Riya Patel adjusted the strap of her sleek black pencil skirt for the third time as she stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of the towering glass building that housed the syndicate’s legitimate front—a sprawling import-export company that everyone in the city knew was anything but. At twenty-six, with a fresh MBA and a desperate need to pay off her father’s debts, this job had seemed like a miracle. Personal Assistant to Yuvraj Singhania, the enigmatic CEO. The salary was obscene, the benefits generous, and the NDA ironclad.

“Miss Patel,” the HR woman had smiled too sweetly during orientation. “Mr. Singhania values dedication. Overtime is... expected. Especially after dark.”