Every image had been taken carefully. The angles were thoughtful. The lighting intentional. Each moment chosen.
In one frame, she leaned over Raghav’s desk, finger extended toward a spreadsheet. Confidence radiated from her posture. She looked capable. Powerful.
In another, she crossed the lobby, bag on her shoulder, spine straight, chin lifted, untouchable.
Further down, her face filled the frame as she hugged the plush puppy to her chest. Surprise. Joy. Unfiltered.
Her fingers reached out, hovering just above the surface of a photo in which she was gazing out his office window. The light had caught her features perfectly, highlighting the clean line of her jaw, the slight furrow between her brows.
She moved deeper into the suite and stopped before a photograph that stole the air from her lungs.
It was from the break room. The call with her mother. Her head was tilted back in laughter, throat exposed, eyes squeezed shutin unfiltered joy. The woman in that image looked untouchable. Free. Alive. It was the most honest portrait she had ever seen of herself.
And it could only have been known to someone who was watching her closely.
Her pulse began to thud against her ribs.
Only one man had access. Only one man had the control, the resources, the precision to orchestrate something like this.
Only one man had looked at her with that intensity. Her breath turned shallow.
Raghav.
Of course it was him. There could be no one else but him.
The air shifted behind her. She felt it before she heard him, his voice, low and familiar, sending a shiver down her spine.
“I wanted you to see yourself through my eyes.”
Chapter 15
Ishani turned slowly, her pulse stumbling in her chest.
Raghav stood just inside the doorway, framed by the warm amber light behind him. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
He didn’t look like the man who ruled a boardroom with a glance.
The suit was gone. In its place, a dark silk shirt clung to his frame, the top buttons undone, exposing the strong line of his throat. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing lean muscle and the gleam of his watch against his skin. Black trousers sat low on his hips, effortless, dangerous. His hair was slightly disordered, as if he had dragged his hands through it one too many times while waiting.
But it was the way he looked at her that unraveled her.
His gaze moved slowly. From the diamonds resting against her collarbone… to the curve of silk at her waist… to the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
He didn’t rush. He absorbed.
And Ishani felt it. Every inch of that attention. It slid over her skin like a touch without contact. Her spine straightened instinctively, but her fingers tightened around her clutch. Heat crept up her neck under the weight of his scrutiny.
His jaw flexed once. Then he stepped fully into the suite.
He slid his hands into his pockets, burying them there as if restraining himself. The movement tightened the fabric of hisshirt across his chest. He stopped several feet away. The distance felt deliberate. Claimed, but contained.
Her lips parted before sound came. “It was you.” Her gaze swept the room, the roses, the photographs. “All of it. The roses. The bracelet. The chocolates.” Her breath faltered. “This.”
“Yes.” He said quietly, voice lower than she had ever heard it.
He took another step closer. Not enough to touch. Enough to change the air between them. His scent wrapped around her, richer now, less restrained than the controlled version he wore to the office.
“Why?” The word left her unsteady. “Why this? Why not just tell me?”