The glass towers of R Enterprises cut through Mumbai’s skyline like a knife through silk, shimmering beneath the morning sun. The building was a monument to power, money, and silence—the very things Aashika Pandey had promised herself she wouldn’t be intimidated by.

And yet, her heels felt heavier with every step as she walked toward the private elevator.

Her first day at R Enterprises. Not as the daughter of Rajveer Pandey or the heiress to fashion designer Ira Pandey’s legacy, but as an executive intern who started from the lowest floor, working her way up with determination and grit. She had wanted to make a name for herself. No influence. No special favors. Just her work.

But no one had warned her how tall the ghosts here could be.

She tapped the key card, stepped into the elevator, and exhaled.

Then froze.

He was already inside.

Riaz Malhotra.

Dressed in obsidian black, his suit sculpted to perfection, his presence heavy enough to make the air electric. His dark eyes met hers briefly—a flicker, a storm—before he turned his gaze back to the numbers lighting up above the door.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did she.

But her heart did.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She hadn’t seen him in years. Not since university. Not since he vanished the night before graduation—the night she had planned to finally confess.

“She was meant to confess. He was meant to disappear.”

Riaz didn’t look surprised. Just unreadable. Controlled.

God, he looked even colder now. Beautiful, yes—but carved in ice.

And yet, the silence between them spoke of old things. Of laughter in dimly lit libraries. Of coffee he never drank but always paid for. Of glances. Of questions. Of feelings neither dared name.

The elevator hummed.

10th floor... 11th... 12th...

Still, no one spoke.

But Aashika's fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She could feel the weight of every unsaid thing pressing against her chest.

He was the CEO now. Heir to a billion-rupee empire. A man whose name made headlines and whose eyes made enemies. And here she was, the girl who once screamed for his basketball wins from the stands, standing beside him like a stranger.

She caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. Hands in his pockets. Jaw tight. Eyes staring straight ahead.

And yet...

And yet he hadn’t asked her to leave.

She realized then—this was his private elevator.

She had entered it by mistake.

And he knew.

But he said nothing.

17th floor... 18th...

Aashika’s throat burned.

"Riaz..."

she whispered, unsure why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was pain.

He turned his head slowly, his gaze falling on her like a slow blade.

His voice was low. Dangerous. Familiar.

"Not here."

Just two words.

And yet, her legs almost gave out.

The elevator dinged.

Floor 20.

He stepped out first.

She stayed behind.

Before the doors closed, he looked over his shoulder.

Those eyes.

"You're early,"

he said.

The doors shut.

She leaned against the back wall, breathless.

So are the ghosts.