I didn't calm down after leaving his office.
I didn't breathe normally.
Didn't stop shaking.
I went straight to the restroom, locked myself inside a stall, and pressed my forehead against the cold wall.
Report directly to me.
Of course he did.
Of course the universe wouldn't let last night disappear quietly.
I splashed water on my face, staring at my reflection like it might give me answers.
"Get it together," I whispered. "He's just your boss."
A lie.
He wasn't just anything.
When I returned to my desk, a new email was already waiting.
From: CEO Office
Subject: Immediate Transfer
My stomach dropped.
Before I could even open it, my manager rushed over, panic written all over her face.
"Mira—why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.
"Tell you what?"
"That Mr. Raichand personally requested you."
Requested.
Like I was a document.
"I didn't—" My voice faltered. "I didn't know."
She swallowed hard. "You're moving to the executive floor. Now."
The executive floor.
Where only senior staff went.
Where mistakes weren't forgiven.
And where he worked.
I packed my things in a daze.
Every step toward the elevator felt like a countdown.
When the doors slid open, my heart nearly stopped.
He was already inside.
Alone.
Tall. Calm. Impossibly composed.
The doors closed behind me.
The elevator started moving.
Neither of us spoke.
The silence was unbearable.
"You're avoiding me," he said suddenly.
"I'm trying to stay professional," I replied.
"That's not the same thing."
I swallowed. "You shouldn't have moved me."
"You needed protection," he said calmly.
"I don't need—"
"You do," he interrupted. "Whether you admit it or not."
My pulse spiked. "From what?"
His eyes shifted to me.
"From people who think they can use you."
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened to a quiet, polished hallway.
Glass walls. Marble floors. Power in every corner.
He stepped out first.
"Follow me."
I did.
Because I didn't know how not to.
He stopped outside a glass office—right beside his.
"This is yours."
My heart slammed. "Mine?"
"Yes."
"That's not normal."
"Neither is what happened between us," he said quietly.
I turned to him. "You said you don't mix work with emotions."
"I don't," he replied.
Then added, softer, "But I also don't ignore reality."
Reality.
The word hit harder than anything else.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Last night happened. You can pretend it didn't mean anything—"
His gaze sharpened.
"—but I won't insult us both by lying."
My breath trembled.
"What do you want from me?" I asked.
His answer came without hesitation.
"Honesty. Focus. And trust."
"And if I can't give that?"
His eyes darkened.
"Then you shouldn't have walked into my room."
Silence stretched.
Dangerous. Electric.
Then he straightened, professionalism snapping back into place.
"Your schedule will be sent shortly," he said. "You'll attend all meetings with me."
I stared. "That's not standard."
"You'll adapt."
I hated how calm he was.
"How do I even address you?" I asked quietly.
"Mr. Raichand," he said.
Then, after a beat—
"When we're not working… Arvan."
My heart forgot how to function.
He turned toward his office.
"Mira."
I froze.
"You're not in trouble," he said without looking back.
"But don't mistake my restraint for indifference."
He walked away.
Leaving me standing there, heart racing, fingers numb.
Because I knew one thing with terrifying certainty—
Walking into his hotel room had been an accident.
Working for him now…
Was not.