The office buzzed like bees in a shaken hive.

“He’s here!” Tanya whispered, tugging Mrunal’s arm. “Devraj Rathore. The new regional head. And damn—he looks like a sin in a suit.”

Mrunal turned around. Her breath hitched.

Tall. Sharp-jawed. Black suit like a blade. Devraj Rathore didn’t walk into the room. He owned it. His eyes—obsidian cold—swept across the staff like they weren’t people but pieces on a board he was about to rearrange. And when he finally spoke, his voice was deep, polished steel.

“I’m not here to be liked,” he said, standing at the front with his arms crossed. “I’m here to get results. This is a workplace, not your living room. I expect punctuality, precision, and performance. You either rise… or get replaced.”

His gaze swept the room. For a moment, Mrunal could’ve sworn it paused on her. A fraction too long. Or maybe she imagined it.

“Let’s begin with the pending creatives. Who’s handling the Leighton pitch?”

Her hand went up automatically. “I am. I can brief you now.”

Tanya squeezed her hand under the table in silent support. She began her presentation—voice a little shaky but passionate. It was her idea, her concept. She knew it inside out. Until she clicked the wrong slide.

Wrong layout. Wrong version. The draft, not the final. Silence. Then a voice as cold as winter rain.

“That’s the version you came to present?” Devraj’s eyes didn’t blink. “You had one job. And you couldn’t manage a basic update?”

Her cheeks burned.

“I—I have the final saved, I just—”

“Excuses are a waste of time, Ms…?”

“Mrunal Deshmukh.”

“Ms. Deshmukh,” he said slowly, like her name was unfamiliar on his tongue. “If you want to be taken seriously in this business, try showing up with your head screwed on.”

The whole room went quiet. Mrunal bit the inside of her cheek, blinking back tears. He turned away without waiting for her response.

“Someone send me the correct version in the next ten minutes,” he snapped. “Meeting over.”

He walked out.

Tanya leaned in, whispering, “What a dick.”

Mrunal couldn’t speak. Her throat was tight. Mrunal kept her head low for the rest of the day. Her inbox was flooded, her team walked on eggshells, and the sting of Devraj Rathore’s voice echoed in her head like a damn curse.

“If you want to be taken seriously…”

She wanted to cry. Or scream. But instead, she worked. Because that’s what people like her did. They worked harder. Even when their hearts were bleeding.

When the clock hit 7 p.m., the office was mostly empty—except for the silent tension crawling across her skin like static. She was about to leave when a single notification pinged across her screen.

From: Devraj Rathore
Subject: Brief me. Now. 17th Floor.

Her hands froze…. Not a request. A command. She’d swallowed her pride, mumbled an apology in front of her entire team, and now—at 7:12 p.m.—she was being summoned to the 17th floor.

Just her. Just him. The floor was deserted, quiet in that expensive, echoing way that made her heels sound like a scream. She knocked. Once.

“Come in.”

His voice was cold steel behind the door. She stepped inside. Devraj didn’t look up from the stack of papers in front of him. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled up, watch glinting under the amber office lights. Everything about him was precise. Polished. Dangerous.

“Sit,” he said, still not sparing her a glance. She sat. The room was too quiet. Her own breathing felt too loud.

“You’ve been here what—four years?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then explain why that presentation looked like it was cobbled together by an intern with a hangover.”

Her stomach twisted. She kept her voice even. “There was a last-minute client revision. I—”

“No excuses.”

Now he looked up. Eyes dark. Unflinching.

“I don’t care what you were dealing with. If you step into a room representing my team, you show up prepared.”

His words weren’t raised—but they hit harder than any scream could’ve. He didn’t speak in volume. He spoke with authority.

“You want to lead?” he continued. “Earn it. You don’t get passes for being... likeable.”

That last word stung. More than it should’ve. He leaned back, observing her like a file he had to dissect.

“I’ve read your work. You’re talented, no doubt. But talent without discipline is just noise.”

Mrunal bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the prickle behind her eyes. He saw it. And something flickered in his gaze—gone in a blink.

“You’re dismissed, Ms. Deshmukh.”

She stood quickly, blood pounding in her ears, shame and anger knotted in her chest. She turned to leave.

“And fix your tone next time,” he added without looking. “You’re not doing me a favor by being here.”

The door clicked shut behind her before she realized her hands were shaking. Mrunal didn’t even change out of her office clothes.

After she reached home,

The moment she stepped inside her apartment, she collapsed onto the bed—bag still on her shoulder, shoes still on her feet. Her body felt like lead, her mind a swirl of humiliation and fatigue. Devraj Rathore’s voice was still echoing in her head.

“You don’t get passes for being… likeable.”

Her alarm was set for 11:55 p.m. Just five minutes before midnight. Just enough time to shake off the day and slip into the version of herself who was bolder, hungrier, and freer.

The one who didn’t stammer under a boss’s glare. The one who wasn’t replaceable or invisible. The one SinEater wanted. But sleep hit harder than she expected.

 The alarm buzzed. She groaned. Turned it off.

“I’ll just rest my eyes for five more minutes…” But she slept the whole night. She woke up startled and opened the velvet sight.

Darkmuse [6:49 a.m.]: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to vanish. Yesterday was… rough.

She didn’t know why she was nervous sending it. He was just a stranger. A screen. A username. A fantasy. Right?

But her hands were clammy. Her breath uneven as the chat notified:

SinEater is typing...

Her heart stuttered. Then:

SinEater [6:51 a.m.]:You think “sorry” is enough?

She bit her lip.

Darkmuse [6:52 a.m.]: It’s all I have right now.

The typing bubble reappeared. Vanished. Came back.

SinEater [6:53 a.m.]: I waited. For you. I don’t wait for anyone.

Her stomach twisted in the most confusing way.

Darkmuse [6:54 a.m.]: I didn’t mean to fall asleep.

SinEater [6:55 a.m.]: Excuses. You’re slipping. Are you bored of me already?

Darkmuse [6:56 a.m.]: No. I think about you too much, if I’m being honest.

There it was. A confession. Her boldest truth yet. A long pause.

SinEater is typing... And then:

SinEater [6:59 a.m.]: Then I’ll take that honesty and remind you who you belong to.

She felt heat crawl up her neck.

Darkmuse [7:00 a.m.]: What does that mean?

SinEater [7:01 a.m.]: It means at midnight tonight, I punish you.

Darkmuse [7:02 a.m.]: Punish me?

SinEater [7:02 a.m.]: For leaving me in the dark. For making me miss your voice in my head. For forgetting that midnight is ours.

She stared at the screen, heart pounding. She wanted to say no. She wanted to log off. But her fingers typed:

Darkmuse [7:03 a.m.]: What kind of punishment?

His reply came instantly:

SinEater [7:03 a.m.]: The kind you’ll crave even when you beg me to stop.

She stared at those words. Every rational cell in her body screamed to run. But all her fingers typed was:

DarkMuse [6:59 a.m.]: I’ll be there.