Diya lived in a simple 2BHK rented flat with her friend Neha. The building was old-school-five floors, no lift-and Diya's room was on the 3rd floor. Every step she took climbing up felt heavier, not because of the stairs... but because of him.

Her boss's words echoed in her head.

"You'll do whatever I want."

His touch. That almost-kiss. The heat.

That damn finger-cut moment - she was just trying to help - but he'd nearly kissed her. Or did he?

"Ugh... what was that?!" she whispered under her breath.

As she opened the door, her friend Neha popped out of the room with a teasing smile.

"Whatt happened Diya?" she asked.

Diya avoided eye contact, "Nothing...

Diya muttered, shaking her head and walking in.

"Ohohooo, come on! Tell me! First day at job-how was it? Kya kiya tu ne?" Neha grinned, throwing a pillow on the couch.

Diya sat down and quietly said, "I... cooked breakfast for him."

Neha's jaw dropped. "Kyaaa!? Tumne uske liye khana banaya? Babe, tu manager bani hai ya personal chef?"

Diya sighed, "He said... and I did..."

Neha narrowed her eyes. "Wait a damn minute. Why do you look so rattled? Did he... did he touch you?"

Diya paused. That silence was enough of an answer.

"HAH! I knew it!" Neha almost shouted. "Yeh saale rich boys sab same hote hain. Ek raat ka khel hota hai unka. Shaam ko line marte hain, subah bhool jaate hain."

Diya quickly shook her head, "Nahi Neha! He's not like that. I don't think he's interested in me like that."

Neha rolled her eyes. "Babes... please. Look at yourself. That sexy figure of yours-no Gym, par mast curves!" She laughed. "Agar tu palu giraye naa... toh vo toh seedha tere jaal mein phasega!"

Diya blushed hard. "Shut up!"

"Haan haan, chupke se blush mat kar ab. Chal, kuch garam khate hain. Aur tujhe jaldi sona bhi hai. Kal tu phir uske saamne jaane wali hai, so you better keep your pallu tight and your heart tighter."

Diya reply with a laugh okay madam ...

It was Diya's official first day as Aryan Khan's manager.

She woke up sharp at 5 AM, determined not to be late. No excuses. No screw-ups.

By 6:30 AM, she stood outside Aryan's apartment. But unlike yesterday, the place wasn't empty. House helpers were moving around, prepping everything.

She dialed his number.

He picked up almost instantly.

"Ooooh... you're on time. Impressive," Aryan's voice rolled through the speaker like silk.

"Wait at the gate, I'm coming."

Moments later, he stepped out - dressed in white and blue. Her favorite combo.

Her lips curved into a soft smile.

"Good morning, sir."

Aryan smiled back. "Good morning, good morning. Alright, let's go."

"But sir... what about breakfast?" she asked softly.

He gave her a sideways glance. "Not your duty. Let's go - we've got a studio to check before shooting."

As they got into his luxury car - sleek, expensive, and unapologetically hot - Diya couldn't help but admire it again. But her attention snapped back when her phone rang.

She was already handling calls like a pro - replying to clients, setting meetings - slipping into her role.

By the time they reached the studio, Aryan's entire vibe had shifted.

Gone was the flirt.

This Aryan was cold, focused, and in full director mode.

Diya watched him work - no-nonsense, commanding, creative.

She felt something stir inside her. Respect? Attraction? Obsession? Maybe all of it.

By the time the last meeting ended, it was 11:30 PM.

Tired and a little spaced out, Diya heard a voice behind her.

"It's too late for a girl to be out like this."

She turned - Aryan.

"Yes... it is," she admitted softly. "But don't worry, I'll book a cab."

Aryan raised an eyebrow.

"Noo noo... you don't need to do this. I'll drop you."

She nodded, but before she could thank him, he added,

"But first... we're going to a party."

She almost said no on reflex - but then remembered his words from yesterday:

"Don't you dare say no to me."

So she smiled... awkwardly... and nodded again.

They reached a high-end club.

But at the entrance, the bouncer stopped Diya.

Western dress was mandatory.

And Diya? She was in a dark green, full-sleeved frock suit... with her dupatta draped modestly.

The guard eyed her like she didn't belong. "Ma'am, please change before entering."

Before Diya could say anything, Aryan stepped in.

He shot the guard a razor-sharp look.

"She is my girl."

The guard stepped back immediately. No more questions.

Inside, music was thumping, lights flashing, and the smell of alcohol hung heavy.

Diya sat in a corner - away from everyone. She didn't drink, didn't smoke... and frankly, she was exhausted. To avoid everything, she pulled out her phone and started scrolling quietly.

Aryan, a little distance away, stood with his friends, glass in hand. Laughing. Chatting.

But his eyes?

They were locked on her.

The quiet girl in green.

Suddenly, he handed his drink to someone, and started walking straight towards her...

Aryan silently sank into the sofa behind Diya. The strong smell of alcohol wrapped around her like smoke. She turned her head - and there he was, sitting right there, eyes heavy, smirk playing on his lips.

Startled, she quickly turned her head back.

But he wasn't done. He shifted, leaned in closer... his body brushing against hers. Diya could feel every inch of his slow, intoxicated movement. And then - his hand slid to her waist.

"And then - his hand slid to her waist."

Fingers lingered.

Creeping lower... softly teasing her thighs.

The softness turned into pressure - and before it could go further, Diya shot up.

"Sir, aapne zyada pee li hai," she snapped.

But Aryan didn't move. He was still slouched on the sofa, head tilted back, lips parted lazily.

Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her down, holding her close.

"Why are you angry at me?" he asked in the most boyish, innocent voice.

Then - he hugged her. Tight.

Diya froze. His body was warm. Breath hot.

But she realized - he was drunk. Really drunk.

He didn't know what he was doing.

"Let's go home, Aryan," she whispered firmly.

He pouted like a child. "No..."

Diya gave him that look.

"I said let's go. Matlab let's go."

And for the first time... Aryan looked scared of her.

"...Okay," he mumbled, obediently.

But now a new problem - how would they get home? He was clearly in no state to drive.

She didn't know how to drive either.

And booking two separate cabs - one to drop him, then one to her place? Way too expensive.

So she made a call. A bold one.

She decided to take him home. Her home.

Dragging a half-limp Aryan out of the club was chaos. He kept swaying, smiling like a kid, and refusing to stay quiet. But somehow, she shoved him into the backseat of the cab.

On the ride, Aryan fell asleep - head resting on her shoulder, one hand gripping hers. Like a lost boy holding on to the only thing he trusted.

They reached.

"Come with me, but silently," she whispered as she shook him gently awake.

Aryan blinked, looked around, and muttered:

"This isn't my home... are you trying to kidnap me?"

"Nahi nahi... main toh bas aapko apne ghar le aayi hoon," she said in a rush, dragging him toward the door, praying Neha didn't wake up.

She quietly unlocked the door and tiptoed inside, half-carrying Aryan to her bedroom.

She tried to make him sit on the bed.

But he pulled her down - hard.

Diya fell - right on top of him.

For a second, they both froze.

Their eyes locked. His were bloodshot but hungry. Intense. Unblinking.

Then... he rolled over, now on top of her.

Diya gasped.

Aryan was breathing hard. He wasn't saying a word. Just staring into her soul.

Then slowly... his hand slid down from her waist, across her stomach, to her belly.

Then higher.

To her neck.

And then...

He took hold of her dupatta... and slid it off.

Diya couldn't move.

Couldn't blink.

Couldn't breathe.

She felt hypnotized.

She couldn't move.

Couldn't speak.

Couldn't think.

Aryan's weight pressed her down like a fever - slow, hot, and unbearable. His chest crushed into hers, making it harder to breathe... but she didn't fight it.

She wanted to drown in that heat.

His lips touched her shoulder - no, not touched, claimed.

He sucked her skin like he owned it.

Then a sharp bite.

Right near her collarbone.

Her fingers gripped his back, desperate for control - but every graze of his mouth made her lose it all over again.

Then his teeth reached her ear.

And bit.

Hard.

"Ahhh! Hhh!..." Her voice broke in gasps.

Aryan looked up at her, his eyes dark - no longer the playful drunk, but the storm behind it.

He yanked off his white D'YAVOL hoodie and flung it down, landing right on Diya's chest, his scent soaking into her skin.

Then he pinned her again, rougher this time - lips crushing into her shoulder, hands sliding down like they had no rules.

She arched up, instinctively.

"Aaaaahhh!" she whimpered, half pain, half pleasure.

His hand slipped under her back, pulling her closer - chest to chest, heat to heat.

The air was heavy, electric, scream

ing for something to explode.

And then-

CRASH.

Something outside.

Loud.

Heavy.

Diya's eyes shot wide open.

That sound- not normal.

Panic rushed in like a slap. She pushed Aryan with sudden force - his head slammed into the corner of the bedframe.

He groaned, dazed. Still drunk. Still caught in his own haze.

Diya scrambled off the bed, grabbed her dupatta, and turned off the lights. Her hands were shaking, breath uneven. Her body was on fire, but her mind had flipped.

Phone. Torch. Knife.

She crept toward the main door.

And then-

She saw it.

A shadow.

Still. Tall. Right outside the gate. Watching.

She froze. Heart pounding out of her ribs.

She rushed to the door and locked it tight - double latch.

Then light.

Every switch in the hall and kitchen - on.

The silence was loud. Her hand reached for the kitchen drawer and wrapped around the first knife she saw.

She walked to Neha's room, whispering, "Neha... Neha... wake up."

Neha blinked. "Tu theek hai? Kya hua?"

"Koi hai ghar ke bahar tha . Main gate khula tha... aur ek shadow dekhi maine."

Neha sat up.

"Tera dimaag kharab ho gaya hai kya?" she groaned.

"Ye tera illusion hai. Tu hi gate khula chhod gayi hogi. Main check karti hoon."

Dragging Diya by the hand, Neha walked into the hall, looked around.

"Kaha hai tera bhoot?" she teased.

"Okay fine. Let's check your room, just to make your sure that there is no ghost on your bed she added, smirking.

Diya's throat went dry.

Neha was walking toward her room.

The room where Aryan Khan - shirtless, half-hard, breathless - was passed out in her bed.

And the air still smelled like everything that almost happened.

Neha was just about to open Diya's bedroom door when she suddenly stopped and turned.

"That alcohol smell is strong. It's coming from you," she said with a suspicious look. "Are you drunk?"

Diya froze. "No, no... vo club mai mere upar thodi si sharab gir gayi thi," she added quickly, faking a soft laugh.

"I think you're right, it was just an illusion. Tu jaake so ja... main nahane ja rahi hoon."

Neha nodded sleepily and walked off, shutting her door behind her.

Diya didn't waste a second. She rushed into her room, locked the door behind her, and leaned back, exhaling sharply.

Aryan was sprawled on her bed - half-covered, shirtless, passed out like a Greek god drunk on sin.

She bit her lip.

Without a word, she walked to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the steaming water.

The scent of alcohol lingered on her skin - but she knew it wasn't from the club. It was from him. From his lips on her neck, his hands on her body, his hunger on her skin.

Wrapped in a towel, she stepped out, standing before the mirror.

That's when she saw it.

Love bites.

Dark, bruised marks across her neck and shoulder. She blushed immediately, her breath caught.

Her fingers brushed them gently, remembering his lips, the way his tongue moved, how his breath had made her tremble.

But then- her heart dropped.

He was her boss.

And he had been drunk.

She shut her feelings down. Fast.

Pulled on black cotton shorts and an oversized full-sleeve T-shirt. No bra. No distractions. Or so she thought.

She stepped back into the room, and there he was... still shirtless, still hot enough to make her forget every damn rule.

She quietly approached, knelt beside him, and began removing his shoes and socks. Her fingers hesitated at the warmth of his skin - but she pulled away quickly, covering him with her blanket.

But her eyes didn't stop.

That jawline. Those lips. His perfectly cut abs.

He looked like something sinful sculpted by a god with no mercy.

She leaned in. Touched his lips. Then his cheek. His hair. Her fingers trembling. Her breath uneven. He

r lips parted slightly. And without realizing...

She fell asleep beside him.

To be continue...