She was avoiding me.

I noticed it the moment she walked into the office—eyes down, lips pressed together, not even offering her usual good morning. She didn’t peek into my cabin, didn’t knock with some silly excuse, didn’t even glance my way when passing.

It was the silence that screamed.

And I knew why.

She heard the call.

Damn it.

My fist clenched around the Mont Blanc pen I was holding, snapping the clip clean off.

She had heard me. Maybe not everything, but enough to know what I had done. Enough to question the shadows I tried to keep her away from.

I had been careful. Silent. Calculated. But that moment… that phone call… had slipped.

Because that bastard’s breath was still fresh in my memory.

Because I still remembered the way he grabbed her.

Because I wanted him to suffer.

And I had made sure he did.

But Ruhi? Ruhi was supposed to be untouched by all this.

She wasn’t supposed to know.

---

In the meeting, she sat stiff and proper like a statue. Not once looking up.

Not once catching my gaze.

My stare bore into her, daring her to lift those eyes.

She didn’t.

I stopped hearing anything the team was saying.

My mind raced with everything she could be thinking: That I was dangerous. That I was a monster. That I was obsessed.

They weren’t wrong.

I was obsessed.

And if she thought avoiding me would save her…

She was wrong.

---

“Stop,” I said coldly, cutting off the presentation.

All eyes snapped to me.

“We’ll continue in ten minutes.”

People scrambled. Confused but obedient.

Ruhi stood to leave.

“Not you, Miss Kapoor. You stay.”

She froze.

Then turned slowly, her face still perfectly neutral. “Of course, sir.”

The moment the door clicked shut behind the others, I walked toward it.

Locked it.

I turned slowly.

She was already a few steps back, as if distance could protect her.

It couldn’t.

---

“You’ve been avoiding me,” I said, voice low, almost conversational.

“No, sir,” she said quickly.

“Don’t lie to me.”

A pause.

She swallowed. Her throat worked. Then, finally, she looked up.

“I just… needed space.”

I took a slow, deliberate step forward. “Because you heard something?”

She didn’t answer.

“Because of Arjun?”

Her voice wavered. “Where is he?”

I tilted my head.

She stepped back. “Did you… did you kil—”

“Yes,” I said simply.

The word dropped like a bomb.

She gasped. Took another step back. “Y-you can’t just kill people!”

My eyes narrowed. “I can. And I did.”

Her hands trembled. “That’s not— that’s against the law! You’re a criminal then—”

“Then call the police,” I said softly, stepping closer. “Tell them what you know. Tell them what I did. Tell them… I killed the man who dared to touch you.”

She stared at me, breathing hard. “Why would you do that?”

I reached out. Brushed her hair behind her ear. She didn’t flinch this time. Just stood there, frozen.

“Because he laid hands on what’s mine.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m not—”

“Sei mia,” I murmured in Italian. You are mine.

“I’m not yours!” she snapped.

" You are mine. My employee right? "

Silence.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Her eyes held a thousand questions, a hundred fears… but not one step back.

So I stepped away first.

For now.

I walked to the door, unlocked it.

She stood there, still unmoving.

“You can go, Miss Kapoor.”

“I… I don’t…”

“You don’t have to understand,” I said. “But remember this—”

I looked back at her over my shoulder.

“Chiunque ti tocchi… muore.”

(Anyone who touches you… dies.)

Then I opened the door and left her there—

Shaking.

Mine.

And she didn’t even know it yet.

०

०

०

०

He said it like it was nothing.

"Yes. I killed him."

That sentence wouldn’t leave her ears. It echoed and rang and screamed inside her mind even after she left the meeting room. Her legs moved on autopilot as she returned to her desk, but her brain felt like it had gone offline.

He killed Arjun.

Because of her.

Ruhi sat in her chair, eyes blankly staring at the screen. It displayed some half-written email. She couldn’t even remember starting it. Her fingers trembled lightly over the keyboard. Her throat was dry, her chest heavy.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Then her mind began to scream.

“He deserved to die!”

The voice in her head was loud, fierce. “That bastard grabbed you. Said disgusting things. Tried to touch you again. He was going to hit you. He was a threat.”

She flinched at the memory. Arjun’s hand on her wrist, the smirk, the way he called her baby like he had any right—

A shiver ran down her spine.

He deserved punishment. Of course he did. But—

“Not like that,” another voice whispered. A quieter, gentler one. “Killing someone... isn’t the answer.”

Her stomach twisted.

“We could’ve called the police. There could’ve been an official complaint. A case. A punishment by law. That would’ve been justice.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. Her mind refused to stop.

And then came the worst voice of all.

“But don’t you love it when the villain in your books kills for the woman he loves?”

She jerked back as if the thought physically slapped her.

“No,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “That’s different. That’s just fiction.”

Her inner self wasn’t done. “You loved those dark mafia books. You loved it when the cold-hearted don burned the world for his girl. You used to sigh and smile and wish someone would go crazy for you.”

“That’s fantasy!” she whispered aloud this time. “Yeh real life hai! Real life mein koi aake kisi ke liye kisi ko maar de toh... toh vo hero nahi hota. Vo... vo criminal hota hai.”

She got up from her chair and paced behind her desk. The office was quiet now. Most employees had gone for lunch or meetings. Her heels made small, nervous clicks on the marble floor.

He did it for you.

He said “You are mine.”

Shut up Ruhi, he said you are my employee.

A part of her chest—stupid, silly, reckless—fluttered. A twisted kind of flattery nestled in the pit of her stomach.

But another part—logical, ethical, terrified—wanted to scream.

“What if someday I disappoint him?” she thought. “Would he hurt me too?”

“No, no,” her heart replied. " He would never do that"

She collapsed into her chair again, covering her face with her hands.

“Kitabon mein sab acha lagta hai,” she muttered. “Wahan mafia boss sexy lagta hai. Jab vo possessive hota hai, hum kehte hain ‘aww’. Jab vo gussa hota hai, hum kehte hain ‘uff’. Jab vo kisi ko maar deta hai, hum kehte hain ‘true love’.”

But here?

Here she was sweating. Shaking. Wondering if she should go to the police. Wondering if she should run.

And worst of all…

Wondering if she wanted to.

What scared her wasn’t just that he killed Arjun.

It was the fact that some hidden part of her felt protected by it.

Safe.

Cherished.

She felt her cheeks flush. “Ruhi, tu pagal hai kya?” she scolded herself. “Ye koi Bollywood film nahi hai.”

And yet…

His words wouldn’t stop replaying.

I killee him.

He touched you

He meant it. Every syllable.

Was it obsession? Was it madness?

Was it... love?

“No,” she whispered. “It can’t be love. It shouldn’t be love.”

And yet, as she sat there, pulse still racing, fingers still cold, she realized something:

She wasn’t afraid for herself.

She was afraid of what she might feel next.