The Silent Game

The office was as she expected—immaculate, quiet, and heavy with an unspoken authority. The scent of strong coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint crispness of polished wood and expensive cologne. A large window behind the desk framed the city skyline, glowing under the evening lights.

Ajay Rajput sat at his desk, his expression unreadable, eyes fixed on a document in front of him. He didn’t glance up, didn’t acknowledge her presence.

Ah. So, that was the game he was playing.

Alice leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms, observing him with mild amusement. No greeting. No sarcastic remark. Just quiet. He was making her wait.

Fine. She could wait.

She took her time stepping inside, her heels tapping lightly against the floor. Still, he remained unmoved, flipping a page with practiced indifference.

For a moment, she simply watched him.

The sharp angles of his face, the way his dark brows furrowed ever so slightly in concentration, the faint tension in his jaw—if she didn’t know better, she’d say he was genuinely too busy to bother with her. But she did know better.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

She approached his desk, deliberately closing the space between them. He didn’t react.

Alice braced her hands on the edge of the desk and leaned in, tilting her head slightly as if she were admiring the document he was so invested in.

Nothing.

Alice’s fingers drummed lightly against the wood. Then, just as he reached for his glass of water—smooth, calculated—she plucked it from his grasp before it could reach his lips.

Ajay stilled, his fingers pausing midair. His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.

She took a slow sip, letting the silence stretch between them. The cool water slid down her throat, refreshing, almost victorious. Then, she stepped away, moving towards the front of his desk once more.

Only then did he exhale, shutting the file with a quiet thud.

His gaze lifted, finally meeting hers.

"You're impossible."

His voice was even, but beneath it, there was something else—a flicker of irritation, sharp and edged. Cold, but not detached. He wasn’t angry because she had taken his drink. He was angry because she had won.

Alice smiled. "Oh really? Am I?."

Ajay stood up abruptly, his chair scraping the floor as he straightened, his tall frame looming over the desk. Without a word, he walked toward her, his steps deliberate, his presence filling the space between them. When he reached the front of his desk, he stood there, close enough that she could feel the shift in the air. His gaze never left hers, sharp and focused.

"I want to talk about the deal. The Paris shoot."

Alice froze, taken aback. "You don’t look too thrilled about it."

He crossed his arms, posture rigid. "I’m not." His gaze never wavered. "You do remember I advised against it, right?."

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

She mirrored his stance, arms crossing over her chest, her expression cool. "And I still signed it. So?"

Ajay’s jaw tightened, his voice turning sharp. "I don't trust the way they operate. How they treat people like you. Models. Actresses. To them, you're just pawns."

"You think it’s the same for me?" Amala cut in, her voice softer but unwavering. "You know better than that, Ajay. I’m not one of them. I can handle myself."

Ajay’s expression darkened slightly. "No."

She tilted her head. "What, no?"

"Do you want me to repeat myself?

Fine. I. Don't. Like. It."

A tense silence settled between them.

The Silent Battle.

Ajay’s eyes bore into hers, and for a moment, the world outside that room seemed to fade away. She was unyielding, her stance calm but resolute. His gaze flickered with something deeper—something he would never admit. But even through his growing frustration, he knew this look. The look that told him she wouldn’t budge.

He stepped back just a fraction, the tiniest shift that felt like defeat. He let out a breath, knowing when to relent.

"Fine," he muttered, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "But I hope you're prepared for what’s waiting over there."

Her eyes softened just slightly, acknowledging his concern. "I’ll be fine, Ajay," she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Ajay nodded, his gaze lingering on her. He made his way back to his desk, knowing very well there was no point in saying more. She had made up her mind. And he? He would just have to watch from the sidelines, hoping she wouldn’t get hurt.

Alice smirked. "Anything else? Or did you just want to complain?"

Ajay leaned against the desk, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Your schedule will be tighter because of this. You’ll barely have time to breathe between projects."

"I’ll survive."

Ajay exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if she were the sole cause of his impending headache. Then, with that signature cold tone of his, he said,

“Get out of my office.”

Alice’s lips curved into a slow, amused smile. She tilted her head slightly, feigning curiosity. “Why?” she asked, her voice playful. “I quite like it here.”

His jaw tightened. “I have work to do.”

She arched a brow, waiting.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the desk, the movement calculated—controlled. “Especially after your latest reckless decision.” His voice was clipped, laced with irritation. “Now I have to go over everything—requirements, additional staff, bodyguards, assistants.”

Alice’s eyes lit up. “Oh? Once you finalize it, send me the list.”

Ajay shot her a flat look. “Why?”

“So I can approve it, of course,” she said sweetly.

He sighed, looking seconds away from pinching the bridge of his nose.

She, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying this. With effortless grace, she turned, her coat swaying slightly as she walked toward the door. Just before stepping out, she cast a glance over her shoulder, a small, knowing smirk playing on her lips.

“Thanks, Ajay,” she said smoothly, as if she had already won.

Then, without waiting for a reply, she walked out—victorious.

Unspoken Worries

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

Ajay exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She always does this. Walks in like she owns the room, throws out a few sharp words, then leaves like nothing touches her.

Like she’s untouchable.

He knows better.

Now alone, he finally allowed himself to feel the weight of the situation.

"She’ll be fine, won’t she?" The words rang in his head, but there was no conviction in them.

He had seen too many actresses get chewed up and spit out by this industry.

Amala was different, he knew that. She was smart, calculating, more than capable. Yet, there was something about the way she moved through life—always at the edge of danger—that made him wish he could do more.

A protective urge surged within him, a fierce need to keep her safe, but there was nothing he could do. And he hated that.

She was more than just a client—though he’d never admit it. They had known each other too long for that. She got under his skin, ignored his warnings, and did whatever she pleased. And yet… he would still be there to clean up after her, no matter how much it annoyed him.

She was determined, strong-willed, and unstoppable. And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.

His phone buzzed, cutting through the heavy silence.

Ajay exhaled sharply and glanced at the screen. His brows furrowed.

Unknown number.

With a sigh, he answered, his voice colder than before, already slipping back into work mode.

"Who is this?"

The pause on the other end was long enough to put him on edge.

Ajay's fingers tightened around his phone, his grip turning white as the voice on the other end uttered,

"You should have kept a tighter leash on her—now it's too late."

What the–?