This story will take a turn when our cute handsome business man will turn into a dangerous ...... unknowingly he kept it a secret and she finds it out
a man cloaked in the shadows of his past, his heart encased in frost. Yet, amidst his icy demeanor...
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Adrian Singhania
I walked into the glassy, high-rise office building, the kind that screamed "business" with every polished tile and soft click of heels on marble. The receptionist gave me the usual nod as I passed, and I nodded back, though my mind was already racing ahead.
I expected her to be there, Shayantika. Or as the world knew her, Shayantika. Always the queen of deadlines, deals, and a thousand unread emails. But not today. Her chair was empty. Strange. She wasn't usually this late. Not without texting.
I pressed the button for the private elevator. Just as the doors started to close, I heard the sharp tap-tap-tap of heels behind me. I slid my hand between the closing doors and they opened again with a soft ding.
And there she was.
Rushing across the marble floor like a storm in heels. Hair bouncing with every step, loose strands framing her face, coffee in one hand and that oversized tan tote in the other. Her cheeks were slightly flushed—either from the morning rush or the caffeine already kicking in.
She stepped into the elevator, exhaling like she'd just run a marathon. "Thanks," she said, her voice a little breathy, a little raspy—the kind that stays in your head long after she's gone.
I smiled. "Ok."
Then she looked at me, almost surprised to see me there. That awkward, adorable smile crossed her lips. She held out her coffee cup. "Hold this for me, please."
I took it from her. Our fingers brushed, just for a second. Warm. Soft. Electric.
While she bent down to tie her shoelace, I looked at the cup. Her lipstick marked the lid, a soft pink stain that somehow made the coffee look even more tempting. I brought it to my lips, curiosity winning over logic.
The sip was smooth, rich, a little too sweet for my taste. But what caught me off guard wasn't the flavor, it was the feeling. The trace of her. I could swear I tasted her on the rim, like her lips had left a memory just for me.
She straightened up, flipping her hair back like it was choreographed, and turned to me.
"Did I say you could drink it?" she asked, eyebrow raised, hand reaching out for her cup.
I grinned, not even trying to hide it. "Nope. But I was curious."
She narrowed her eyes. "Curious about what?"
I took a step closer, just enough to make the elevator feel smaller.
"What your lips taste like," I said, low and teasing.
She froze. Just for a second.
Then came that slow-burning glare—the kind that could melt glaciers. Her jaw tightened ever so slightly. "Like you never kissed me?, asshole," she muttered, sharp but quiet. There was no real venom in her voice—just memory... and fire.
