HIS TO BURN

The boardroom was built for intimidation—glass walls, stone table, leather chairs that swallowed egos whole. It smelled of authority. The kind that made people shrink the moment they stepped inside. But she didn't shrink. She adjusted her kurti sleeves, flicked a piece of lint off her chest, and walked in with her head high, five minutes past the scheduled time. Every pair of eyes turned to her. Some in judgment. Some in discomfort. A few in smirking pity. But the only pair she felt was his. He sat at the head of the table, dark suit tailored so sharply it looked like it could cut skin. One hand resting on the table, the other lazily flipping through a file that definitely didn’t require that much focus. Cold. Unbothered.Powerful. Observing her like a bug on the glass. Veer Rathore. The firm’s most ruthless senior partner. She’d heard about him before she took the job—stories of shattered careers and frozen silences. The man didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He crushed with looks, fired with a glance. And now, his eyes were on her. He didn't look at her with softness neither did she. And she was late. “Nice of you to join us,” he said, voice smooth as polished marble. “I trust you’ve made your dramatic entrance?” The sarcasm was soft. But it slid under her skin like a blade. She sat down without looking at him. “If your assistant had sent the correct time, I wouldn’t need a dramatic entrance. Or a warning.” She stepped into the room with heels that echoed confidence. “She’s never wrong,” he said coolly. She took the last chair—deliberately not looking at him. “Then maybe this was your fault.” A ripple of tension cracked through the room. No one spoke to Veer Rathore like that. Not analysts. Not managers. And definitely not her —an outsider hired last week as a consultant A sharp inhale came from someone across the table. She didn’t care. He closed the file. Finally looked up. And the full weight of his attention slammed into her like a punch to the chest. “I don’t like excuses, Miss…?” he prompted. “Aarohi Singh,” she replied. “And that wasn’t an excuse. It was a correction.” His lips twitched. Not a smile. Something darker. “Correction noted.” The meeting resumed, but the tension didn’t. She felt it like a second skin, wrapping itself around her shoulders. His voice filled the room—measured, commanding, and disturbingly addictive. She hated that she noticed how deep it was. Hated even more how it vibrated through her bones when he stood to move to the digital board , his presence drowning the oxygen in the room. She had worked with arrogant men before. But Veer Rathore was a different beast. He didn’t just own the room. He was the room. And she was the only one not playing submissive.Atleast not yet. When the meeting ended, people filed out in quiet relief. But his voice stopped them. “Everyone else—out. Aarohi stays.” She blinked. What? The others glanced at her, some with sympathy, some with the thrill of watching a live execution. The door clicked shut behind them. Now it was just the two of them . He stood at the far end of the table, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. “Tell me something,” he said calmly. “Are you trying to make a point?” She raised a brow. “Was I supposed to shrink because you raised your voice Or feel intimidated by you?” “I never raised my voice,” he said calmly. “And I don’t need to intimidate anyone. Especially not someone who still confuses confidence with noise.” She stood, matching his stance. “And you confuse arrogance with power. I wasn’t hired to be quiet.” “No,” he said, stepping closer. “You were hired to contribute. Not disrupt.” She should’ve stepped back. She didn’t. Even when he walked the full length of the table and stopped two feet in front of her. Even when his cologne hit her senses—wood, spice, and something dark that didn’t have a name. Arrogance. Dominance. Power. She hated how tall he was. How still he stood. Like a storm that never needed to roar. Just be. “Is this how you handle women who don’t worship you or who don't act submissive?” she asked, voice low. His eyes narrowed, gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips and back again. “I don’t need to be worshipped,” he murmured. “But I demand respect.” “I earn respect,” she shot back. “Not hand it out because you wear a suit and have your name on the damn building.” He exhaled a quiet laugh. Not amused. Impressed. And dangerously intrigued. “You’re going to be a problem,” he said finally. She smiled. “Only if you try to control me.” “I don’t try,” he said, stepping even closer. “I do.” Her pulse kicked. He wasn’t touching her. Not yet. But his words dripped heat down her spine. “You’re not used to women who don’t fold, are you?” you asked. He leaned in just enough for his breath to fan your cheek. “No,” he whispered. “And I don’t like it.” Her skin lit up. Good. She didn’t want him to like her. She wanted him to feel her—the way fire feels the oxygen it consumes. She didn’t look away. “Then fire me.” A pause. Thick. Dangerous. His lips curved, almost cruelly. “I don’t fire problems that fascinate me.” She blinked. The silence hung between them like a challenge neither of them was willing to back down from. “I’m not here to be part of your... fascination,” she said. “Then why are you here?” She stared at him. “Because I’m good. And because no matter how much you glare or threaten or act like God—deep down, you know I’m not someone you can break.” The words echoed. Sharp. Final. His jaw tightened. “I know exactly what you are,” he murmured. “Someone with a mouth too sharp for her position.” “Someone not afraid to bite when cornered,” she shot back. And that was when it happened. That shift. That unspoken current between enemies who were seconds away from becoming something dangerous. He said nothing. Just leaned a little closer. His voice dropped like a secret. “Careful, firecracker. In this world, people like you either burn everything… or get burned.” Her pulse thundered in her ears. “We’ll see who turns to ash first.” He didn’t argue. He just leaned back slightly. “We’ll see.” She picked up her file. Walked toward the door without looking back. But before her hand touched the knob, his voice came again. Quiet. Commanding. “Aarohi.” She turned, pulse still high. His gaze didn’t waver. “Next time you walk into my boardroom late, I won’t embarrass you in front of others.” She raised a brow. “How considerate.” His eyes darkened. “I’ll do it privately.” Something hot and dangerous curled in her gut. She said nothing. Just walked out—with her spine tall and her hands clenched. She hated him. But she would have never been this alive. --- 🖤 End of Chapter 1 Next Chapter: He assigns her an impossible project She humiliate someone he respects… and he watches with dark pride But that night, he can’t stop thinking about how her voice made his blood burn