Lust Tied in Love

Myra Sen stood in front of the towering glass building of Malhotra Industries, her press badge trembling slightly between her fingers. She wasn’t nervous—at least she told herself she wasn’t. She had interviewed ministers, movie stars, even warlords. But something about Aarav Malhotra stirred her in a way she couldn’t explain. He wasn’t just India's youngest billionaire. He was also its most elusive. No interviews, no photoshoots, no social media. Only whispers. “He’s dangerous,” her editor had warned. “But you’re the only one I trust to handle him.” She stepped into the elevator, her heels clicking like warnings against the polished marble. Floor 42. CEO’s floor. The numbers blinked slowly. Her reflection in the gold-toned wall looked confident—flawless blowout, nude lipstick, fitted pencil skirt. But deep in her chest, her heart beat faster than usual. The doors opened. And there he was. Aarav Malhotra stood near the floor-length windows, hands in his trouser pockets, back turned. The setting sun cast a soft orange glow over his sharp silhouette. Black shirt, sleeves rolled up, veins taut along his forearms. His presence filled the room like heat. He turned slowly. Dark eyes met hers. Piercing. Cold. Curious. "Myra Sen," he said, voice rich and low, like scotch at midnight. "Aarav Malhotra," she replied, lifting her chin. "You’re taller than I imagined." A smirk ghosted across his lips. "You’ve imagined me, then?" She blinked. Bold. Okay. Two could play that game. "I’ve imagined all kinds of powerful men," she said, walking past him to the sleek, glass desk. "You're just another headline." Aarav chuckled, then walked to the bar in the corner of the office. "Drink?" "Not while I’m working," she said. He poured himself a neat whiskey anyway. "I don’t like interviews. I prefer stories told with mouths, not pens." "Don’t worry," she said, sitting. "My mouth can be very persuasive." He raised an eyebrow. Oh no, she thought. Did I just say that out loud? Aarav walked toward her slowly, like a predator with no need to rush. He took the seat across from her, spread his legs slightly, elbows resting on the arms of the chair, gaze fixed on her like a lion watching his prey. “So, Ms. Sen. What do you want to know about me?” She clicked her recorder on. “Let’s start with what you’re hiding.” He leaned forward slightly. “You think I’m hiding something?” “I know you are,” she said. “No one becomes a billionaire by thirty-two without a few sins.” He smiled, slow and deliberate. “And here I thought you were here for my business strategy.” “I’m more interested in what you do behind closed doors.” Aarav’s gaze darkened. “Careful, Myra. Keep talking like that, and I might just show you.” A strange heat bloomed in her chest, spreading to her skin. The tension between them was thick, charged. She could practically hear her own breathing now. She leaned back, trying to regain composure. "Tell me about the merger last year. There are whispers of blackmail involved. Someone on the board disappeared right after." “Whispers are for cowards,” Aarav replied, sipping his drink. “I prefer actions.” “Did you make him disappear?” His gaze didn’t flicker. “If I did, you’d be the last to know.” She clicked her pen, noting the deflection. “You don’t scare me,” she said. "You excite me," he murmured. Myra swallowed hard. This was getting too personal. She opened her notebook to distract herself, flipping to the page with a photo clipped inside—a blurry image of a man that looked like Aarav handing off a package in an alleyway. He noticed. “Ah,” he said, voice now low and warning. “So that’s the real reason you’re here.” “Your name came up in a confidential document I acquired. Something about a payment made to an unregistered account in Zurich.” His jaw tightened. For a moment, the air went cold. “You’re playing with fire, Myra.” “I like the heat.” He stood. Walked toward her. Slowly. Each step sounded louder now. “I wonder how hot you like it.” She didn’t move. But her breath hitched when he stopped right beside her chair. He leaned down. His hand brushed her hair back from her shoulder, fingers grazing her neck. "Tell me something," he whispered, lips near her ear. "Do your legs tremble like your voice does when I’m this close?" Myra turned her face slightly. He was just inches away. Too close. And yet not close enough. “You’ll never get into my head,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure she believed it. Aarav chuckled. "Who said I wanted your head, Miss Sen?" The elevator dinged. Myra jolted away from him, her notebook slipping from her lap. He stepped back, smirking. The door opened. A woman in a tight black dress stepped out. His assistant. “Mr. Malhotra,” she said. “They’re ready in the boardroom.” Aarav didn’t take his eyes off Myra. “Tell them to wait.” “Yes, sir.” He leaned against the desk now, arms folded. “This interview is over. For now.” “I haven’t gotten my answers.” “You will,” he said. “But only if you’re willing to pay the price.” She stood, smoothing her skirt. “I always pay. The question is—what are you worth?” Aarav smiled. A real one this time. Dangerous. Lethal. “You’ll find out soon.” She walked past him, pulse pounding, notebook in hand. But just before she entered the elevator, she turned back. “And Aarav?” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t scare easily. "So if you’re going to burn me…” She let the sentence hang, then smirked. “Make it worth it.” The doors slid closed. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she stepped outside. The city was still bustling, unaware of the war that had just begun between a journalist and the man she was supposed to expose. She opened her notebook again. But the photo was gone. Gone. Someone had taken it while she was in the room.