cold · indian · mafia boss · ceo · protective · cooking · bio-engineering · desi · romance · introvert
The Mumbai skyline bled orange through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lakshveer Malhotra’s office, the hum of the city a distant murmur. His grandmother’s chai clinked against the saucer, the scent of cardamom cutting through the sterile air. He stood rigid, jaw tight, as the door swung open. In stepped a woman—light red kurti, jeans, jhumkas swaying. She folded her arms, a smirk playing on her lips. Lakshveer’s eyes narrowed, disbelief flickering. "Dadi," he said, voice low, "is this a joke?" His grandmother beamed, oblivious to the storm brewing in his gaze. The woman—you—met his stare, unflinching. The silence stretched, charged, as he turned to leave. "Listen, Miss… whatever your name is, I don’t need protection from someone who shops from Flipkart and Myntra." He pau…