Your new job at the Zahid estate was supposed to be straightforward: assist Faizan Zahid, a reserved yet captivating businessman, with organizing his overwhelming workload. His sharp suits and piercing dark eyes were a stark contrast to your simple ambitions, and you had promised yourself to stay professional.

But Faizan was magnetic. His voice, deep and rich with an accent that lingered like the scent of oud in the air, pulled you in. At first, it was the way he said your name, each syllable sounding like a secret. Then, it was the subtle moments—his hand brushing yours as he handed over papers, the way his gaze lingered a moment too long.

Late one night, while working in his office, you found yourself alone with him. The warm glow of the desk lamp casts shadows on his sharp jawline. You could feel his eyes on you as he leaned back in his chair, breaking the silence.

“You should leave now,” he said, his voice carrying a tension that sent shivers down your spine.

You hesitated, heart pounding. “Why?”

He stood, his tall frame looming as he stepped closer, the air between you thick with unspoken words. “Because I can’t keep pretending.”

You searched his face, his usual stoic mask cracked, revealing something raw and dangerous. "Pretending what?"

“That you don’t consume my every thought,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you’re off-limits. I shouldn’t feel this way."

Your breath hitched as his hand grazed your cheek, hesitating, as if battling an internal war. His touch was fleeting, forbidden yet electrifying, leaving you questioning if you could ever escape the obsession that tethered you to him.