The sterile hum of KIMS Hospital pressed against Alisha's nerves, each tick of the clock a reminder of the deal she'd struck with Samrat Oberoi. Seven hours. Seven agonizing hours since he'd vanished into the operating room to save the boy she thought she'd doomed. Her legs ached from pacing, her heart torn between hope and dread. Why is it taking so long? She'd expected two hours, three at most—not this endless wait, not this suffocating bargain. Six months as Samrat's assistant and bodyguard—a billionaire whose every smirk promised control, whose molten brown eyes saw straight through her.
The operating room doors swung open, and doctors spilled out, their weary faces breaking into smiles. Alisha surged forward, her pulse hammering. "Congratulations," one doctor said, his grin infectious. "The surgery was a success."
Relief crashed over her like a monsoon, loosening the guilt that had choked her for days. Tears stung her eyes as she exhaled, a weight lifting from her chest. But Samrat hadn't emerged. "Where is he?" she asked, her voice sharp with urgency.
"Exhausted," the doctor replied, his tone softening. "He's still inside. Flew back from Delhi last night, no sleep, then you dragged him here for this marathon. He's running on fumes."
A pang of guilt twisted in Alisha's gut, mingling with a flicker of gratitude. She slipped into the operating room, her steps silent. The boy lay stable, his chest rising steadily, a miracle born of Samrat's skill. Beside him, Samrat slumped in a chair, head tilted back, eyes closed. Even drained, he was a vision—dark hair tousled, jaw carved like granite, his presence a quiet storm. Her breath caught, her gaze lingering on the man who'd saved a life and chained her freedom in one fell swoop.
She grabbed a glass of water from a nearby station and approached, her voice soft. "Here, sir. Drink."
Samrat's eyes snapped open, piercing her with that unnerving intensity. He took the glass, his fingers brushing hers, sending a jolt through her. He gulped the water, his throat bobbing, and she murmured, "Thank you. For everything."
He said nothing, just stood, brushing past her with a predator's grace. Alisha followed, her mind reeling. In the corridor, the boy's family rushed toward her, tears streaming down the mother's face. "Thank you, Alisha," she sobbed. "You didn't run after the accident. You brought him here, got the best doctor, paid for the surgery. We owe you everything."
Alisha froze, her heart lurching. Paid? Her bank account was a wasteland—she hadn't covered a dime. Before she could speak, Samrat's voice cut through, low and commanding. "I'm leaving."
She spun to face him, her gratitude spilling over. "Thank you so much… boss," she said hesitantly and sincerely. Samrat paused, stepping closer, his towering frame swallowing the space. His gaze traced her defiant eyes, a spark flaring before he smothered it. "Tomorrow, 11 a.m. sharp. Contract signing," he said, his voice a velvet threat. "And don't even think about running, firecracker. I saved that boy's life. Ending his would take me less than a second."
Fear spiked through Alisha, her body instinctively shifting into a Kung Fu stance, years of training screaming to act. But she held his stare, her voice steady. "Don't worry, sir. I won't run. I'm a woman of my word. You can trust me."
A faint smirk curved his lips, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Good for you," he said, then strode away, the hospital's bustle parting for him like a king. Alisha exhaled shakily, her mind racing. Who had paid for the surgery? Not her, not the family. Had Samrat…? Her gaze drifted to a security monitor flickering with rain-soaked footage, a fleeting image that tugged at her instincts, hinting at a truth she didn't yet grasp.
Meanwhile, Rahul drove Samrat through Bangalore's rain-slicked streets, the city shimmering under a relentless downpour. "Sir," Rahul said, his voice cautious, "I found out what happened." Samrat remained silent, his gaze fixed on the rain, so Rahul continued. "Alisha was driving that night, and it was pouring. The boy's body fell from an overpass, landing right on her car's hood. She couldn't see through the rain and thought she'd hit him. It's all on a CCTV camera—there's one there because of frequent accidents. She doesn't know it wasn't her fault. And as you instructed, I covered the surgery fees."
Samrat's only response was a low "Hmm," his expression unreadable. Rahul, knowing his boss's exhaustion, fell silent. Samrat stared out the window, the rain a mirror to his thoughts. A faint smile curved his lips as he murmured to himself, "Foolish girl."
Hours later, Alisha stormed into her Bangalore flat, the rain's drumbeat echoing her frustration. "Bodyguard? Seriously?" she ranted, flopping onto the couch. "That man's got an army of goons—why me? Assistant, fine, but bodyguard?"
Neha, her Bollywood-star bestie, tossed a cushion at her, grinning wickedly. "Oh, Alu, this is your mess. Who told you to outsmart him in that car chase with your shaitani dimaag? Now deal with the fallout, you savage!"
Khushi, their gentle psychiatrist friend, poured coffee, her calm voice cutting through. "Alu, stop whining. Samrat saved that boy, despite your stunt. Be grateful and do what he asks. He's got bodyguards—he's probably just messing with you to settle the score."
Alisha sighed, Khushi's logic dousing her fire. Neha, glamorous and fierce, ruled Bollywood's spotlight, while Khushi's serene beauty hid a sharp mind. Together, they were Alisha's chosen family, their flat a sanctuary bought with pooled dreams, far from her toxic parents. Alisha—nicknamed "Alu" or "Ally" by her girls—was the wild card, her Kung Fu prowess and impulsive heart a stark contrast to Khushi's empathy. Yet their bond was unbreakable, three bachelorettes thriving in Bangalore's chaos.
Across the city, Samrat stood on his mansion's balcony, the rain painting the night in silver. His thoughts drifted to Alisha, unbidden, and his breath hitched. She was a vision of untamed beauty—almond-shaped eyes that sparkled with defiance, raven hair cascading like a midnight waterfall, flawless skin glowing under the city's lights. Her fierce grace, that bold tilt of her chin, could unravel any man. She was a firecracker, a storm he couldn't shake, her presence searing his mind despite his iron will.
He scowled, snapping out of it. What am I doing? But as he turned from the rain, a message lit his phone: "They know you're back." His jaw tightened, the words a warning of enemies stirring. Alisha's deal had thrust her into his world, and the war was only beginning.
Alisha sank onto her couch, the mystery of the surgery fees gnawing at her. Had Samrat, the man who'd chained her with a boy's life, paid to save her? His phone buzzed with a chilling warning: "They're coming." Her breathtaking beauty haunted him, but her Kung Fu was about to face a billionaire's war—one where a single misstep could cost her everything.