𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 15:- 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓣𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

                                    

                                          
✩░▒▓▆▅▃▂▁"His words wrapped around her like chains, both comforting and constricting, leaving her breathless with the weight of his desire."▁▂▃▅▆▓▒░✩
Author's pov:
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As soon as Misti enters the office building, the entire place freezes. Jaws drop, and eyes widen in shock. The saree she's wearing, the sleeveless blouse clinging to her figure, instantly commands attention. It's like the air itself shifts around her.
Mr. Foster is sitting in his office, engrossed in paperwork, when he notices the sudden hushed whispers outside. He furrows his brows, glancing up in mild irritation.
"What the hell's going on out there?" he mutters under his breath, leaning back in his chair.
Curiosity gets the better of him, and he stands, moving towards the glass wall in his office. It's designed so he can see everything, but no one can see inside. His eyes catch sight of a man sipping coffee, only to spit it out in shock, drenching another employee's face. The man doesn't even react. He's too busy staring at something-someone.
"What the..." Ivan trails off as he witnesses half of his employees looking like they're seeing something straight out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
His gut twists. Something's not right. Before he can investigate, there's a knock at his door.
Immediately, Ivan straightens and heads back to his desk. "Come in," he says firmly.
The door creaks open, and there she is-Misti. 
She hesitates for a second, clearly nervous. The saree, the office, and now Mr. Foster-all of it swirling together in her mind. She quickly shakes off the nerves and steps inside, trying to focus.
Ivan's eyes widen the moment she walks through the door. His breath catches in his throat, and for a second, he forgets to blink. The red lipstick, the way the saree hugs every inch of her body-it's a sensory overload. Desire floods his mind, mixing dangerously with possessiveness. He barely manages to keep his face neutral.
"Close the door," he orders, his voice tight.
Misti swallows hard, suddenly aware of how much skin her outfit reveals. Her cleavage, just enough to send any man's heart racing, is on full display. Ivan's eyes can't help but dart to the exposed skin. His throat goes dry, and a low growl rumbles deep in his chest. 
"Why the hell are you wearing that?" he asks, his voice more strained than he'd like.
Misti feels the heat rise in her cheeks, but she forces herself to speak up. "I... I didn't have my traditional outfit. I left it at my best friend's place. This is... it's my fresher's party saree."
Ivan's jaw tightens. Fresher's party? That means other men... other people... have seen her like this before. The thought twists like a knife in his gut.
"You wore this... to a party?" His voice is barely controlled.
Misti nods nervously. "Yes," she replies, her heart racing. She knows this outfit is far from professional, but there's no company dress code. What could possibly go wrong?
Ivan's hands clench into fists, his knuckles turning white. The image of her, at a party, wearing this-men ogling her like they're doing now-flickers in his mind, and it drives him insane.
"Is this professional, Misti?" he snaps, his eyes boring into hers.
She stammers, "No... but your company doesn't have any dress restrictions, so..."