from inside the suite cast shadows across his chiseled features, making him appear both dangerous and alluring. His toned chest and the casual way he leaned against the doorframe made her heart race in a way that unsettled her. She hadn't expected to see him like this—vulnerable yet completely in control.

His eyes scanned her from head to toe, an expression of mild surprise flickering across his face, quickly replaced by his usual cold detachment. "Yes?" he said, his voice deep and curt, pulling her out of her daze.

"I-I..." she stuttered, her throat dry as she struggled to form words. "I came to—"

"Be faster," he cut in, his tone sharp with impatience. "I don't have time."

Her palms grew sweaty, and she could feel her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "That suit... the one I ruined... It was very expensive, and I—I feel horrible about it. Please, let me get it dry cleaned. I'm so sorry."

He looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "No, it's fine," he finally said, his words clipped.

"Please," she begged, her voice wavering. "I feel guilty, I want to make it right."

Without another word, he closed the door in her face.

The sound of the lock clicking shut felt like a slap, and Chetna stood there, stunned, staring at the closed door. The rejection stung more than she'd anticipated. She had hoped for some kind of acknowledgment, maybe even forgiveness. But instead, it felt as though he'd dismissed her entirely. Fighting the wave of disappointment, she turned and began to walk away.

Just as she was about to round the corner, she heard the soft click of the door unlocking again.

Her heart leaped in her chest as he stepped out into the hallway, his expression as unreadable as before. He took slow, deliberate steps toward her, each one making her pulse quicken, her body betraying her with an unfamiliar sensation. His presence was magnetic, and she felt an almost dizzying attraction as he closed the distance between them. The air between them grew thick with tension.

He moved closer, until she was pressed against the wall, her back to the cold surface as he leaned in. His eyes, sharp and dark, bored into hers, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. His proximity sent a rush of warmth through her body, and her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out any coherent thought.

"There you go," he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

It took a second for her to register that he was holding the Armani suit in his hand, offering it to her. Her eyes flicked from his face to the suit, and she hesitated for a brief moment before reaching out. As her fingers brushed against his, a jolt of electricity shot through her, sending her heart racing even faster.

She quickly pulled the suit from his grip, muttering a hurried "thank you" as she clutched it to her chest. Without another word, she spun on her heels and fled down the hallway, her mind reeling from the encounter.

But even as she ran, the sensation of his touch lingered on her skin, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—something dangerous, something she wasn't prepared to face.

Chetna snapped out of the whirlpool of thoughts that had consumed her. Her mind was still reeling from the events of the past few days, struggling to comprehend the cruelty she had witnessed. She hadn't expected him to be so cold, so utterly ruthless. His words and actions had shaken her to the core, leaving her in a state of disbelief. This wasn't the man she thought she had known—not even close.

Before she could gather herself, the door flew open with a crash. He stormed into the room, his expression dark and seething with rage. The air seemed to shift, thickening with tension as his piercing eyes locked onto her. Without a word, he crossed the room in swift strides and grabbed her by the arms. His grip was firm, unyielding, almost painful as he pulled her close. His face hovered just inches from hers, the fury etched into his features making her heart hammer in her chest.

His eyes, blazing with anger, bored into hers. Every ounce of warmth or humanity he had once shown seemed to have vanished, replaced by an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. His hand shot up to her face, cupping her cheek tightly—too tightly—forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Remember this, Chetna," he growled, his voice low and menacing. Each word dripped with venom, laced with a dangerous edge. "You are my property. My captive. Be ready to spend the rest of your life with me—" he paused, his fingers pressing harder into her skin, "—with this devil."

Her breath hitched as the weight of his words settled over her, suffocating her with the reality of her situation. She could feel the hot sting of tears welling in her eyes, but she forced them back, refusing to let him see her break. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

He held her there for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering, as if to ensure his words had sunk in. Then, without waiting for a response, he released her face abruptly, as though disgusted, and turned away. The air in the room felt colder as he left, leaving Chetna standing there, trembling from the encounter.

The door slammed shut behind him, echoing through the room, but his words hung in the air, a cruel reminder of the prison she now found herself in.