Monday morning in Mumbai.

Heavy rain. Heavy traffic. Heavy mood.

Diya stood under a narrow shop shade, clutching her bag close as water dripped from her dupatta. She was late-again. And of course, the weather had to act like a dramatic villain.

She had been interning at the RK Talent Management Company for the last two months, and if she was late one more time... her supervisor would probably eat her alive.

As the rain finally slowed, Diya ran through the gates of the building, water splashing beneath her sandals. Her breath was uneven.

"Ugh, not again," she mumbled.

The automatic entry gate was stuck-jammed due to an electricity issue.

She stood in front of a sleek black car parked just outside the main gate. The windows were pitch-dark, impossible to see through-but the glass reflected her flustered face perfectly.

She fixed her wet hair with her fingers, sighing.

"Great. First the rain, now the gate... what next? A celebrity jumpscare?"

She didn't know that behind that dark window, someone was already watching her.

W The man watching her wasn't some random guy.

He was none other than Director Aryan Khan - powerful, sharp, unpredictable. And right now, completely still.

His eyes were locked on the girl standing just outside his car. She bent a little, adjusting her bindi, blinking her big, deep black eyes at her reflection in the glass - making weird little annoyed faces at herself, unaware of the man sitting inches away.

Aryan watched... and for some reason, smiled.

But the smile vanished in the next second.

A sudden breeze hit, and her dupatta slipped down, revealing a soft but bold curve of her cleavage - enough to make his gaze pause, his jaw clench slightly.

Shit.

His breath grew heavier. Not in a dramatic way - but in that raw, manly silence that said something inside him just stirred.

He leaned slightly forward, still inside the car, still watching.

And then-

> "Diyaaa! Gate's working! Jaldi aa!"

Her friend's voice broke through the moment like a slap.

"Give the supervisor an excuse - tell him you were stuck behind the gate!"

Startled, Diya quickly fixed her dupatta, grabbed her bag, and ran inside.

Aryan watched her go, lips slightly parted. He wanted to stop her. Ask her name. Say something - anything.

But just then, his driver knocked on the window.

> "Let's go, Aryan baba. Gate's working now."

Aryan leaned back in his seat, silent.

But his eyes stayed on the spot where she had just stood.

And his thoughts?

Still tangled in her bindi... her weird little faces... and that sudden glimpse of skin that now refused to leave his mind.

Diya entered the office, brushing the rain off her kurta and spotting her bestie right away.

> "Yaar aaj toh thodi si late ho gayi main... ab zyada na suna de supervisor," she mumbled.

Neha raised a brow with a smirk, arms folded.

> "This isn't your first time, madam. Aur waise bhi - aaj toh bol sakti hai 'Gate jam tha', don't worry."

Diya rolled her eyes with a sigh of relief.

> "Waise, tu jaanti hai aaj kaun aa raha hai office mein?" Neha whispered suddenly, walking beside her.

> "Kaun?" Diya asked.

> "Director Aryan Khan. He's coming for hiring a new manager."

> "Oh really?" Diya's voice went flat, but something in her heartbeat stuttered.

Just then the supervisor walked by, clearly under pressure.

> "Diya! Go make two cups of coffee - one for me, one for our client. Jaldi!"

Everyone knew - Diya wasn't just an intern. She was a coffee goddess. Even the supervisor, usually grumpy and tough, was weirdly obsessed with her handmade coffee.

Diya quickly made the two cups, placed them perfectly on a tray, and walked toward the conference cabin.

Inside, three high-profile seniors stood in front of none other than Aryan Khan.

His presence was calm... too calm. Suited up, eyes sharp, body language unreadable - until her.

As she stepped in with the tray, Aryan's gaze snapped toward her.

She didn't notice.

But he did.

Her wet strands clung to her cheek, her lips slightly parted as she focused on not spilling the tray. The subtle swing of her kurta... the clink of the cup on the table... it all played in slow motion to Aryan.

> The same girl. Bindi girl. Cleavage flash. Weird faces. And now... standing right in front of him.

Diya served the coffees silently and turned to leave.

> "Ruko." Aryan's voice cut through the air like glass.

"Ruko"

The room went silent.

Diya's heart skipped. She turned slowly, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta.

Aryan's voice came again, deep and direct.

> "Come here. What's your name?"

Diya looked up at him, shy but steady.

> "D-Diya..." she replied softly, almost like a whisper.

Mr. Tripathi - the supervisor - immediately stepped forward, trying to take control of the moment.

> "Sir, she's just an intern. Only been here for two months."

Aryan didn't take his eyes off her.

> "She's your employee?"

> "No no, sir," Mr. Tripathi stammered, "Just internship... training phase, sir."

Aryan leaned back in his seat, eyes still fixed on Diya, lips curled in something between a smirk and a question.

> "I want to ask you something, Diya."

She stood straight, a little confused.

> "Would you like to work for me... as a manager?"

Her world stopped for a second.

Eyes wide, breath stuck, heart pounding -

She had just come here soaked in rain to serve coffee.

> A manager? Of Aryan Khan?

Mr. Tripathi looked like he'd swallowed his own tongue.

> "Do you?" Aryan asked again, voice lower... dead serious.

Diya blinked fast, her lips parted.

> "Y-yes..." she whispered, trying to steady her voice.

"Yes, sir."

A small smile tugged at Aryan's lips.

And just like that... the girl who couldn't even enter the gate this morning...

Was walking straight into the director's world.

Diya couldn't stop smiling as she walked out of the office that day.

A job - under Aryan Khan - it still felt unreal.

> Famous celebrity. Big director. Her boss now.

But what she didn't see...

was Aryan standing behind the tinted glass cabin wall, eyes following her every move like a silent storm.

Behind him, Mr. Tripathi tried to speak, voice low but unsure.

> "Sir, with all due respect... Diya is just an intern. She's not experienced - not even fully qualified for this role."

Aryan turned his head slowly.

> "Don't teach me how to choose people," he said calmly.

"Experience doesn't matter. Interns work harder... because they have to prove something."

Then, with a small smirk forming on his lips, he added - voice darker, lower:

> "Aur intern waale... sab kuch karte hain jo unke boss bolte hain."

He chuckled lightly, the room filling with tension.

That night, Diya received a message from an unknown number:

> Aryan Khan

"Be ready at 9 AM. Here's the address."

The next morning, Diya stood in front of the mirror - nervous, excited, a little breathless.

She wore a sky blue long frock suit, choodiyan jingling softly, matching jhumkas, and a simple black bindi that framed her forehead perfectly.

> "It's just work. It's just a job," she kept telling herself... even though her heart wasn't listening.

At exactly 9:00, she rang the bell of a high-rise apartment.

No staff. No security.

Just him.

> "Come in," Aryan's voice echoed from inside.

She stepped in - her eyes scanning the expensive apartment, quiet and too empty for someone that rich.

> "Come to my room," he called again, casually.

Her sandals tapped softly on the marble floor as she walked into his room... and stopped.

Her eyes widened.

Throat dry.

Heart skipped.

With a big sirrrrrr

Diya stood frozen near the door, her heart hammering in her chest.

There he was - Aryan Khan, shirtless, back half-turned as he wiped his damp hair with a towel. His bare torso was sculpted, skin glistening under the soft golden light that peeked through the curtains.

But before she could gather her breath,

he casually dropped the towel on the bed......and began removing the rest of his clothes.

Her eyes widened.

> "S-Sir-!" she gasped, her voice trembling.

Without looking at her, he smirked.

> "Sun liya maine..."

He turned slightly, locking eyes with her - his voice calm but wicked.

"Iski aadat dal lo tumhe... bahut jald."

Diya swallowed hard, unable to move, her hand still gripping the edge of her dupatta tightly.

Her throat was dry. Her legs refused to move.

> What kind of job was this?

What did he mean by that?

Was he testing her? Teasing her? Or was it something more... dangerous?

Aryan walked to his wardrobe, now wearing only his pants, his body relaxed as if nothing was unusual.

> "Don't stand like a statue, manager," he said over his shoulder.

"Come in. And close the door."

Diya stepped in slowly, mind spinning, cheeks burning. She closed the door behind her... not knowing that it wasn't just the room she was locking herself into -

> It was Aryan Khan's world.

His rules.

His darkness.

And now... his new addiction is

She.

Diya was standing silently, her heart still trying to calm down from the shirtless shock she'd just had.

Her mind was racing with questions, but then Aryan's voice broke through the storm.

> "Did you have your breakfast?"

She blinked, caught off guard.

> "N-Na..."

Aryan turned toward her fully now, one eyebrow raised.

> "Ohhh... toh bhookhi ho?"

Without waiting, he stepped toward the dining area, grabbing his phone.

> "Go to the kitchen. Make breakfast - for both of us. And eat if you want."

Then he looked at her over his shoulder, smile now darker, teasing... and a little dangerous.

> "Aur suno... mujhe bahut bhook lagi hai. Agar tumne acha breakfast nahi banaya na... toh main tumhe kha jaunga."

"Aur yeh koi mazak nahi hai."

Diya's breath hitched.

> "A-ap mujhe kha jaoge...?" she whispered, eyes wide in half-shock, half-confusion.

Aryan smirked and walked closer, stopping just a foot away.

> "Yes, my dear manager."

His eyes scanned her from top to bottom.

"Because in this blue suit... you look like a blueberry cake

"Aur mujhe blueberry cake se zyada kuch pasand nahi."

She froze.

> Was he flirting? Threatening? Or both?

Before she could react, Aryan turned away.

> "Go and make it. I'll be there in a second."

In the next room, Diya stood in the kitchen, staring at the stove.

> Is this what working for Aryan Khan feels like?

Cooking... in his apartment... while he's shirtless... and calling me food?

Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the ingredients.

> But somewhere deep down... she didn't hate it.

To be continue...