Aanya's eyes fluttered open.
The sunlight streamed in through the half-drawn curtains, casting a golden glow across the room — and across him.
Riaan Khurana.
Asleep beside her.
For once, unguarded. His jaw relaxed, lashes long against his skin, one arm slung lazily across her waist.
She studied him like a secret she wasn't supposed to know.
But she knew him now. Every kiss. Every scar. Every weakness.
And still, he hadn't said a word about what it meant.
She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, pulling his shirt around her bare frame.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
And clarity.
—Ten minutes later, she stood in his sleek kitchen, sipping slowly, staring out the window.
And that's when she heard it.
A knock.
Firm. Sharp.
Followed by a voice.
"Riaan? Open the damn door. We're late for the foundation press meet."
Aanya's heart stopped.
A woman. Confident. Familiar.
She looked around wildly — the clothes on the floor, her heels in the hall, the open bedroom door.
Shit.
The knock came again. "Riaan, I know you're home. I saw your car downstairs!"
She froze.
She knew that voice.Sanya Mehra. PR director. His ex. The one still seen at events on his arm sometimes.
Her blood ran cold.
Suddenly, footsteps behind her.
Riaan.
Shirtless, sleepy-eyed… and then, alert.
"Get back to the room," he said quickly.
"But—"
"Now, Aanya."
She ran. Silent. Barefoot. Heart thundering.
He grabbed a hoodie, smoothed his hair, and opened the door halfway.
"Sanya," he said flatly.
"Don't 'Sanya' me," she snapped, pushing the door open. "We're already behind schedule and—"
She froze.
Her eyes dropped to the two mugs on the counter.
The tiny earring near the sink.
Then her gaze snapped to the bedroom door.
"What the hell, Riaan," she whispered.
"It's none of your business," he said, voice cold.
But she smiled. Slowly. Wickedly.
"Oh, but it will be," she said. "Let's see how the board reacts to your… taste in assistants."
And just like that—
The secret they thought they were hiding?
Was no longer safe.