CHAPTER 3: The New Job

Three Weeks Later

9:15 AM | Malhotra Industries\, 34th Floor

Aanya adjusted her blazer in the elevator mirror—a last-month purchase from Sarojini Nagar for ₹450, tailored by her own hands to look like it cost fifty times that. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Her makeup was minimal but perfect—she'd learned to do a lot with very little.

Her father was recovering. Kavya was back in college. Life was finding its rhythm.

Today was her first day as a junior designer at Malhotra Industries. The interview two weeks ago had gone perfectly—they'd loved her portfolio, the designs she'd built while working night shifts at the café, the sketches she'd made on napkins during breaks. The creative director had actually smiled at her work. Actually said "this is exactly what we're looking for."

Aanya had cried in the bathroom afterward. Happy tears. For the first time in months, happy tears.

The elevator dinged. 34th floor. Executive offices.

"Miss Sharma?" A perky HR executive named Priyanka greeted her with a smile. "Right this way. Mr. Malhotra likes to personally welcome all new creative team members. Just a quick hello to make you feel part of the family. This way."

Aanya's heart fluttered. The CEO. A legend in the business world. She'd Googled him after the interview—Rudraksh Malhotra, thirty-onest birthday next month, took over the company at twenty-five after his father's sudden death, quadrupled its value in six years. Cold, ruthless, brilliant. Never photographed smiling. Never seen at parties. A complete enigma.

They stopped before massive oak doors. A brass plate gleamed.

RUDRAKSH MALHOTRA - CHAIRMAN & CEO

Priyanka knocked.

"Enter."

That voice.

Aanya's blood turned to ice.

Priyanka pushed open the door. "Mr. Malhotra, this is Aanya Sharma from our new design cohort. She'll be working on the bridal collection."

Behind a glass desk that cost more than Aanya's entire education sat her husband.

Rudraksh looked up from his laptop. His eyes met hers.

For one second—just one—shock flickered across his face. His hand stilled on the mouse. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Then it was gone, replaced by something dangerous. Not anger. Not recognition. Something colder. More calculating. As if he was already rearranging pieces on a board she couldn't see.

"Miss Sharma," he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. "Please. Sit."

Priyanka beamed. "I'll leave you to it!" The door clicked shut behind her.

Aanya couldn't move. Her legs wouldn't work. Her voice wouldn't work. Everything was spinning.

Rudraksh watched her, expression unreadable. "The chair won't bite. Sit."

"You." The word came out strangled. "You're... you're the CEO? You're Rudraksh Malhotra?"

"I am." No denial. No explanation. Just acknowledgment.

"You knew." Her voice shook as realization dawned. "You knew I applied. You approved my interview. You—"

"I approve hundreds of hires." He cut her off, voice calm. "Your name didn't register. Sharma is common. And frankly, after the wedding, I didn't think of you again."

The words hit like a slap. Of course he didn't. She was a transaction. A receipt he'd filed away and forgotten.

"I'll resign." She heard herself say it, though every instinct screamed against it. This job was everything. But this situation? This was impossible.

"No."

She looked up sharply.

"You won't resign." He stood, moving around the desk with the grace of a predator. "You'll work here. You'll be exemplary at your job—because I've seen your portfolio, and you have genuine talent. And you'll attend the family dinner this Sunday. My mother wants to meet my wife."

"I can't—"

"You can, and you will." He was closer now, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something woodsy and expensive. "You signed a contract, Aanya. Six months. You play your part. I play mine. This changes nothing."

"Everything has changed!"

"It changes nothing." His voice hardened. "At work, I'm your CEO. You're an employee. At family events, you're my wife. Those lines never cross. Understood?"

Aanya's nails dug into her palms hard enough to hurt. "Understood."

"Good. Welcome to Malhotra Industries." He gestured to the door. "Your desk is on the 28th floor. Don't be late again."

She turned to leave, her legs finally working, her heart a mess of anger and fear and something else she couldn't name.

"And Aanya?"

She stopped.

"My mother is sharp. She's been trying to get me married for six years. If she suspects this is fake, she'll dig until she finds the truth. And if she finds the truth—" He paused. "The deal is off. And I'll want my money back."

The door closed behind her.

Aanya leaned against the wall, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst.

She had just sold her soul to the devil.

And the devil, she realized with growing dread, was now her boss.

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