I leaned against the doorframe, trying to look unimpressed by my own brilliance. I’d transformed the space into a masterclass of "Intimidating Chic." I traded his old, cluttered table for a massive obsidian-dark desk that sat at the center of the room like a silent judge. Behind it sat a black leather chair so plush it looked like it could swallow a man whole, yet so structured it practically screamed, “I am the CEO.”
The wall behind the desk was now a textured dark stone, serving as a moody backdrop for a glowing cityscape painting. To the side, I’d installed built-in shelves where I’d curated a collection of small sculptures and leather-bound books, most of which I suspected he’d never actually read, but they looked fantastic under the soft recessed lighting.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Mrs. Chauhan,” Abhiraj said, stepping toward the wide window that overlooked the city. The wooden floors gleamed under his designer shoes. He looked at me, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’re beautiful, cultured, and clearly have a talent for making me look more sophisticated than I actually am. Honestly, if I’d found a woman like you years ago, I would’ve been a married man by now.”
I crossed my arms, unimpressed by the charm offensive. “Well, you might actually make a decent husband if you stopped acting like a high-end escort for the socialite set.”
Abhiraj let out a startled bark of laughter. “An escort? I prefer the term 'eligible bachelor.'”
“I heard you dated that Supermodel last month,” I countered, my voice dry. “And then dumped her the moment the ‘novelty’ wore off. Or, to put it in your terms, as soon as you got what you wanted.”
“Getting what I wanted?” He adjusted his cufflinks, not looking the least bit offended. In fact, he looked delighted. “Mrs. Chauhan, that sounds dangerously close to a personal interest in my love life. Don’t believe the rumors; they’re toxic for the soul.”
“Rumors are usually just truths that people aren't brave enough to sign their names to,” I said, flashing a practiced, professional smile.
“I’ve learned to be unbothered,” he said, finally dropping into the new leather chair and spinning it toward the window. He looked like a villain in a Bond movie, minus the white cat. “The media creates stories based on whatever sells the most tabloids. If I cared what they thought, I’d never get out of bed.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered. “Some of us actually care about our reputations.”
“And that is why you’ll stay small,” he said, spinning back to face me, his expression suddenly sharp and perceptive. “If you let yourself be crushed by the weight of what strangers assumeabout you, you’ll never have room to grow. You’re too talented to be this worried about what the neighbors think.”
I blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift from flirtation to genuine advice.
“Anyway,” he continued, his tone light again. “Since I’m so thrilled with the fact that my office now looks like a fortress of power, I’m doubling your bonus.”
“You don’t have to do that…”
“I’ve already authorized the transfer. There is no room for argument,” he said, standing up and glancing at his watch. “Now, will you excuse me? I have an important call with a man who is much less attractive than you and significantly more annoying.”
“Right. I should leave,” I said, grabbing my purse and heading for the door before he could offer me anything else I didn’t know how to handle.
“One more thing!” he called out. I stopped and turned.
“Can you join me for dinner tonight? With your father-in-law? I’m throwing a small party for my grandmother’s birthday. She’s seventy-five, terrifying, and she’d love you.”
I looked at his face, searching for a joke, but he looked surprisingly sincere.
“I’ll try,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “But I can’t guarantee it. Wish your grandmother a happy birthday for me.”
Abhiraj simply nodded, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face as I turned and walked out, my heart doing a very unprofessional little skip in my chest.
What the hell was that?
_______
“Have you taken your medicine?” I asked my father-in-law while entering the room.
He was tucked away in his study, hunched over his laptop. As I set a cup of black coffee on the desk, his hand flew to the mouse, clicking back to the home screen but not before I caught the words Brain Tumor in bold letters.
“I … I was just about to,” he murmured. His voice wavered, and his hands shook as he reached for the pillbox. “See? Taking it now.”
I glanced at the clock. It was five in the evening; he was an hour late. I planted my hands on my hips, throwing him a stern look.
“You’re getting so buried in work that you’re ignoring your health again.”
It had been three months since the "incident," and while he was doing better, the image of him pale and still in a hospital bed remained burned into my mind. The doctors had been clear: his recovery was fragile. If he didn't rest, his life was at risk.
I had managed to convince him to only go into the office three times a week, handling the rest of the business from home while I picked up the slack. I needed him well, just as I needed tostay strong for my sister, Kirti. Her surgery was only six months away. I had saved six lakh so far, but the remaining balance felt like a mountain I couldn't climb. I’d considered asking Mr. Chauhan for the money, but I didn't want to burden him while he was ill. Besides, I wasn't even sure if he knew I had a sister.