After the meeting, silence followed Rudra like a storm cloud as he cut through the halls toward his office. The staff scattered, heads down, holding their breath.
An assistant rushed forward, trembling, with a cup of his evening coffee.
"Sir, your drink—"
Rudra took it, sipped—then stopped. His jaw tightened. His eyes flicked to the employee, who instantly froze like prey cornered by a predator.
"This is… not what I asked for," Rudra said softly. Too softly.
The assistant's heart nearly stopped. "S-sir, I—I'll replace it immediately—"
Rudra set the cup down with slow, deliberate precision, the air around him coiled like a live wire. For one dangerous moment, it seemed like he would lash out—his voice sharp, merciless.
But then… he exhaled.
"Do it right," he said coldly, turning away. "Don't waste my time."
The assistant nearly stumbled in his haste to flee, clutching the cup like it was a live grenade.
By the time Rudra shut his office door behind him, the entire floor was whispering about how close he had come to snapping. One wrong breath, one wrong word—and someone could have lost their career on the spot.
Everyone cursed the journalist again. Loudly. Publicly.
Because if Rudra Malhotra was furious enough to nearly snap over coffee, then the man who had actually ruined his mood?
He was already a dead man walking.
Rudra sat in his office, city lights sprawling beyond the glass wall. His fingers drummed once on the desk, controlled… but his jaw remained locked tight.
His phone buzzed.
[1 New Message]
— Eat something light before dinner, okay?
Rudra's gaze lingered on the screen. He didn't reply.
A few minutes later—
[2 New Messages]
— Don't skip your meals.
— Are you drinking water?
He set the phone face-down.
It buzzed again.
[3 More Messages]
— Rudra?
— I'm serious.
— Please tell me you're okay.
For a long moment, Rudra simply stared at the device. No one dared enter his office, yet here he was—cornered by worry, not fear. Finally, with a heavy breath, he typed two words.
I am fine.
But before he could put the phone away, it vibrated again—this time with a call.
He hesitated, then answered.
"…Yes?" His voice was lower than usual, weary.
On the other end came Ayaan's soft, careful tone.
"Are you okay?"
The words landed differently than any demand or challenge Rudra had faced all day. For a second, he couldn't breathe. His hand flexed against the desk.
"…Yes," he managed, quieter than he intended.
There was silence—gentle, waiting. Then Ayaan's voice again, softer still, like warmth slipping through a crack.
"Please tell me what happened?"
Rudra leaned back in his chair, eyes closing. He had never told anyone anything. Not his board, not his employees, not even his family. But the way Ayaan asked—patient, not prying, worried but not demanding—it pulled at the wall he had built so carefully.
And for the first time that day, the frost inside him began to crack.
On the other end of the line, Ayaan was silent for a moment. Then, softly—
"Rudra… breathe."
The CEO froze, lips parting slightly at the words. No one told him that. No one dared to.
"You don't have to explain more," Ayaan continued gently, his tone calm but firm, "just… breathe. For me."
For a second, Rudra actually did. His chest rose, fell. The tight coil in his shoulders eased—barely, but it was there.
"…Better?" Ayaan asked quietly.
Rudra didn't answer. His throat felt strange, tight. He muttered, "I should go," and before he could slip further, he ended the call.
The office fell into silence again, but his phone buzzed almost instantly.
Incoming Video Call — Ayaan.
Rudra stared at the screen. Once. Twice. His finger hovered. He could ignore it. He should ignore it.
But when the call buzzed again, stubborn and unrelenting, he finally swiped.
Aayan's face appeared—warm café lighting behind him, brows knit in worry.
"Rudra," he said softly, eyes searching the camera, "don't hang up on me like that. Please."
For a man feared by entire industries, Rudra Malhotra sat frozen, caught by a pair of gentle, worried eyes on his phone screen.
Rudra accepted the video call at last, the faintest frown still between his brows. His screen lit with Ayaan's face—soft café lights behind him, hair a little messy, eyes filled with worry.
"You look… tired," Ayaan said immediately, his voice so soft it made Rudra shift uncomfortably in his chair.
Rudra rarely let anyone see him like this. But almost without thinking, he tugged at his tie, loosening it, the top button of his shirt undone. A small thing—but his face looked different now, more human than the cold, perfect CEO mask he wore. His features were drawn, weary, and his eyes had the heaviness of someone who had carried too much all day.
Ayaan blinked, lips parting for a moment. He wasn't used to seeing Rudra like this—but instead of questioning it, he leaned into his own way of caring.
"You know," he said, tilting his head with exaggerated seriousness, "if I keep worrying this much about you, I might get wrinkles. All because of you."
He even pouted dramatically, lower lip sticking out like a sulking child. "Wrinkles, Rudra. And then what? You'll have to buy me wrinkle cream as an apology."
Rudra just stared at him.
And then—very softly, very unexpectedly—he let out a short chuckle.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't long. But it was real—warm, low, breaking through the cold armor he wore.
Ayaan froze. His heart thudded against his ribs, eyes wide. He swore he could feel butterflies erupting in his stomach.
Rudra Malhotra. The man who never smiled in public. The man whose coldness silenced boardrooms. The man feared enough that employees prayed before meetings. He just… chuckled.
For him.
Ayaan's cheeks flushed pink. He tried to cover it up by exaggerating his pout even more, but his voice came out softer, almost trembling with that fluttery warmth.
"Don't laugh at me. I'm being serious. Wrinkles are a tragedy."
Rudra leaned back in his chair, eyes on Ayaan's screen, and for a moment the exhaustion in him didn't feel so suffocating. His lips curved the faintest bit—not quite a smile, but close.
"…Wrinkles would not suit you."
Ayaan blinked, the butterflies in his chest exploding into chaos. He quickly looked away from the screen, hiding his face with his hand.
"D-don't say things like that so casually."
Rudra tilted his head, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. For once, the great CEO didn't feel like the untouchable man everyone else saw. For once, he just felt… lighter.