The Malik Industries headquarters was a massive wall of glass and steel that made everything around it look small. For Aakash Shekhawat, it was the perfect place to hide.
Standing at the entrance, Aakash tugged at his cheap cotton shirt. It felt scratchy against his skin. To anyone passing by, he was just another middle-class graduate looking for a job. No one could guess he was actually the youngest prince of one of Asia's top ten wealthiest dynasties. He'd traded his family's private jets for the local metro and his custom-tailored suits for this off-the-rack stuff.
The lobby was all white marble and expensive silence. As Aakash walked in, his shoe caught on a metal floor grate. He tripped, his bag swinging wildly, and landed hard on his hands.
"Watch it, kid," a guy in a sharp suit muttered, stepping around him like he was a piece of trash.
Aakash felt his face burn with heat. He scrambled up, not looking back to see who was laughing. He just needed to get to the elevators. In his rush, he didn't notice the gold trim on the doors at the very end—the Executive Express.
Just as the doors started to close, a hand shoved him from behind. "Move, you're blocking the way!"
Aakash stumbled into the lift, completely losing his balance. He didn't hit the floor this time. He crashed straight into someone solid. The man smelled like expensive sandalwood and rain.
Aakash's face was buried in the chest of a man wearing a black suit. The man didn't move an inch. He stood there like a wall,stiff and unyielding.
Horrified, Aakash pulled back, his hands shaking slightly. "I—I'm so sorry. Someone pushed me," he stammered, finally looking up.
The man was tall. Really tall. His suit was a masterpiece of Italian tailoring, probably cost more than a suburban house, and the watch on his wrist confirmed it. But his face was what stopped Aakash's breath. It was sharp, cold, and completely bored.
The stranger didn't say "it's okay." He didn't even look at Aakash. He just kept his eyes on the elevator doors.
"Which floor?" the man asked. His voice was low and so cold it gave Aakash chills.
Aakash blinked, his brain momentarily stalling. "I... uh..."
"Floor?" the man repeated. This time he turned his head. His eyes locked onto Aakash's, and for a second, Aakash felt like he couldn't breathe. The intensity was heavy.
"I forgot," Aakash blurted out.
The stranger raised an eyebrow. It was a look of pure, filtered judgment.
"I'm here for an interview," Aakash added quickly, trying to regain some dignity. "Maybe you could tell me where to go?"
The stranger's gaze flickered over Aakash's cheap shoes and slightly wrinkled shirt. "Which interview?"
"How many interviews are even happening here?" Aakash asked, genuinely confused. Back home, things were handled with personal calls; he hadn't realized a corporation this size was a literal factory of human talent.
The man's jaw tightened. "Several. HR, IT, Finance... are you here to work, or are you just here to waste my time?"
"The CEO's secretary," Aakash said, straightening his back. "I'm here for the Executive Assistant position."
The stranger went silent for a moment, his eyes raking over Aakash once more. There was a flicker of something in those dark depths,a momentary recognition of the grace in Aakash's stance, a poise that didn't match his clothes. But as quickly as it appeared, it was dismissed.
"HR is on 12," the man said flatly. "If you manage that, the Executive Wing is on 48. And if you're still standing, the Executive Suite is on 50."
The lift dinged. They had reached the VIP parking level. The stranger stepped out but paused to look back over his shoulder.
"Some advice, don't use this lift again. It's for the Executive Suite only." A tiny, mocking smirk touched his lips. "Let's see if you even make it."
Three hours later, Aakash felt like he had been through a war.
The 12th-floor waiting area was full of nervous people. Aakash sat among thirty other candidates, all wearing suits that cost more than his entire "middle-class" wardrobe.
"I heard they already rejected fifteen people," a girl next to him whispered. She was literally shaking. "One guy got kicked out just because his tie was a little crooked."
"I'm pretty nervous too," Aakash said. "First time interviewing."
But in his head, he was thinking: I'm used to being the one asking the questions, not the one answering them.
When his name was called, he walked into a room where a woman with sharp glasses was waiting. She didn't waste time.
"Sit," she snapped. "Question one: If the CEO has a board meeting in London and his private jet is grounded in Dubai, what is your move?"
Aakash didn't blink. "I don't call a commercial airline. I contact our logistics partner in Zurich to reroute the secondary craft from Paris, while simultaneously briefing the Chairman's legal team on the delay."
Her eyes narrowed. "Question two: How do you handle a hostile takeover rumor leaked by a disgruntled board member at 2 AM?"
"I categorize the leak's source, prepare a non-committal but firm press release for the 6 AM cycle, and have a list of the board member's recent trade history on the CEO's desk by 5 AM," Aakash replied coolly.
"Question three: What is the most important trait for a CEO's assistant?"
"To be the shadow ," Aakash said. "To know everything and say nothing."
She stared at him for a long beat. "Floor 48. Go."
If the 12th floor was a filter, the 48th was a grinder. Only four candidates remained. Aakash was led into a glass-walled conference room where four Executive Directors sat like judges.
The first, a man with a grey beard, pushed a 100-page scrambled financial report toward him. "Task One: Find the $2 million discrepancy in this mess. You have ten minutes."
Aakash found the offshore routing error in four minutes.
The second, a stern woman, handed him a phone. "Task Two: This is a simulated call from an angry Prime Minister. De-escalate the situation without committing the CEO to a meeting."
Aakash handled the "PM" with a grace so regal it left the woman speechless.
The third director threw a complex legal contract on the table. "Task Three: Identify the clause that would bankrupt us in five years."
Aakash pointed to a sub-clause in the force majeure section within seconds.
The fourth director looked at Aakash's modest clothes and scoffed. "Task Four: You have sixty seconds to convince us why a 'commoner' like you belongs in the inner sanctum of Malik Industries."
Aakash stood tall, a hint of his true royal lineage flickering in his eyes. "Because while others study power, I understand its weight. I don't need a name to be effective; I need a desk."
The directors whispered. Finally, the woman pointed upward. "Floor 50."
The top floor was silent. Aakash pushed open the massive double doors to the CEO's office. A man stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to the room.
"You're late," the man said.
Aakash froze. That voice.
Zishan Malik turned around slowly. The stranger from the lift. He sat at his desk, his presence filling the room until the air felt thin.
"So," Zishan said, his voice a dangerous low hum. "You managed to find the floor."
"I'm a fast learner, Mr. Malik," Aakash countered, keeping his voice steady even though his heart was thumping.
Zishan scanned the reports from the previous rounds. "HR says your knowledge is uncanny. The Directors say you are 'frighteningly' competent. And yet..." He looked at Aakash's wrinkled shirt. "You look like you walked in off the street. There is a grace in your posture, Aakash, but your appearance is... lacking."
"I believe the job requires a brain, not a tuxedo, Sir," Aakash countered.
Zishan's eyes narrowed. A small, dark smile played on his lips. He leaned forward, entering Aakash's personal space.
"Tell me, Aakash Shekhawat," Zishan whispered. "You fell into my arms this morning and couldn't remember a floor number. Do you even remember my name?"
Aakash stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated. "Zishan Malik. And I don't plan on forgetting it."
Zishan stared at him, his gaze heavy and practically scanning aakash's soul . Finally, he gestured to the chair. "Sit. Let's see if your talent is worth your arrogance.