A/n- hey everyone this is my second book on Wattpad and I will uploading this one on Stck as well(fictional author) with slight editing and detailed smut scenes. This book is not like Tara - his only DEVOTION this book contains mature themes forced love and violence so read it only if you are comfortable. I am uploading it here because i don't want to loose this book at all.

Enjoy reading 😇💗 here is the first chapter.

For a man like Ansh Malhotra, time was money, and emotions were liabilities.

In a world that bowed before the sheer weight of his name, where the whispers of his empire echoed louder than any courtroom verdict, women were nothing but static noise — pretty distractions he never allowed near his mind, let alone his heart.

His eyes were trained on power, not petals. His soul, a carefully guarded fortress that not even desire dared to knock upon.

But that fortress cracked the moment he saw her.

It wasn't a planned meeting.

No names were exchanged.

No greetings. No business cards.

Not even a second glance was meant to be shared.

It was a pure accident.

He had stepped out of his black Maybach, his security guards flanking him as always, outside the Delhi High Court.

A minor hearing for a business associate’s case had brought him here — an annoyance, really. He was about to light his cigarette when—

She walked out.

Hair tied in a loose low ponytail, a crisp black lawyer’s robe flowing behind her like a cape of quiet confidence. Her heels clicked against the marbled stairs as if announcing to the universe that she didn’t walk — she owned every step she took. Her eyes… God, her eyes.

Cold. Sharp. Unbothered.

Like she had survived a hundred storms and dared the sky to send more.

Yet, beneath that stern exterior, there was a softness that betrayed her strength. A vulnerability he couldn’t place but found himself drawn to, like a moth hypnotized by a fire it knew would destroy it.

He stood there — cigarette forgotten between his fingers, gaze glued, world frozen.

He’d seen countless women in gala parties, board meetings, red carpets, and underworld gatherings.

But none of them had made his chest tighten.

None of them made his breath hitch like a damn amateur.

But she… she looked ethereal. Almost unreal.

There was no lipstick. No jewelry. No dramatics.

Just fierce intellect in her eyes, silent grace in her posture, and a soul that screamed she had stories too dark to tell.

And yet, she smiled at someone on her way out — a soft, fleeting smile — and in that second, Ansh Malhotra felt something he had never known he could feel.

Wonder.

“Kaun hai yeh…?” he murmured to himself, gaze still following her as she disappeared behind the crowd of interns and advocates. His men looked at him in surprise.

He didn’t even register when his driver opened the car door for him. He just stood there, heart beating like it was not his own.

Ansh Malhotra, the man who’d broken empires with his silence and turned nations into markets with a flick of his signature pen, had just fallen for a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

And it wasn’t some fleeting attraction. No, he didn’t do infatuation.

This was something deeper.

Like fate took a detour and bumped into him wearing a lawyer’s robe.

But the funny part?

He had no idea that very woman would enter his world not as a guest…

…but as a spy sent to dig through the bones of his past.

[CUT TO – HOURS LATER]

The same woman — Shreya Rajvansh — was now groggily waking up in a dimly lit interrogation room. Her arms were tied. Head spinning. The sharp scent of chloroform lingered in her senses like a bad joke.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open as two silhouettes came into view. Men in suits. Badges hanging from their necks like they were in some crime thriller movie.

“Welcome back,” one said with a smirk.

“CBI. You’re safe now.”

Shreya blinked.

Then looked at them like they were aliens from Mars.

“Safe? Bhai… tum logon ne mujhe kidnap kiya hai! Yeh koi Netflix ka dark thriller chal raha hai kya?!”

“Ma’am, ma’am relax—”

The other officer raised his hand. “We’re CBI officers. Legitimate. We had to bring you in for an urgent matter.”

“Toh invite bhej dete na! Shaadi thodi na attend karne jaa rahi thi main. Kidnap kyu kiya?!” she barked.

“Bhadak kyun ri ho? Hume tumse ek kaam tha!” the first one replied, scratching his head.

She glared.

“Kidnap karke bolte ho bhadak kyun rahi ho?! Bhai mujhe kya pata kal subah organ donation center mein meri kidney bik rahi hoti!”

The third man in the room — sheepishly standing near the door — coughed and finally confessed,

“Woh... mujhe laga yeh wahi hai jo list mein tha... naam similar tha toh... le aaya.”

Shreya stared at him like she was about to throw her heel.

“Naam similar tha? Toh koi bhi ‘Neha Sharma’ mile toh utha loge kya? Saare Sharma log terrorist thodi na hote hain!”

The officers exchanged nervous glances and stammered apologies.

But Shreya had only one thing to say:

“Next time tumhe kaam ho na… toh kidnapp mat karna. Bas chai pila dena. I talk better with caffeine.”

They all laughed awkwardly.

But none of them — not even her — knew that this accidental encounter had just opened the door to a storm neither side was ready for.

Because Shreya was about to be assigned the most dangerous man on the map — the same man whose heart had just skipped a beat… the same man who never skipped anything.

Ansh Malhotra.

The towering glass building of Malhotra Enterprises shimmered under the morning sun, its façade bold, brilliant, and intimidating — much like the man who ruled it.

The penthouse floor, known to be Ansh Malhotra’s private den, was a fortress of silence, efficiency, and power.

No one walked without purpose, no one breathed too loud, and no one dared question orders. Working under Ansh wasn’t a job; it was survival training.

That morning, Ansh had walked into his office, brooding and unreadable like always — until he opened his cabin door and paused mid-step.

She was there.

Her.

The woman from the courthouse. The accidental glimpse that had burned into his memory like wildfire.

The woman who had made the world go silent for a moment.

And now, she stood calmly by his desk, flipping through a file, completely unaware of the storm she’d just reignited within him.

Or… maybe she was aware. Because Shreya Rajvansh was never unaware.

Ansh's Perspective:

He blinked once.

Twice.

A sharp ache stabbed in his chest — unexpected, annoying, irresistible.

She was his new assistant?

Who approved this? When?

He should’ve been informed.

But for the first time in years, he didn’t care about the broken chain of communication.

All he knew was — she was here. Within reach. Real. Breathing. Smelling like subtle lavender and chaos.

Wearing a sharp white blouse tucked into a high-waist black pencil skirt, her hair tied in a sleek low bun, she looked like a goddess disguised as a corporate weapon.

Not a single accessory adorned her, but her presence screamed more authority than any diamond ever could.

“Who… are you?” he asked, his voice a notch deeper than he intended.

She looked up from the file — slowly, deliberately — like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had just triggered.

“Shreya Rajvansh. Your new executive assistant. Reporting on orders from the board Sir. She said greeting him with a bow.”

Her voice — calm, collected, firm — didn’t match the flutter in his chest. There was a small smile, no attempt to impress him. Just pure professionalism and a pair of eyes that refused to blink before his.

He didn’t respond.

He was still… watching.

Like someone trying to recognize a painting he had only seen in his dreams.

How could someone be so… composed?

He was used to women stuttering, nervously fumbling, trying to impress him, seduce him, escape him. But this one?

She stood still.

Like she belonged there.

And for the first time in his entire life, Ansh Malhotra felt distracted.

Shreya's Perspective:

He was staring at her.

Not the usual bossy “show-me-your-resume” stare. This was different. Personal. Lingering. Curious.

She could feel the weight of his eyes on her face, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. Not here. Not now.

Because behind that calm demeanor, beneath the cold exterior, she had a mission. One that would either make her career… or cost her life.

This wasn’t just another corporate job.

This was a covert infiltration into the darkest empire operating under a legal disguise.

Her target? Ansh Malhotra.

Her goal? Earn his trust, locate the hidden key file, and destroy everything he’d built.

It wasn’t just about law or justice anymore.

It was about ending a ghost empire that had swallowed lives, finances, and people whole.

And to do that, she had to play the part.

Effortlessly.

So she stood there like she was truly just his new assistant. She took his schedule, offered him his coffee (without sugar, just the way his file said), and even printed out the merger contracts. Routine. Mechanical. Unbothered.

She had to make him trust her.

Let him believe she was nothing more than a smart, dedicated assistant with no hidden agenda.

Let him slowly lower his guard… until the moment came where she would strike where it hurt the most.

The key.

That was the CBI’s codename for a classified document — the only physical proof of all illegal operations tied to Ansh’s name. And it was supposedly stored somewhere only he had access to.

Her job?

Earn that access.

Even if it meant dancing on the edge of hell.

Back to Ansh...

He watched her pour him coffee, slide it across the desk like she’d done it a hundred times.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t compliment his suit. She didn’t even bat her lashes.

And that drove him mad.

“Tum pehle kabhi mili ho mujhse?” he asked suddenly.

She paused — just for half a second — then answered smoothly,

“I don’t think so, sir. Aapko toh har week naye log milte honge.”

He nodded, but his eyes didn’t leave her.

She’s lying.

He was sure of it.

That face… he’d seen it.

But where? When?

A part of him wanted to ask.

The other part… wanted to keep watching her in silence.

Because for the first time in a long time, Ansh Malhotra wasn’t thinking about power, expansion, or threats.

He was thinking about her.

And he hated how easily she took over his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Shreya’s inner monologue:

He’s watching me like I’m his next obsession.

Good.

Let him.

Obsession leads to trust.

Trust leads to secrets.

And secrets lead to destruction.

She adjusted her watch, eyes still fixed on the laptop screen, fingers typing his appointment memo as if she didn’t notice the storm he was bottling inside.

But inside her own head, she whispered to herself—

“Yeh sirf shuruaat hai, Mr. Malhotra. Tumhare empire ka aakhri assistant ab tumhare samne khadi hai even if it cost my life I will destroy you.”

Days passed. Then a week.

If someone in the office were to describe Shreya Rajvansh, they'd call her "flawlessly mechanical."

Never late. Never out of line. Never distracted.

She carried her work with clinical precision — scheduling back-to-back meetings, drafting high-stakes contracts without error, keeping reports ready before Ansh could even ask. Her emails were sharp. Her voice during calls — confident. Her walk down the corridors — unshakable.

She wasn’t just good. She was another name of PERFECTION.

And Ansh noticed.

Ansh's Perspective:

He wasn’t used to women like her.

They either feared him, flattered him, or threw themselves at him with desperate smiles and hidden agendas.

But Shreya… was like a damn wall made of frost and fire. Cold to touch. Too hot to ignore.

And it bothered him.

Intrigued him.

Obsessed him.

Every morning, he’d catch himself waiting for the click of her heels outside his cabin.

Every evening, he found reasons to keep her longer — unnecessary revisions, extra reports, "accidental" schedule reshuffles.

But she never complained. Never questioned.

She just… did her job. Perfectly.

And that’s what made her dangerously irresistible.

So one evening — when the office floor was quiet, lights dimmed, and the city outside wrapped itself in fog — Ansh decided to test the waters.

She entered his cabin with the finalized merger file, placing it neatly on his desk.

“Sign it. Page 16, right margin,” she said plainly.

He didn’t reach for the pen.

Instead, he leaned back in his leather chair, arms folded, gaze fixed on her like he was sizing up prey.

“Tumhare baare mein kuch nahi jaanta,” he said, voice low and smooth.

“Pichle assistant toh roz apni love life ka update deti thi.”

Shreya didn’t even blink.

“Main aapki assistant hoon, sir. Not your entertainment subscription,” she replied flatly.

He chuckled — a slow, amused sound.

“Tum cold ho… ya sirf act kar rahi ho?”

She looked him dead in the eye.

“Main kaam karne aayi hoon, character audition dene nahi.”

Ansh’s smirk faltered — just a flicker — but it was enough to amuse her inside.

Still, he wasn’t the kind of man who gave up easily.

So he stood, walking over to her with that same slow, confident grace that made most women’s hearts melt. He reached for the file — but instead of signing it, he flipped it shut and said—

“Office ka kaam toh theek hai… lekin tumse milne ka man karta hai beyond that. Maybe dinner?”

There. He had said it.

Not forcefully. Not vulgarly.

Just… suggestion cloaked as charm.

But Shreya didn’t miss a beat.

She raised a brow and replied coolly,

“Dinner meri dictionary mein tab hota hai jab main bhooki hoon, na ki jab boss flirt kare.”

He smiled again — wider this time — clearly enjoying the chase.

“You’re different.”

She leaned forward slightly, matching his tone.

“Aapke jaise log sochte hain har ladki choone ke liye bani hai. Lekin main uss category mein nahi hoon, Mr. Malhotra.”

Ansh stared at her.

There was no hesitation in her voice.

No nervous flicker in her eyes.

She had just shut down the most powerful man in India like it meant nothing.

And that, ironically, only increased his obsession.

Shreya’s Inner Monologue:

He thinks this is a game. That I’ll fall for his charm like all the others.

But she wasn’t playing to win his heart.

She was playing to dismantle his empire.

Let him try. Let him circle her like a wolf dressed in cashmere and cologne.

She had her eyes on the prize — the hidden key file, the coded drives, the encrypted safe only accessed through Ansh’s biometric and trust.

To get there, he had to believe she was harmless. Loyal. Blind.

But not once would she actually lower her guard.

She picked up the file, placed it firmly in front of him again.

“Page 16. Sign it. Right margin,” she said again, eyes cold.

Ansh took the pen this time, smirking slightly as he scribbled his name.

As she turned to leave, he watched her go — her back straight, her hair still tightly tied, not even sparing him a second glance.

Who the hell are you, Shreya Rajvansh?

He couldn’t stop wondering.

She wasn’t just an assistant.

She wasn’t seducible.

She wasn’t forgettable.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to stop trying.

It had been almost three weeks since Shreya Rajvansh had entered Ansh Malhotra’s office — and his life — with the quiet authority of a woman who had nothing to prove but everything to hide.

In those three weeks, she had become indispensable.

From managing the company’s most sensitive legal correspondences to anticipating Ansh’s meetings, moods, and decisions, she was a perfect shadow to his fire — never too close to burn, never too distant to ignore.

She didn’t smile unnecessarily.

She didn’t gossip.

She didn’t try to impress.

And that’s exactly why she had begun to earn his trust.

For a man like Ansh, who had built empires on paranoia and suspicion, trust wasn’t something he gave. It was something people stole from him slowly, bit by bit. And Shreya — without even trying — had begun doing exactly that.

---

That afternoon, the sky outside had turned a soft grey. The low hum of rain tapping against the glass windows filled the room.

The office was quieter than usual. Most employees had left early due to the weather. But Shreya, as always, was still there — seated on the sofa corner of Ansh’s private lounge, laptop balanced on her legs, glasses perched on her nose, working through a legal draft for a new offshore merger.

She was focused. Eyebrows slightly knitted. One hand typing. The other holding a pencil she occasionally used to point at notes.

She hadn’t noticed it — or maybe she had — but her crop top had ridden up ever so slightly as she leaned forward, her arms raised while flipping pages of a file on the table.

And that’s when he saw it.

The curve of her waist.

Bare. Unblemished. A stretch of soft, pale skin exposed just above the waistband of her fitted trousers. The light from the lamp behind her seemed to kiss it gently, highlighting the delicate lines of her toned midriff.

Ansh  was mid-sentence, discussing something over the phone — but he froze.

His throat went dry. His fingers, holding a Montblanc pen, tightened slightly.

His heart?

It did something completely out of character — it skipped, stumbled, and pounded.

He had seen enough women in bold dresses, designer gowns, and backless blouses. But this — this unintentional glimpse — felt far more intimate than anything he’d ever known.

Because Shreya wasn’t trying.

She wasn’t seducing.

She wasn’t even aware.

And somehow… that made it worse.

Or better.

He wasn’t sure anymore.

He tore his eyes away, clenching his jaw. Refused to act on it. Refused to let his gaze linger longer than necessary.

But the image was already etched — permanently — in the back of his mind.

Shreya, meanwhile, noticed everything.

She hadn’t missed that slight pause in his words, the flicker in his expression, the way he looked at her waist and immediately looked away — like he’d committed a sin he hadn’t meant to.

That pause was her silent victory.

Because she knew men like Ansh.

They didn’t admit distractions.

They didn’t reveal cracks.

But their silences? Their micro-reactions? That’s where the truth lay.

She adjusted her top casually — just a tug — and continued typing like nothing happened, the corner of her lips twitching slightly in satisfaction.

He’s watching.

That’s good.

Let him fall. Let him want. Let him need.

Because the more he feels, the more he trusts.

And the more he trusts — the closer she gets to the truth.

But outwardly, she remained unreadable. Polished. Untouchable.

When she finally stood up and walked over to his desk with the file, her tone was as professional as ever.

“Sir, the clause for Clause 5.4 in the Dubai contract — I modified the jurisdiction paragraph. It’s safer if we push for London arbitration instead of UAE.”

Ansh blinked. It took him a second to register her words.

“Hmm… yeah. That’s smart.”

He took the file, barely glancing at it, because his eyes briefly — and involuntarily — flicked to her waist again.

But this time… it was covered.

As if that moment had never existed.

And yet, the aftershock of it echoed in his veins.

Inside Ansh's mind:

What the hell is happening to me?

He couldn’t understand it.

He wasn’t supposed to be this way — not with an employee.

And especially not with someone who didn’t even try to be in his orbit.

She didn’t flirt.

She didn’t give him glances.

She wasn’t impressed by his charm, his power, or his wealth.

And somehow, that made her a hundred times more dangerous.

He wanted more. Not her body… yet. Not entirely.

He wanted her attention. Her trust. Her mind.

Because for once, someone had walked into his world without trying to belong.

And maybe… just maybe… that’s why he wanted her to stay.

---

Shreya, as she walked out of the cabin, thought silently:

One step closer.

He’s cracking.

And she was getting closer to the one thing that could end the Malhotra empire forever —

The key. Hidden behind the one door that only emotions could unlock.

And he was slowly, unknowingly… opening it for her.

Chapter over 💋💋vote karo naaaaa!!!!!