Arsh's eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, the brown envelope resting casually in his hand. "Do you remember your job, Eve?" he asked, his voice smooth, yet edged with something darker.
"To make Cassandra stay out of your life," Eve replied curtly, her sharp tone underscoring her irritation.
"Good," Arsh said with a slow, deliberate nod. "Then you'll understand why this,"—he tapped the envelope—"is important."
"What's in there?" she asked, her gaze darting to the envelope. "Is it information about Cassandra? Or is it our contract?"
"Both," Arsh said with a wicked grin. "Everything you need is in here."
Eve narrowed her eyes, suspicion written across her face. "And what exactly is in everything?"
Arsh chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made her bristle. "Patience, darling. Before I show you our contract, let me introduce you to Cassandra."
From the envelope, he withdrew a stack of photos and placed them on the table. Eve's eyes widened as she saw nine different women staring back at her, each one strikingly beautiful but entirely unique.
"Why… are there so many?" Eve asked, her voice tinged with confusion. She glanced up at Arsh, her brow furrowed. "Nine faces? Which one is Cassandra?"
"They're all Cassandra," Arsh said, his tone teasing as he pushed the photos closer to her.
Eve's brow furrowed as she stared at the pictures again. Her confusion quickly morphed into disbelief. "What are you talking about? How can they all be Cassandra? Is this some kind of sick joke? Are they shapeshifters or something? Spies?"
Arsh chuckled, clearly enjoying her reaction. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Not quite. Let me make it simple for you."
He spread the photos out in a fan, tapping each one as he spoke. "Let me introduce you to the nine women I call Cassandra:
C—Celeste, the perfect heiress with a flawless reputation.
A—Amara, the free-spirited artist who could charm the devil himself.
S—Sienna, the socialite who's connected to every high-profile name in the city.
S—Sabrina, the lawyer who wins every case with a smile that could melt glaciers.
A—Adele, the philanthropist who's practically a living saint.
N—Nina, the supermodel who's on every billboard from here to Paris.
D—Delilah, the seductive femme fatale everyone dreams of but can never have.
R—Renee, the tech mogul who's already made her first billion and isn't stopping anytime soon.
A—Anastasia, the ruthless business tycoon who could give even you a run for your money, Eve."
Eve's jaw dropped as she stared at the photos, her eyes darting between the faces of these impossibly beautiful and accomplished women. "You've got to be kidding me. All of them? And they're all obsessed with you?"
Arsh grinned, clearly reveling in her growing frustration. "Obsessed is a strong word. Let's just say they're… invested."
Eve's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with irritation. "Invested? Nine women? Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? And you want me to deal with this?"
Arsh leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he locked eyes with her. "You're not just dealing with them, Eve. You're neutralizing them. Because if anyone can outwit these women, it's you."
Eve let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Neutralize nine women? This isn't a contract, Arsh, it's a death sentence. How long do you expect this charade to last? A year? Two? Forever?"
Arsh's grin widened, and his voice dropped to a teasing murmur. "For as long as it takes. You've already proven you can make a man regret his choices in just one night. Let's see how well you handle nine women who won't take no for an answer."
Eve groaned, rubbing her temples as the weight of his words sank in. "I can't believe I let myself get dragged into this. Nine women… You're like a walking magnet for crazy."
Arsh raised his glass in a mock toast. "And you're the perfect person to keep that crazy at bay."
Eve glared at him, but her silence spoke volumes. Arsh had won this round, and they both knew it.
Eve grabbed the envelope, her fingers tightening around it as she met his gaze with equal intensity. "We'll see who wins this, Arsh. Don't underestimate me."
She turned on her heel, ready to walk away, her steps measured but confident. Yet, she barely made it two strides before his voice, cold and commanding, froze her in place.
"You're not going anywhere, Eve."
She spun around, her heart thundering in her chest as she found Arsh standing, his tall frame casting an imposing shadow over her. His expression was calm, almost amused, but the sharp edge in his voice was impossible to miss.
"Excuse me?" she shot back, trying to keep her voice steady.
Arsh took a step closer, the air between them thickening with unspoken tension. "You don't just walk away from me, especially not after tonight."
Eve's fingers tightened around the envelope as she forced a laugh, though her unease bled through her tone. "You can't keep me here. What are you going to do, lock the door?"
Arsh's lips curled into a slow, predatory smile, the kind that made her stomach twist. "I don't need to lock anything, Eve. You're not leaving until I say so."
Her breath hitched, and a flicker of panic crossed her face before she masked it with defiance. "You're being ridiculous."
He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Ridiculous? Maybe. But I'm not letting you storm out of here like you've won something. You've already started playing this game, Eve, and you know how I play. There's no walking away."
Eve's lips parted, words failing her as his presence loomed over her. The tension was suffocating, and for a moment, she felt trapped, cornered. Her mind raced for something, anything, to break the intensity.
"You don't own me, Arsh," she finally snapped, her voice sharp and defiant.
Arsh's dark eyes narrowed, his smile taking on an edge of cruelty. "Don't I?" he murmured, stepping even closer, his hand brushing against the envelope she held.
Eve stiffened, her pulse quickening as his gaze burned into hers.
"You owe me, Eve," he said, his voice low and unyielding. "Or have you forgotten? That little act of mine at your ex-fiancé's wedding? That wasn't charity. That was me stepping into your mess and saving your pride. So, yes, I think I do own at least one piece of you."
Her breath hitched, and she tried to pull herself together, but his words cut through her defenses.
"One," he added, holding up a single finger, his tone almost mocking. "I own one favor. And tonight, I'm calling it in."
Eve's lips parted, words failing her as his presence loomed over her. The tension was suffocating, and for a moment, she felt trapped, cornered. Her mind raced for something, anything, to break the intensity.
And then it hit her. "Your name suits you, you know," she said suddenly, her voice shaky but laced with sarcasm.
Arsh tilted his head, intrigued. "Oh? Do tell."
"Harsh," she bit out, her tone cutting. "Arsh, harsh—it's fitting. You're exactly that. Harsh, ruthless, impossible to reason with."
He chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling through the space between them. "I'll take that as a compliment. Harsh, huh? I kind of like the way it sounds when you say it."
Eve rolled her eyes, trying to mask her growing unease with frustration. "Of course, you do. But you're proving my point."
Arsh took another step, closing the distance between them entirely. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing the envelope she held. "And you're proving mine. You're still here, Eve. Still holding onto my contract. Still standing in my space. You could've run, but you didn't."
Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as she stepped back, but his presence followed, unrelenting.
"Let me go," she whispered, her voice faltering.
He smiled, soft but no less dangerous. "Not until you realize, Eve, that leaving me isn't an option."
Arsh's words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and Eve's grip on the envelope tightened. She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Arsh stepped back slightly, his smirk never leaving his face.
"Now, unless you want to continue this delightful argument in the middle of the restaurant, let's go," he said, gesturing toward the exit with a flourish. "I'll take you home."
"I can get home on my own," Eve replied sharply, her tone dripping with defiance.
Arsh tilted his head, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge. "Oh, I'm sure you can. But I insist."
Eve hesitated, weighing her options. Her instincts screamed at her to refuse, but the weight of the envelope in her hand reminded her how little control she truly had in this moment.
"Fine," she muttered, brushing past him toward the door.
Arsh followed closely, his presence as suffocating as ever. When they reached his sleek black car parked outside the restaurant, he opened the passenger door for her with an exaggerated bow. "Your chariot awaits, milady."
Eve rolled her eyes but slid into the seat, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
The ride was silent at first, tension crackling between them like a live wire. Arsh's fingers drummed lazily on the steering wheel, his gaze flicking to her every now and then.
"You're awfully quiet," he finally said, his voice breaking the stillness. "Regretting your bold declaration back there?"
Eve shot him a glare. "I'm not regretting anything. I'm just trying to figure out how to deal with your level of arrogance without losing my sanity."
Arsh chuckled, the sound rich and low. "You should thank me for making life interesting."
"Interesting isn't the word I'd use," she muttered under her breath.
As they neared her home, Eve glanced at him. "What's your real game here, Arsh? Why push so hard for this deal?"
He didn't answer immediately, his focus remaining on the road. Finally, he said, "Maybe I like the challenge. Or maybe…" His lips curved into a wicked grin. "I just enjoy seeing you squirm."