The first thing I noticed about my new office was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The expensive kind.
Glass walls. A sleek desk. A chair that probably cost more than my rent.
And right beside me—separated by a single pane of glass—was his office.
Arvan Raichand.
My CEO.
My mistake.
My problem.
I sat down slowly, heart still racing, fingers trembling as I placed my bag on the desk.
This couldn't be real.
I hadn't even survived one full day as a normal employee before being pulled into his orbit.
I opened my email, trying to focus.
Schedules. Meetings. Documents.
Work.
Just work.
A shadow passed outside the glass.
My pulse jumped.
He stood there—tie loosened slightly, sleeves rolled up, phone pressed to his ear. His expression was sharp, focused, powerful.
Completely different from the man who held me in the dark.
He glanced toward my office.
Our eyes met.
Something unreadable flickered across his face.
Then he looked away.
I exhaled slowly.
Good.
Distance.
Professional.
Five minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Arvan Raichand:
Come to my office.
My heart dropped.
I stood, legs shaky, and walked the short distance that felt far too long.
His office was minimalist—dark wood, steel, glass. Cold.
Just like him.
Except it wasn't.
Not when he was this close.
"Close the door," he said without looking up.
I did.
Silence.
Then he finally raised his eyes.
"You're nervous."
"I'm new," I replied. "That's normal."
He tilted his head slightly. "Not this level."
I swallowed.
"This arrangement makes you uncomfortable," he continued calmly.
"It's not appropriate," I said before I could stop myself.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Is that what you think?"
"Yes," I answered. "You're my boss."
"And last night?" he asked quietly.
My breath caught.
"That was an accident."
"Was it?" His gaze sharpened. "You didn't leave immediately."
I clenched my fists. "I was exhausted."
"And hurting," he added.
I froze.
He noticed.
"I'm not judging you," he said. "I'm explaining why I didn't stop it either."
That hit harder than anything.
"I don't expect anything from you," he continued. "No favors. No intimacy. No blurred lines."
Relief washed through me.
"But," he added, stepping closer, "I do expect honesty."
"About what?"
"About how you feel when you're around me."
My chest tightened.
"That's not fair."
He studied me quietly.
"Neither is pretending nothing happened."
I looked away.
He didn't push.
Instead, he moved back behind his desk, professionalism snapping into place like armor.
"Your first task," he said, sliding a file toward me. "Review these designs. I want your opinion."
"My opinion?"
"Yes."
"You trust me already?"
His eyes lifted again.
"I wouldn't have moved you here if I didn't."
My heart skipped.
I took the file, nodding.
"Go," he said. "Work."
I turned to leave.
"Mira."
I stopped.
He didn't look up when he spoke.
"You're safe here."
I didn't know why—but those four words stayed with me all day.
Because somehow…
I believed him.