I was rearranging files on my desk when his voice sliced through the silence.

"Pack your things, Miss Kapoor. We’re going to Italy."

I paused mid-scribble. My pen slipped from my fingers. Surely I misheard him.

I looked up. He was standing in front of his office door, jacket on, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw set like usual. Except this time, there was something else in his eyes. A flicker of amusement, or maybe challenge.

"W-What?" I croaked.

He walked toward my desk slowly, like a panther, placing a file on my table. "I have urgent meetings in Milan. We’ll be there for three to four days. I need my assistant."

My brain screamed: RUHI, RUN.

My heart whispered: Ruhi, RUN… into his arms.

He tilted his head. “Is there a problem?”

"Italy as in—Italy-Italy? Like Europe-Italy?" Real Italy?

" Is there any fake Italy I am unaware of Miss kapoor? "

I stared. My thoughts had gone into full disarray.

Brain: "He's a killer. You literally heard him say burn him."

Heart: "Okay but Italy. Also, HIS VOICE. And have you seen his hands?"

I sat back in my chair, feeling faint. "But sir… my passport, my visa, I—"

"Handled. Your travel documents are being expedited. You’ll get them.

"Why me?" I blurted.

He narrowed his eyes, slowly walking around the desk until he stood behind me. "Why not you?"

My breath hitched.

This man is dangerous, I thought. Not because he’d kill me. But because he’d ruin me.

"Do I have a choice?" I whispered.

He leaned down, mouth dangerously close to my ear. “Of course, Miss Kapoor. You always have a choice.”

Then he straightened. “But I would prefer if you didn’t say no.”

Then he walked back to his office, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on my middle-class, chai-loving, desi soul.

I sat frozen.

Then, slowly, very slowly…

Heart: "WE’RE GOING TO ITALYYYYYYY BROOOOO!"

Mind: "You’re going to die."

And honestly? I didn’t know which one scared me more.

///

My desk had never looked more boring. The files in front of me blurred into meaningless lines. My fingers were tapping on the surface, but my brain?

It was hosting a full-blown World War III.

Heart vs Mind.

Heart: "Omg Ruhi, he’s taking you to ITALY. Do you know what that means? Italian food. Italian views. Italian him."

Mind: "Oh great, let’s romanticize possible homicide. Very healthy."

Heart: "Excuse me? He’s not a psycho. He’s a protective alpha. He killed that creep Arjun for you."

Mind: "Exactly. He killed someone, Ruhi. People go to jail for that, not on European vacations."

Heart: "Uff you’re so boring. He didn’t hurt her. He tucked her hair behind her ear, spoke Italian sweet nothings, and looked at her like she hung the moon."

Mind: "Yes. Right before admitting to murder with a smirk."

I slumped in my chair, staring at my screen like it would give me answers.

“Ruhi, have you lost it?” I whispered.

Heart: "Lost it? Babe, we tossed it into the Tiber River the second he said, ‘You’re mine.’"

Mind : " Did you forget the employee word? He said you are my employee"

And what if you go with him and never come back? What if you disappear into some scenic countryside... permanently?"

I slapped a hand over my mouth, horrified by my own thoughts.

Heart: "Okay now you’re just being dramatic. He’s not going to murder you. Look at his eyes. Grey like storm clouds. Full of depth, full of... danger. Mmm."

Mind: "You need therapy."

Heart: "You need to stop reading true crime before bed."

I stared at the time. 3:12 PM.

He said I had till 5 PM to decide.

2 hours and 48 minutes to figure out whether to step onto a plane… or run in the opposite direction.

I grabbed my water bottle and took a big gulp.

I tried to picture it—Rome, Florence, Venice. Me standing at a cobbled street, maybe eating gelato. And beside me, a tall, brooding, ridiculously unfair-looking Italian man in a crisp suit.

Yup. Heart exploded.

Heart: "We’re packing. Right now. Where’s your suitcase? Should we pack cute dresses or boss-lady blazers?"

Mind: "How about pepper spray and your last will?"

I groaned, burying my face into the crook of my elbow.

What was I doing?

This wasn’t normal. I wasn’t normal. Since when did I, Ruhi Kapoor, mild-mannered, middle-class, very law-abiding girl, start entertaining literal mafia-style romances in real life?

Since I met him.

Since he looked at me like I was the only person alive.

Since he killed for me.

I shivered.

I could still feel the heat of his voice in my ear.

Mind: "You’re going to regret this."

Heart: "Or I’m going to live the plot of my favourite Wattpad fantasy."

And right now, I didn’t know which was more terrifying.

---

Chaos updated — her brain and heart are literally fighting like two flatmates in a Netflix series 💀

.

.

.

Guess what I was doing at 10:47 PM on a Thursday night?

Not sleeping. Not relaxing. Not being sane.

I was packing. For a trip. To Italy.

Yes. Italy.

My suitcase lay open on my bed. My wardrobe had exploded all around me. Clothes were hanging off the chair, the curtain rod, and even my headboard.

I held up a kurta and frowned.

"Too ethnic? Maybe too much for Milan?

I tossed it aside.

My brain, exhausted from today’s chaos, was already throwing sarcasm like confetti:

Mind: "Wow Ruhi. Just wow. A few hours ago you were panicking because this man is  a murderer. Now you’re choosing outfits like you’re starring in a Netflix show."

Heart: "Shut up. Look at this black dress. She should pack this one. It would look cute."

I stared at the sleek, off-shoulder black dress I’d only worn once for a cousin’s wedding afterparty.

"I can’t take that! It’s too… much."

Heart: "Exactly. That’s why. Hehehe."

Mind: "This is why I never let you pick anything."

I threw the black dress into the suitcase with unnecessary aggression. Then added a denim jacket over it to feel less scandalous. And also packed three extra pairs of pajamas because middle-class habits die hard.

I stood in the middle of my chaotic room, arms crossed.

"I should’ve run. Far away. Maybe changed my identity."

Heart: "But instead, what are we doing? Packing lip balm and hair serum for ITALYYYYY!"

I rolled my eyes. "You’re so loud."

Heart: "I’m fun."

Mind: "You’re reckless."

I sighed and zipped the suitcase halfway.

---

Dinner was next. I walked into the kitchen, trying to look as normal as possible.

"Maa, I need to tell you something."

My mother, who was chopping onions like she was in MasterChef, paused. "Kya hua? Job chhod diya kya?"

"No! I mean, not yet. I mean— I'm going to Italy."

The knife clattered to the counter.

"ITALY?!" she and Papa shouted in unison.

My little brother peeked from behind the fridge door. "You mean like Europe Italy?"

"Yes," I sighed. "My boss has some work. I’m going with him."

Maa blinked. Then blinked again. Then gasped.

"Hey bhagwan! Vo handsome hero naa? Hayeee!"

"Maa! Stop dramatizing! It’s just work."

"Work with a handsome boss in a foreign country? Beta, I’m old, not blind."

Papa just looked worried. "Are you sure it’s safe, beta?"

"Papa, I’ll be fine. Company’s paying. It’s official work. No funny business."

"Hmm," he muttered. "Still… call every day. And no roaming around alone at night."

"Yes, Papa. I’ll send you my location like twenty times a day."

My brother just grinned. "Bring me chocolate."

Maa slapped his arm and said, "She’s not going on vacation, idiot. But Ruhi, agar thoda Ferrero Rocher le aaye toh…"

I groaned.

This was it.

I was actually going.

To Italy.

With my boss.

My murderous, obsessive, unfairly hot boss.

And instead of running away like a sane person… I was packing pretty dresses and agreeing to bring back chocolate.

Pray for me.

---