It was supposed to be a normal afternoon.
Riaan hadn't spoken to Aanya since the morning. His meetings had been cancelled. Her emails had been short, polite. Professional.
Too professional.
He was avoiding her.And she hated how much she noticed.
By 5:12 p.m., Aanya had wrapped up for the day and stepped into the elevator, her thoughts a blur of unfinished desire and unanswered questions.
The doors slid shut.
A soft chime.Then—nothing.
No movement.
She pressed the button again. Then again.
The lights flickered once.
And then… the elevator stopped.
Dead still.
She blinked, heart rate picking up. "No, no, no—"
She hit the emergency call. No response.
Just as panic set in, she heard hurried footsteps outside. The doors creaked slightly.
Then—his voice.
"Aanya?"
Her knees nearly buckled. "Riaan?"
"What the hell are you doing in there?"
"Trying to go home," she snapped. "The lift just—stopped."
"Of course it did," he muttered. "Stay where you are."
"Where else would I go?"
And then, somehow—because fate clearly had a cruel sense of humor—the doors pried open just enough…
For him to slip inside.
The second the doors slammed shut again, she stared at him, wide-eyed.
"You got in?"
"Wasn't going to leave you alone."
He turned to the panel. Pressed a few buttons. Nothing.
"I called for help. They said 15 minutes," he muttered.
She folded her arms, leaning back against the wall. "Well, this isn't awkward at all."
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
The silence grew thick.
"Why are you avoiding me?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer.
"You kissed me. You touched me. And now you pretend like nothing happened."
Riaan's jaw clenched. "Because it shouldn't have happened."
"Too late."
The elevator groaned softly. Still unmoving.
She stepped closer. Just a little. "Are you scared of what you felt?"
"I'm not scared of anything," he said sharply.
"Then look at me and say it meant nothing."
His eyes locked with hers.
The silence answered for him.
Before either of them could think, she reached up—gentle, slow—and brushed her fingers against his jaw.
He caught her wrist.
"Aanya," he warned.
"Tell me to stop," she whispered.
He didn't.
Instead, he pulled her into him — rough, sudden, hungry.
The kiss this time wasn't cautious. It was desperate.
Their bodies collided against the wall of the elevator. His hands tangled in her hair, her fingers gripping the collar of his shirt.
It was madness. Need. Control breaking all over again.
The elevator might have been frozen…
But they were on fire.