When Sanjita turned, Avyant's eyes widened in horror, but he masked his reaction, his expression quickly turning unreadable.

Chanchal, greeted him politely.

"Good morning, sir."

Avyant gave her a brief nod before saying,

"Miss Chanchal, I'd like you to wait for me in the boardroom. My secretary will guide you there."

Chanchal hesitated, casting Sanjita an apologetic glance before leaving.

The moment she was gone, Avyant grasped Sanjita's wrist and led her toward his cabin. The hushed murmurs and muffled snickers of onlookers filled the air, but a single sharp glance from Avyant silenced them all.

Inside his office, he locked the door, drew the curtains, and guided her to a chair. Then, to her utter shock, he knelt before her.

Sanjita's breath caught. Avyant Singh Rathore-kneeling? The sight was so unexpected that for a moment, she could only stare.

His voice was uncharacteristically soft when he spoke.

"What happened to your hair?"

She blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. But the sight before her remained unchanged-Avyant Singh Rathore, kneeling in front of her.

Her breath hitched as he arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, silently demanding an answer. Only then did she manage to find her voice.

"I... I accidentally bleached my hair," she muttered, her fingers curling around the ends of her uneven strands.

Avyant's sharp gaze didn't waver. "Accidentally?" His voice was calm, but the disbelief in his tone was unmistakable.

She shifted in her seat, crossing her arms in defense. "Yes."

His silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. He was waiting for her to explain, and when he lifted his eyebrow again, she sighed in defeat.

"I thought I was applying a hair mask, but..." She hesitated, lowering her gaze. "Instead, I used bleach."

For a moment, Avyant just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to process what she had just said.

"You mean to tell me," he started, his voice slow and measured, "that you walked around with bleach in your hair and didn't realize it until you reached the office?"

Sanjita cleared her throat, feeling heat creep up her neck. "I was in a hurry. And well... the security guard kind of helped me notice."

At that, Avyant pinched the bridge of his nose, his lips twitching like he was holding back either frustration or laughter. Perhaps both.

"You're unbelievable," he muttered under his breath before finally lifting his gaze back to hers. "Does it hurt? Your scalp, I mean."

She blinked at the unexpected concern in his voice. "No," she answered quickly, then frowned. "Why do you care?"

Avyant didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on her for a beat too long before he finally stood up, brushing off the moment like it hadn't happened.

"Because," he said simply, straightening his sleeves, "if you go bald, I'll have to deal with the drama that follows."

Sanjita gasped. "Excuse me?"

But Avyant had already turned away, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips.

Avyant didn't give her time to argue. Without another word, he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and waited.

Sanjita narrowed her eyes. "Who are you calling?"

Ignoring her, he spoke into the receiver. "I need an appointment. Now." A brief pause. "Yes. Fix whatever disaster she's done to her hair."

Her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?! I don't need fixing!"

Avyant shot her a pointed look, clearly unimpressed. "Oh really? You want to walk around like this?"

Sanjita huffed, crossing her arms. "It's not that bad."

Avyant arched an eyebrow before shifting his attention back to the call. "We'll be there in fifteen minutes." Then, hanging up, he turned to her and said matter-of-factly, "We're going to a salon."

Sanjita's eyes widened. "We?"

"Yes, we," he emphasized. "Because I don't trust you to fix this on your own. Let's go."

She gaped at him. "You can't just decide things for me!"

Avyant sighed dramatically, looking at his watch. "Fine. You want to walk around looking like a failed science experiment, be my guest. But don't blame me when people mistake you for a street performer."

Her mouth fell open in horror. "Avyant!"

But he was already opening the door, waiting for her to follow.

Sanjita reluctantly got off the chair, her movements slow and hesitant, as if she was still processing how she had ended up in this situation.

As soon as they stepped out, he instinctively took hold of her wrist, guiding her forward. But the moment she noticed people staring-some murmuring, others outright gawking-she quickly pulled her hand away.

Avyant stilled for a brief moment. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab her wrist again. He didn't say anything, but the flicker of displeasure in his eyes was unmistakable. Instead of reacting, he cast a cold, piercing glance around the office, and just like that, the murmurs ceased. People hurriedly turned back to their work, pretending they hadn't been watching.

Without another word, he gestured toward the private elevator-the same one they had used earlier. "This way," he said, his voice clipped.

Sanjita hesitated for a moment before following him inside. The doors slid shut behind them, enclosing them in silence.

"You didn't have to pull away," Avyant said suddenly, his tone quieter but firm.

Sanjita turned to him, caught off guard. "People were watching," she said, as if that explained everything.

Avyant held her gaze, unreadable yet unwavering. "So?"

She opened her mouth to reply but found herself at a loss for words. Because so?-what was she supposed to say to that?

She remained silent, unsure of how to respond, and instead, she silently thanked her Kanhaji when the soft ding of the elevator signaled their arrival at the parking lot.

The moment the doors slid open, she wasted no time stepping out. Avyant followed at a more measured pace, his sharp gaze flickering toward her briefly before he unlocked the car with a click.

Sanjita hesitated. For a second, she considered slipping into the backseat-keeping some distance between them. But then, shaking off the thought, she squared her shoulders and walked over to the passenger side, opening the door and settling in beside him.

Soon, they drove off to the salon, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Avyant remained silent the entire ride, his anger simmering beneath his composed exterior. Sanjita, on the other hand, kept her hands folded in her lap, stealing occasional nervous glances at him but wisely choosing not to say anything.

When they finally arrived, her mouth almost fell open.

Forget about the inside-just the outside of the place was so posh, so extravagantly elegant, that Sanjita felt out of place before even stepping in. The sleek glass doors, the golden lettering on the nameplate, the luxury cars parked outside-everything screamed high-end and expensive.

She hesitated, her fingers curling around the hem of her dress. "Umm... are you sure this is necessary?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Avyant shot her a sideways glance, his expression unreadable but still cold. "Get out of the car, Sanjita."

She gulped. Well, that answered her question.

As soon as Sanjita stepped inside, the receptionist's face twisted into a look of barely concealed disgust. Her eyes swept over Sanjita's uneven, bleached hair before she let out a disapproving hmm.

But the moment she spotted Avyant behind her, her expression transformed instantly. She straightened, flashing a wide, almost predatory smile-like a hyena that had just spotted its prey.

"Mr. Rathore! What a pleasure!" she gushed, completely ignoring Sanjita now.

Sanjita rolled her eyes. Typical.

Before she could say anything, a man entered her line of vision, dressed sharply in an all-black ensemble. He walked straight to Avyant with an air of familiarity.

"Avyant, long time no see!" he greeted with a charming smile.

Sanjita watched as Avyant gave him a nod. "Brian."

So, this was the person who was going to fix her disaster.

Brian turned to her, eyes assessing her hair with a slight tilt of his head. "Well, well... you really did a number on your hair, darling," he said with a dramatic sigh. "But don't worry, you're in good hands."

Sanjita offered him a weak smile, still feeling out of place in this overly luxurious setting.

They made her sit on a chair and immediately got to work. Her hair was washed thoroughly, the strong scent of salon products surrounding her. Then, one process after another followed-deep conditioning, treatments, expert hands working through her strands, trying to undo the damage.

Nearly three hours later, her hair was smooth and healthy-looking again. However, the stubborn orangish color still lingered. With Brian's recommendation, Sanjita decided to chop off a few inches, opting for a shorter cut that suited her face better. He also handed her a set of shampoo, oil, and conditioner to help repair her damaged hair further.

Finally, when she stepped out of the chair, she ran her fingers through her soft, freshly styled hair. She felt... lighter.

She turned to Avyant, who had been waiting patiently, and found him staring at her.

Not just staring-assessing.

His eyes roamed over her shorter locks, taking in the transformation. For the first time that day, his expression wasn't anger or irritation. Instead, there was something else. Something unreadable.

Sanjita shifted under his gaze. She cleared her throat.

Avyant blinked once, then said in a low voice,

"I love your long hair, but you look good in short hair as well," Avyant said, his voice calm yet firm.

Sanjita's breath hitched.

She hadn't expected that-not from him.

There was no teasing, no mocking. Just a simple observation.

And for some reason, that made her heart skip a beat.

Avyant thanked Brian with a nod before walking over to the receptionist. Without hesitation, he pulled out his credit card and handed it to her.

Sanjita watched as the receptionist's entire demeanor shifted-gone was the bored, dismissive attitude she had shown earlier. Now, she was all smiles, batting her lashes as she processed the payment.

Avyant, as usual, didn't react. He simply took the receipt, slipped his card back into his wallet, and turned toward the exit.

Sanjita frowned, watching him walk out like it was nothing. The whole time, he hadn't even glanced at the bill. As if whatever obscene amount they had charged didn't matter to him.

Curiosity-and a sinking feeling-made her step forward.

"Excuse me," she said to the receptionist. "Can you tell me how much the bill was?"

The woman barely looked up, her disinterest back in full force. "One lakh sixty thousand," she said flatly, like it was pocket change.

Sanjita felt her soul leave her body.

"One lakh sixty thousand?!"

Her eyes widened in horror. That wasn't just expensive-it was daylight robbery!

She clutched her chest dramatically. "Kanhaji! This place is dacoity central!" she muttered under her breath.

How was Avyant so calm after spending this much?

More importantly... how was she going to pay him back