The moment Kaya Kapoor stepped into Asher Sinclair's cabin, the temperature dropped.
Not gradually.
Not subtly.
It was immediate—like she had crossed an invisible threshold where warmth was no longer permitted.
A cold draft slid across her skin, sharp enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. She paused just inside the doorway, her instincts screaming that something was wrong.
The lights seemed dimmer here, cooler. The air heavier. Even the faint hum of the city outside felt muted, as if the glass walls were designed to keep sound—and mercy—out.
The door closed behind her.
The click echoed far louder than it should have.
Asher Sinclair stood behind his desk, back to her, shoulders relaxed, posture infuriatingly composed. His jacket was folded neatly over the chair, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He was looking down at something on his tablet, utterly unbothered by the fact that a woman was silently panicking behind him.
For a brief, delusional second, Kaya thought—
Maybe he forgot.
That hope died instantly.
"Lock the door."
The command was calm. Controlled.
Absolute.
Kaya's soul exited her body.
Her spirit took one look at the situation, whispered absolutely not, and vanished.
Her hand hovered near the lock as her brain detonated.
Okay. Fine. This is happening.
He's not firing me. He's killing me.
This is why they tell you not to provoke rich men with power issues.
She turned slowly, every movement exaggerated by fear, and locked the door. The sound was final. Decisive. Like the punctuation at the end of a very bad sentence.
Great. Fantastic. Now we're trapped.
Her thoughts spiraled instantly, overlapping and dramatic.
No witnesses. No HR. No email trail.
This is going to be a Netflix documentary. "She was last seen entering her boss's office."
She swallowed hard and turned back to him.
Asher still hadn't moved.
Oh God
He's letting the suspense build.
Serial killer behavior.
She inhaled sharply, chest tight, heart pounding so loudly she was convinced he could hear it.
And then—
she broke.
"I'm sorry."
The word burst out of her mouth like a gunshot.
"I'm really, really sorry, sir," she continued without taking a breath, panic propelling her forward. "About last night and the party and leaving and talking back and existing too loudly and—"
Asher turned.
She didn't stop.
"I swear it wasn't intentional-intentional," she rushed on, hands gesturing wildly now. "It was more like emotionally reactive and poorly judged but not malicious and definitely not treason—"
"Kaya."
She plowed straight through his attempt to interrupt.
"I completely understand if you want to fire me," she said rapidly, eyes wide, voice trembling just enough to be convincing.
"Honestly, I probably deserve it. And I'll leave quietly. Today. Right now. I'll clean my desk. I won't argue. I won't cry. I won't even ask for references."
She paused for half a second.
"I'll disappear."
Asher stared at her.
She kept going.
"I'll move cities. Countries. Continents. I'll switch industries. I'll become a florist. Or a monk. I'll delete LinkedIn."
She finally ran out of breath.
Silence crashed down between them.
Asher looked at her the way one might look at a situation they hadn't planned for—but now had to manage.
Then he spoke.
"No."
One word.
Low. Firm. Immediate.
It cut through her panic like ice water.
Kaya blinked.
"No…?"
His jaw tightened—not in anger, but something sharper. Faster. Unfiltered.
"You don't leave."
The words came out harsher than he intended.
Too quick.
Too final.
They landed in the room with weight.
Kaya felt something strange flicker in her chest.
Not fear.
Not relief.
Something… off.
Her brain tried to label it and failed.
But before she could react, Asher had already turned away, the moment discarded as if it had never happened.
"Sit,"
he said, moving back toward his desk.
She sat automatically, body obeying before thought could catch up.
"I need the revised Ardent projections by evening," he continued, tone neutral again. "Coordinate with finance and legal. Push tomorrow's investor call to Thursday."
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"…Sir?"
He didn't look at her. "Is there a problem?"
She stared at him.
Did he just—
"You didn't…," she began carefully, "…respond to my apology."
Asher finally lifted his gaze.
"What apology?"
Her left eye twitched.
"The one where I emotionally self-destructed for two minutes straight," she muttered.
"I didn't hear anything relevant," he said calmly.
"Do your job."
Dismissed.
Just like that.
Kaya stood on unsteady legs, brain buzzing.
He didn't fire me.
He didn't yell.
He didn't murder me.
God is real.
She walked to the door, still half-expecting him to stop her.
He didn't.
She unlocked it and stepped out.
The executive floor was packed.
Every single employee stood there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Riya rushed forward first. "ARE YOU ALIVE?"
Kaya blinked. "Yes."
"Did he fire you?"
"No."
"Did he yell?"
"No."
A pause.
Someone whispered, "Did he smile?"
Kaya shuddered. "Let's not speculate."
She lifted her arms slowly, dramatically.
"I am going to live a few more years," she announced.
The floor erupted.
Cheers. Applause. Someone actually clapped.
"GO, QUEEN!" someone yelled.
Kaya bowed slightly. "Thank you. Thank you. I'll be here all week."
She returned to her desk, whispering, "Thank you, God," under her breath like she had narrowly escaped a cult initiation.
She opened her laptop.
And got to work.
Asher Sinclair remained exactly where he was long after the door to his cabin closed.
The sounds of the executive floor returned gradually—muffled voices, footsteps, the low hum of productivity resuming outside the glass walls. From the outside, everything looked normal again.
Inside, it wasn't.
He stood behind his desk, hands resting flat on the surface, eyes unfocused for the first time in years.
You don't leave.
The words echoed back in his mind, uninvited.
He hadn't planned to say them.
They hadn't been calculated, weighed, or filtered through strategy. They had come from somewhere deeper—faster than thought, sharper than intention.
Instinct.
Asher exhaled slowly, straightening, as if physical posture could correct a mental misstep.
"That was unnecessary," he murmured to the empty room.
He prided himself on control. On precision. On never reacting—only acting.
And yet, when she had said I'll leave, something inside him had surged forward before reason could intervene.
Not anger.
Something worse.
He dismissed the thought and picked up his tablet, forcing his attention back to work. Numbers. Projections. Deadlines. Things that made sense.
Minutes passed.
His focus did not return.
Without consciously deciding to, his gaze drifted toward the discreet screen embedded into the side panel of his desk.
The CCTV feed.
He rarely used it. It existed for security, efficiency—oversight, not obsession.
The screen flickered to life.
Kaya sat at her desk, already immersed in work, posture straight, expression serious again. Her earlier panic was gone, replaced by the calm efficiency she wore like armor.
Unaware.
Unbothered.
Safe.
For now.
A slow, involuntary smirk touched the corner of Asher's mouth.
"So," he said quietly, "you stayed."
The room did not answer.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed on the screen. Watching the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her brows furrowed slightly as she concentrated.
She had thanked God when she walked out.
He had noticed.
The irony almost amused him.
Asher's gaze darkened.
You think this was mercy.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her like a variable he hadn't accounted for—but now intended to.
"You're mistaken," he said softly.
He turned the screen off.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Asher stood and walked to the window, the city stretching endlessly below. New York moved fast—careless, unaware of the quiet shifts that determined who rose and who fell.
Punishment, he knew, was most effective when delayed.
When the subject believed themselves safe.
When relief had time to settle.
"Enjoy your calm," he murmured to the reflection in the glass.
"Enjoy your normal days."
His jaw tightened, the smirk fading into something colder.
"Because when it begins," he continued evenly, "you won't confuse it with anger."
A pause.
"You'll understand it as consequence."
Asher turned back toward his desk, already planning, already recalibrating.
Behind the glass walls, Kaya Kapoor worked diligently, completely unaware that she had not escaped anything at all.
She had only postponed it.