I had decided that I wouldn't be late today. So I got up at exact 6 am. Took bath, brush my teeth, got ready. Today I thought to wear something simple. Ek min aaj? Ruhi Tu hmehsa hi simple pehnti hai ohhh hn yaad aaya hehehe.

So I wore a simple blue suit with duppata

Mondays suck.

Especially when your boss may or may not be the villain in your personal mafia daydreams.

Especially when he shows up in the office at 6:59 AM, looking like God made him in a blackout mood — dark grey shirt, top button undone, hair a mess that looked expensive.

And then had the audacity to say:

“Late.”

I had arrived at 7:00 AM. On. The. Dot.

I almost told him to shove his fancy Italian clock.

But I value my kidneys, so I just fake-smiled and said, “Good morning, sir.”

---

"""" Aghhhhhh""""" I literally screamed mentally.

I was working when a new intern entered the office. I shook hand with him and gave introduction

He was

From Singapore.

Name: Arjun Menon.

Tall. Nice smile. And worse — funny.

He cracked one dumb joke and I laughed like a donkey.

Why? Because I’m socially awkward and panic-giggle when men with good teeth speak to me.

We were laughing like donkey when-

---

The door clicked open.

“Miss Kapoor. Inside. Now.”

Shoot me.

Miss Kapoor. My office. Now."

The words dropped from my mouth like lead, but I kept my tone smooth—deceptively calm.

She was standing at the front desk, stupid little smile lighting up her face, talking to someone I didn’t bother to remember the name of. That intern. Arjun. A walking grin in a cheap blazer.

Her laugh? That soft, unexpected giggle? It echoed like sin inside my glass walls.

She never laughed like that with me.

Not once.

---

I moved to the window, arms folded, grey glass catching my reflection: jaw tense, eyes darker than usual, a muscle ticking near my temple.

I didn’t recognize myself for a second.

This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to remain detached. Professional. Cold.

But then she started laughing for someone else.

And it felt like betrayal.

---

She walked in two minutes later, clutching a file, that confused crease between her brows again. She was nervous. Confused.

She always gets flustered around me. A small part of me took pleasure in it.

"Sir? You asked me to—"

"Close the door," I cut in.

She blinked, obeyed.

I watched the way her dupatta slipped slightly from her shoulder as she turned. I hated that I noticed it. Hated more that I imagined what she wore under it.

Focus.

She turned back around, face expectant, professional.

I moved from behind my desk, taking my time, slow steps, until I stood right in front of her—close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet my eyes.

I didn’t give her time to ask. I needed to get the poison out first.

"You seem to enjoy Mr. Menon's company," I said, casually.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"The intern from Singapore. He must be charming. The way you laughed." I paused, letting my gaze drop briefly to her lips. "It was...unexpected."

She looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Sir, I was just being polite—"

" Polite miss kapoor? Seriously? Laughing like tgat?

Her cheeks flushed, mouth parted in shock.

"Excuse me?"

"You’re excused," I murmured, voice cold. "But next time, try to remember this is a professional space. I didn’t hire you to giggle at men in the hallway."

She stepped back. Slight. But I saw it.

And I hated myself for making her do it.

She looked down, fingers tightening on the file.

I saw the apology coming. I saw her ready to fold, like she always did when I got too sharp.

But instead, she raised her chin.

"Sir, with all due respect, I wasn’t flirting. And I don’t think it’s fair to be spoken to like this just because I smiled."

Fair.

She wants fair.

I took another step toward her. One more inch and I'd feel the heat of her body.

"Do I get that smile?" I asked, voice low.

She blinked. "W-what?"

"The one he got. The one that made your eyes crinkle, Miss Kapoor. Do I ever get that?"

She stared at me like she didn’t understand. Like she couldn’t comprehend why I would care.

Exactly.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t see how deep she’d gotten under my skin.

I turned away.

I couldn’t look at her anymore.

I couldn’t risk letting anything else slip.

---

I returned to my chair. The leather felt colder than usual. My throat tighter.

I didn’t tell her to leave. I didn’t want her to.

But she stood there, silent, probably waiting for a dismissal.

"Do you like him?" I asked without looking.

There was a long pause. Then her soft voice, cautious: " Hein? I don’t even know him. And even if I fo how that's concern you sir. Thats my personal thing"

That wasn't a no.

"He’s not a good man miss kapoor " I muttered.

She frowned. "You don’t even know him."

"I don’t need to." My voice was ice again. "I know what men like him are."

She crossed her arms. Bold little thing.

And what are you, sir?"

I looked up. Smirked.

"Worse."

She stared at me.

I think she wanted to argue. Maybe curse me out. Maybe cry.

But instead, she placed the file on my desk with a firm hand and said, "I’ll get back to work, sir."

And walked away.

I watched her leave. Every step.

My jaw ached from how tight I was clenching it.

Alessandro Romano. Thirty-four. Controlled. Logical. Ruthless.

Reduced to a jealous idiot over a girl who smelled like chocolate and printed her to-do lists with doodled hearts.

Pathetic.

I opened the file she brought. Stared at the words. None of them registered.

All I could see was her mouth moving when she laughed at him.

All I could think was:

She’s mine.

Even if she doesn’t know it yet.

Even if she’ll hate me for it later.

I’ll burn the world before I let someone else have that smile again.

---

As soon as I stepped out of his ice-cold glass office, I stomped to my desk and dumped the next file on the table with more force than necessary.

"Samajhta kya hai apne aap ko?" I muttered under my breath, trying not to glare through the transparent walls. "Boss hai toh kuch bhi bolega? Maine flirt kiya? Maine?! Excuse me?"

My fingers flew over the keyboard furiously.

"Ladke marte hain mujhpe flirt karne ke liye... Arjun ne ek joke kya suna diya, main toh flirt ho gayi? Wah sir. Kya logic hai."

I was talking to myself now, hands shaking with a mix of anger and humiliation.

Why the hell did he behave like that? What was that whole drama about smiles and laughter? And that question — Do I get that smile?

I wanted to scream.

He’s my boss. Not my boyfriend. Not some mafia hero from my novels who gets to act possessive and angry just because someone looked at me.

"Pagal hai. Bilkul psycho. Pasta kha kha ke dimaag kharab ho gaya hai," I grumbled, grabbing my notebook and scribbling hard.

My face still burned from the encounter. His closeness. That stare. The way his voice had dipped just low enough to make my spine shiver.

No. No, Ruhi. Don’t even go there.

He is arrogant. He is rude. And he is one coffee rejection away from snapping completely.

But why the hell did his words affect me like that?

I looked at my reflection in the laptop screen. Messy hair. Lips pressed into a pout. Eyes tired.

"Ruhi Kapoor," I scolded myself, "get it together. Don’t let a six-foot-three Italian lunatic with grey eyes mess with your middle-class mental peace."

But somewhere inside me, a traitorous voice whispered: Why did it feel like he cared?

I shut the thought down. Hard.

No more mafia fantasies. No more villains in Armani suits. No more wondering what Alessandro Romano meant when he said, I’m worse.

Back to work. Back to survival.