Navya’s POV

Monday mornings in corporate Mumbai felt like war disguised as productivity.

Navya adjusted her laptop bag as she stepped into the elevator.

She had replayed Saturday night more times than she wanted to admit.

Rhea Kapoor.
The way she had looked at Aarav.
The way his mother had assessed Navya.

And worst of all —
the way Aarav had defended her at the table.

That shouldn’t have mattered.

She was his assistant.

Not part of his personal life.

Not part of his future.

And definitely not someone who should feel… displaced.

The elevator doors opened.

The forty-first floor was already buzzing.

Something was off.

People were whispering.

Tension floated in the air.

Before she could sit, HR rushed past her.

“Audit committee is here.”

Navya’s stomach dropped slightly.

Unannounced audits meant only one thing.

Someone had complained.

She didn’t get to think further.

“Navya. Inside.”

His voice.

Controlled. Tight.

She stepped into his office.

Aarav stood near his desk, sleeves rolled up. Not in anger.

In calculation.

“The board has initiated a compliance review.”

“Because of the leak?”

“Yes.”

“And they think it was internal negligence?”

“They think it was me.”

Her breath caught.

“That’s absurd.”

“Absurd doesn’t matter. Perception does.”

He walked toward her slowly.

“They’ll question staff.”

Her fingers tightened around her notebook.

“Everyone?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“You accessed server logs.”

Her pulse stilled.

“Yes.”

“They’ll see that.”

Silence.

And suddenly she understood.

This wasn’t just about him anymore.

If the board discovered she bypassed clearance —

It could cost her job.

Or worse.

“You can say you instructed me,” she said immediately.

He looked at her sharply.

“No.”

“It protects you.”

“It implicates you.”

“I don’t mind.”

His eyes darkened.

“That’s not your decision to make.”

The intensity in his tone made her step back instinctively.

He noticed.

And hated it.

“I won’t let them drag you into something reckless,” he said lower now.

“I chose to check those logs.”

“You chose it for the company.”

“And for you.”

The words slipped.

Too honest.

The room stilled.

She looked down immediately.

“I meant professionally.”

He didn’t answer.

Because he had heard the hesitation.

Aarav’s POV

This was exactly why he didn’t mix proximity with professionalism.

Navya had crossed a line for him.

Not because she was careless.

But because she cared.

And that was dangerous.

The board had been waiting for a mistake.

The leak gave them an excuse.

If they found out his assistant accessed restricted logs —

It would look like incompetence.

Or worse — manipulation.

He watched her carefully.

She was standing straight.

Calm.

But her fingers were gripping the notebook too tightly.

“You’re not answering their questions alone,” he said.

“I can handle it.”

“I know.”

A beat.

“That’s not the point.”

She looked at him then.

And for the first time, he saw something beneath her composure.

Fear.

Not for herself.

For him.

It unsettled him more than the audit.

Navya’s POV

The board questioning lasted twenty-seven minutes.

It felt longer.

Three executives.

One legal advisor.

Cold expressions.

“Why did you access restricted logs without clearance?”

“Because there was a breach.”

“That wasn’t your authority.”

“I understand.”

“Then why proceed?”

She paused.

Because honesty was a habit she hadn’t learned to suppress.

“Because I believed someone was misdirecting blame.”

“And who were they blaming?”

Silence.

She could lie.

Or she could tell the truth.

“They were suggesting Mr. Malhotra’s oversight.”

The room shifted.

“You’re aware that defending your employer doesn’t require policy violation?”

“I wasn’t defending him.”

She held her ground.

“I was defending the accuracy of internal investigation.”

A pause.

“And if your action caused further legal exposure?”

“I would take responsibility.”

The legal advisor leaned forward.

“Even if it meant termination?”

Her heartbeat stilled.

“Yes.”

Aarav’s POV

He had never felt this kind of restraint before.

He watched through the glass panel as they questioned her.

She didn’t tremble.

She didn’t blame anyone.

She didn’t once say he instructed her.

She was willing to take the fall.

For what?

Three days of employment?

Or something else he didn’t want to examine.

When she stepped out of the conference room, she looked composed.

Until she saw him.

And something softened.

“I answered truthfully,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Was that wrong?”

He stepped closer.

Too close.

“No.”

Their proximity shifted the air.

He could see the faint crease of stress near her brows.

“You shouldn’t have offered termination so easily.”

“It’s just a job.”

The statement irritated him more than it should have.

“It’s not just a job.”

“For you, maybe.”

“For you too.”

Her breath hitched slightly.

The space between them felt smaller than the office allowed.

She became aware of how close he was.

Of how low his voice had dropped.

And of how steady her heartbeat was trying to remain.

“Why does it matter?” she asked quietly.

Because you matter.

The thought arrived uninvited.

He stepped back immediately.

“It matters because instability reflects poorly on my leadership.”

Professional answer.

Safe answer.

She nodded.

“Understood.”

But something in her expression dimmed slightly.

And that bothered him.

Navya’s POV

By evening, the board concluded the breach was not internal negligence.

The suspicion shifted toward one of the board members.

Quietly.

Discreetly.

Crisis contained.

She returned to her desk exhausted.

At 8:15 p.m., his cabin door opened.

“You’re still here.”

“So are you.”

A faint repetition from before.

But this time it felt different.

He placed a file on her desk.

“Your access clearance has been upgraded.”

Her eyes widened.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you choosing between loyalty and rules again.”

The words landed heavier than intended.

She looked up slowly.

“I wasn’t choosing between those.”

“You were.”

Silence.

“You don’t have to protect me,” he added quietly.

She held his gaze.

“I know.”

But she didn’t say she wouldn’t.

He studied her for a long second.

Then —

“Navya.”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

“Of what?”

“Of making this personal.”

Her heartbeat skipped.

“I’m not.”

He didn’t look convinced.

Because neither was he.

The Moment

She stood to gather her bag.

Her foot caught slightly against the chair leg.

A small misstep.

He reached instinctively.

His hand wrapped around her wrist.

Steadying.

For one suspended second —

They didn’t move.

Her pulse beneath his fingers.

His grip firm but not possessive.

Too aware.

Too close.

Her breath softened.

“I'm fine,” she whispered.

He released her immediately.

Professional distance restored.

But the air had changed.

Irreversibly.

As she walked toward the elevator, he remained still.

He had built his life on control.

On structure.

On clarity.

Navya Kulkarni disrupted all three.

And the most dangerous part?

He wasn’t sure he wanted her to stop.

End of Chapter 4