Bossing Her || 18+

5 || Gym

Amaira's feet pounded rhythmically against the treadmill, her breath steady as her heart raced in sync with the machine. The gym was still, the only sound being the quiet hum of her workout and the soft swish of her borrowed clothes. The outfit clung to her in all the wrong places—too tight, too short—but for now, she didn't mind. It was better than running around in her pajamas at this hour.

The large gym was dimly lit, with only a few lights glowing above the treadmills. Shadows clung to the corners, but Amaira didn't notice. Her thoughts were elsewhere—far from the solitude she had carved out for herself. She was lost in the rhythm of her steps and the lingering thought of whether or not Vikram might show up. The idea still lingered, half-amusing, half-unnerving.

Her pace quickened, a hint of adrenaline kicking in as her muscles warmed. Sweat beaded on her brow, and she adjusted her headset, the sound of her breath filtering through the music. She hadn't realized just how alone she felt until the hair on the back of her neck stood up.Something was off.

Before she could register the creeping feeling in her gut, a force yanked her back from the treadmill. Amaira's heart shot into her throat as she stumbled, instinctively gasping, her squeal barely escaping before it was swallowed by a rough, firm hand clamping over her mouth.

Wide-eyed, she froze, her body stiffening as her back hit the nearest wall. A tall, powerful figure loomed over her, pressing her into the cold surface. She squirmed, adrenaline now rushing through her veins for an entirely different reason. Fear.

Amaira's eyes shot up to meet the stranger's gaze, her pulse hammering in her ears. But the eyes she met weren't those of some intruder. They were familiar—intense, piercing, and unmistakably Vikram's.

Her breath caught, her confusion spiraling into something she couldn't yet name. His hand remained over her mouth, keeping her silence as his deep, steady gaze held hers. He didn't move, didn't speak, just stood there—towering over her, his body pinning hers to the wall.

Vikram.

For a moment, the world shrank. The gym, the faint glow of the lights, the distant hum of the treadmill—all of it faded into the background. It was just him, his presence overwhelming and inescapable.

Amaira's heart raced, but not just from fear anymore. Her wide eyes locked onto his, pleading silently for an explanation. She couldn't speak, couldn't move under his unyielding hold, but her body was hyperaware of every inch of space—every part of him that pressed against her.

And then, just as suddenly as he had grabbed her, Vikram pulled his hand away from her mouth, but he didn't step back. His intense gaze softened just slightly, but his body remained close, his breath steady while hers came in uneven gasps.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was low, a whisper that sent a shiver down her spine.

Amaira tried to answer, but words failed her. She had no idea how to explain herself, how to explain why she was here at 4 AM, wearing clothes that didn't belong to her, running on a treadmill like she had something to escape.

But right now, the only thing she wanted to escape from was the man standing in front of her.Vikram's eyes darted down to her outfit, his brow furrowing in question, and Amaira felt a flush of heat rise to her cheeks. "Those aren't your clothes," he observed, his tone gruff but less accusatory now, more... curious.