Meera
The party was a week behind me, but he was still there.
In the backs of my thoughts, in the idle scroll through my phone, in the way my fingers lingered over a certain rooftop photo I didn't mean to keep. He existed now in the quiet in-betweens.
And I hated that I noticed.
Yuri noticed too.
"Stop rereading your calendar like it owes you closure," she said, leaning against the glass wall of the 45th floor conference room. She looked immaculate, as always—fitted cream blazer, sharp black nails tapping rhythm on her tablet.
"I'm mentally prepping," I replied coolly.
"You're mentally spiraling."
"I don't spiral."
"You kissed him."
I shot her a glare.
"Correction," she added with a grin, "he kissed you and now you've got post-traumatic swoon disorder."
I was saved by the click of stilettos—our client lead, legal, finance—all filtering in. It was time for what should have been the most boring meeting of my month: a crunch session on a hedge acquisition for a luxury real estate portfolio. Thrilling.
I stood, shoulders squared. Everything in place. Ice queen restored.
Yuri gave me a wink. "Numbers over nonsense."
Ten minutes in, we were already dissecting projections when it happened.
The door opened again.
I didn't look up at first.
Then I heard his voice.
"Apologies—last-minute invite. There was a medical infrastructure angle involved, I believe."
My chest tightened. And when I finally glanced up, Aarav Malhotra stepped inside in a slate grey suit that looked dangerous on his frame. He didn't belong here—and yet he owned the space the second he entered.
His eyes locked on mine.
No smirk. No grin.
Just heat.
He slid into the empty chair beside me without missing a beat, as if he'd been expected. The rest of the room barely noticed.
But I did.
He leaned over slightly and muttered low enough for only me to hear, "Miss me?"
I didn't respond.
I didn't need to.
His hand disappeared beneath the table, and before I could process, he "dropped" a pen. I felt him shift lower.
Then I felt his fingers brush my ankle.
Light. Teasing.
They skimmed along the strap of my heel, a whisper of contact—and then down, a thumb grazing skin.
I inhaled, sharp and silent.
He picked up the pen, straightened, and placed it on the table like nothing happened.
Yuri blinked at me.
I cleared my throat, picked up the numbers, and kept going like my pulse wasn't rioting beneath my skin.
That night, I dragged Yuri to the one place guaranteed to loosen my nerves—Noir, a low-lit, neon-drenched rooftop lounge in SoHo where the music throbbed like a second heartbeat and the drinks poured without pause.
We'd barely made it past our second round of espresso martinis when Yuri stiffened and turned with a slow, knowing grin.
"You're going to scream."
I followed her gaze.
And froze.
Aarav.
Black shirt, open collar. Sleeves rolled. Laughing with two other men—one older, the other tattooed, both exuding the same "don't mess with us" energy. Aryka's brothers, I realized belatedly.
But his eyes weren't on them.
They were on me.
I saw it happen—the moment he noticed me. The shift. His posture changed. His mouth curved—not a smile. A challenge.
Yuri leaned in. "We are not going home yet."
I took a breath. Lifted my chin. "I wasn't planning to."
The air inside Noir shimmered. Bodies swayed, lights pulsed, and across the room, Aarav stalked toward us like he had all the time in the world.
Yuri grabbed my drink. "I'll disappear in three seconds. Don't waste it."
I barely had time to reply before she slipped into the crowd like smoke.
He stopped inches from me. No touching. Just looking.
"You look like a problem," he said.
I arched a brow. "You look like the kind I could fix."
"You sure?" he murmured, stepping in close enough that his breath ghosted over my cheek. "You've been running every time I get near you."
"Maybe I'm giving you a chance to chase."
He leaned in closer. My skin burned.
"You're not scared of me," he said.
"No."
"You're scared of what you feel when I touch you."
And then—he did.
His hand found my hip. Gentle. Possessive.
Not claiming me.
Just reminding me.
That I let him in.
And that I wasn't sure I wanted him to leave.