Zoya didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't breathe properly for the next twenty seconds.

Zayan was still staring at her — not angry, not pissed.

Just... entertained.

Which was somehow worse.

"So tell me," he finally said, his voice velvety-smooth, "do you always sleep this shamelessly next to men you write hit pieces on?"

Her throat clenched.

She looked at him sharply.

Eyes narrowed. Chin raised. Editor mode, activated.

"It's called journalism. And it's not personal."

He smirked. That dangerous, I-own-the-room kind of smirk.

"You called me a walking felony in Ferragamo loafers."

"Technically, that headline went viral—"

"Because you approved it."

He leaned in. "And you loved it."

She looked away.

"I didn't even know what you looked like back then."

"Oh, so now that you do... how am I doing in person?"

She gave him a withering glare, but her cheeks betrayed her.

Warm. Pink.

And he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

"Blushing, Zoey? That doesn't feel very 'Editor-in-Chief' of you."

"Stop calling me that."

"Then tell me what to call you."

Her eyes locked on his. "Nothing. You don't get to call me anything."

He laughed under his breath.

A low, slow sound that curled right under her skin.

"You sure? Because you looked like you were about to moan my name in your sleep twenty minutes ago."

Her entire body stiffened.

"I was asleep."

"Mmm," he nodded. "Sounded more like dreaming."

She fumbled for her wine glass, her fingers slightly trembling.

Zayan just watched her — like a lion playing with his food.

"Why are you going to Mumbai, Zoya Kapoor?"

She hesitated. "Family."

"Which one? The one you write about or the one that writes checks?"

Her lips parted — shocked.

This man had done his homework.

She cleared her throat. "What about you?"

He smiled slowly.

"Me? I'm going to Mumbai..."

He leaned in, so close his breath brushed her cheek.

"...to ruin a girl who thought I wouldn't find her."

Her heart skipped. Then tripped. Then crashed.

And Zayan?

Sat back like he hadn't just detonated her entire night.

Zoya stared ahead, chewing on nothing.

Her fingers clutched the wine stem like it might protect her.

But it didn't.

Because the man beside her — Zayan Raizada — was watching her like he already owned her next ten heartbeats.

Then he leaned back in his seat, stretched slightly, and said,

almost too casually—

"See, God's clearly on my side."

She turned her head, slowly.

"What?"

He smiled. Dangerous. Effortless.

Eyes glittering like a storm was about to begin.

"I didn't even land in Mumbai... and my destination is already sitting next to me."

Her breath hitched.

She blinked once, then straightened her back, trying to reassemble her spine.

"What do you mean... Mr. Zayan?"

The second the words left her mouth, she knew she messed up.

His eyes flared slightly at the "Mr. Zayan."

His smirk curled into something crueler. More amused.

"Hmm. 'Mr. Zayan' now?"

He leaned closer — just enough to make her pulse skip.

His breath was warm against her ear.

"That's cute. A few minutes ago, your body was practically begging to be touched..."

"Now you're pretending to be professional?"

"Nice move."

"But you won't get to play that game anymore, jaan."

She stiffened.

He saw it.

And he loved it.

Her silence, her panic, the way she swallowed like her throat was suddenly too tight.

"You're shaking," he whispered.

"Is it fear, or anticipation?"

She didn't respond.

"No answer? That's okay."

"I've seen it before — women getting brave with their mouths until they realize who they're speaking to."

His voice was soft.

Too soft.

Which somehow made it worse.

"Relax, Zoey. I'm not mad... yet."

She turned toward him, trying to mask her fear with sarcasm.

"Is this what you do? Intimidate girls who write about you?"

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

"Only the ones who turn me on in business class."

She opened her mouth, closed it again.

"Zuzu... tu gayi."

Zayan leaned back again, still smirking.

"You know what the best part is?"

She didn't ask.

"I didn't chase you. You sat next to me. You teased me. You moaned in your sleep."

"And now? You're scared of me?"

He chuckled under his breath.

"You should be."