The conference room on the 3rd floor of Zaventra Marketing looked less like a workspace and more like the lair of someone who believed productivity could be bought in chrome and glass. The oval table gleamed, the chairs were black leather stitched with precision, and the wall of windows behind Sneha Shetty displayed Bangalore’s restless skyline. Cars crawled like ants. A drone buzzed somewhere outside, hovering as if even the machines were curious about what went on in Zaventra’s high-rise.

Major Siddharth Iyer sat in his chair like a man on parole. Straight-backed. Neutral. His eyes moved with the same slow precision he used to scan rooftops for snipers. Every screen and scribbled whiteboard in the room reflected numbers and graphs, but to Siddharth, they were just another kind of tactical map.

The others trickled in with laptops, water bottles, nervous chatter. Then Sneha entered.

She didn’t walk. She stormed without making a sound. The blazer was gone, replaced by a black blouse tucked into slate-grey slacks, her earrings gleaming like twin daggers. A notebook was in her hand, though everyone in the room knew she didn’t need it. Her brain was sharper than most people’s collective hard drives.

She didn’t sit. She paced like a general surveying troops before battle.

“Alright,” she began, voice cool as glass. “Let’s not waste time. This quarter’s performance has been…” She stopped, let the silence draw like a bowstring, “…average. Zaventra does not do average.”

The juniors squirmed. Siddharth didn’t. His face was as expressionless as a carved statue.

“We have a new campaign launching next month. It needs to be disruptive. Digital-first. Clean and effective.”

A nervous hand went up from the far side of the table. “Should we consider… influencer engagement?”

Sneha didn’t even blink. She turned, gestured toward Siddharth. “Why don’t we ask Mr. Iyer? Our brand-new Digital Marketing Manager. I’m sure with all his… vast experience he has revolutionary insights.”

The sarcasm was velvet. Velvet with razors sewn inside.

Every head turned to him.

Siddharth spoke slowly, voice low, carrying that military weight that didn’t need volume to command attention. “Before I suggest anything, I’ll need to review historical performance data, map engagement drop-offs, identify weak demographics, and assess budget allocation. After that, I can recommend optimal platform splits.”

Sneha tilted her head, earrings swinging. “That sounded…” she drew out the word like a cat playing with prey, “…robotic.”

“Efficient,” Siddharth said without flinching.

“Cold.”

“Strategic.”

Her smile curved, all teeth. “You sound like a war general.”

He looked straight at her, unblinking. “And you sound like a politician trying to win an argument she picked herself.”

A sharp inhale went around the table. A junior designer coughed into her water so violently that her neighbor thumped her back. One intern actually mouthed holy shit.

Sneha’s eyes narrowed, but her lips curled into an almost amused smirk. “Well. At least you’re not boring.”

The meeting moved on, but the air was charged. Every time Sneha threw out an idea, Siddharth countered with structured analysis. Every time Siddharth presented logic, Sneha slashed it apart with creativity that seemed reckless but somehow brilliant. The others stopped contributing and simply watched, wide-eyed, as fire and ice collided across the table.

By the end, it wasn’t a brainstorming session. It was a duel. And both combatants left the room with blood in their eyes.

***

Later That Afternoon

Siddharth had barely opened his laptop in his cubicle when Tejas exploded into the room like a storm in skinny jeans. Two coffees in hand, hair sticking up as if he’d just lost a fight with static electricity, and an expression of gleeful gossip auntie.

“My man!” Tejas dropped dramatically into Siddharth’s office chair, spinning once before stopping with a thud. “Day one, and you’ve already made the Queen of Zaventra your mortal enemy. I mean, forget sleeper cells, I should’ve brought popcorn for that meeting.”

Siddharth kept his eyes on the screen. “She’s difficult.”

Tejas raised his brows. “Difficult? That woman just made the intern cry without saying a word, and you thought that was the moment to compare her to a politician? Bro, I salute you. Bold. Stupid, but bold.”

“I don’t do politics,” Siddharth replied flatly.

“Clearly,” Tejas said, sipping coffee like it was whiskey. “You do blunt-force trauma instead.”

Siddharth finally looked up. “She’s impulsive. Emotional. Makes decisions based on instinct instead of data.”

“Wow.” Tejas leaned forward, hand on his heart. “You just described yourself. If you wore heels and scared interns, I’d call you Sneha Shetty 2.0.”

Siddharth’s glare could’ve frozen a desert.

Tejas ignored it. “But credit where it’s due — she’s brilliant. That’s why she gets away with being terrifying. You? You’ve been here few hours and already made her consider homicide. That’s a record.”

Siddharth turned back to his laptop. Tejas drummed his fingers on the desk. “By the way, when you glared at her, the intern next to me whispered that it felt like a tiger staring at a lioness. Do you realize what that means? People are already shipping you two.”

“What?”

“Shh,” Tejas stage-whispered, eyes wide with mock drama. “Enemies to lovers. It’s office fanfiction waiting to happen.”

Siddharth rubbed his temples. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Nope,” Tejas said proudly. “It’s my charm.”

***

That Evening – The Apartment

Tejas sprawled across the couch like a cat in an HR-issued hoodie, watching a reality cooking show where contestants screamed about soufflés. He had a bowl of chips balanced on his chest.

“So,” he said, not looking away from the TV, “how’s the boss lady?”

Siddharth sat on the edge of the couch, posture rigid even in exhaustion. “She’ll be a problem.”

“Only if you let her,” Tejas said, tossing a chip in the air and catching it with his mouth. He missed. The chip hit his forehead and fell into the cushions. He ate it anyway. “You’re the guy with nerves of steel, right?”

“It’s not about nerves,” Siddharth said. “It’s about strategy. She thinks this is her kingdom. I’m just a ghost in her castle.”

Tejas muted the TV and sat up dramatically, eyes wide. “Ooooh. That’s poetic. Should I embroider that on a pillow? ‘Ghost in her castle.’”

“Tejas.”

“What? I’m just saying, Major Bond. You’re here to catch a terrorist, not start a corporate civil war.”

Siddharth’s phone buzzed on the table. Caller ID: Colonel Aditya Mishra.

He answered immediately. “Sir.”

“How are you settling in?” Aditya’s voice was crisp, disciplined.

“Adjusting. The environment’s… intense. The hierarchy is rigid. But I’m observing.”

“Good. Remember why you’re there. No distractions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep me updated. No mistakes.”

The call ended. Siddharth set the phone down, jaw tight.

“Wow,” Tejas said, mock-impressed. “Even his phone calls sound like classified military briefings. ‘Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir.’”

Siddharth ignored him. “Didn’t see the target today. Dead air.”

Tejas waved a hand. “That’s because he was on leave. HR knows everything, baby. But don’t worry. Tomorrow’s a new day, new suspect, new chance for you to piss off Sneha in front of the board.”

Siddharth gave a curt nod. “Tomorrow, then.”

***

That Night – Shetty Residence

The Shetty mansion was marble and glass, sprawling across a gated corner of Bangalore like wealth had roots here. In the dining room, under soft chandelier light, Sneha sat across from her father, Bharghav Shetty.

He sipped tea slowly, eyes steady on his daughter. “I hear you’ve been butting heads with our new recruit.”

Sneha’s fork hit the plate harder than necessary. “He’s arrogant. He undermines me in meetings. And he thinks he’s smarter than everyone else in the room.”

Bharghav smiled faintly. “From what I’ve seen, he seems capable. Confident.”

“Too confident,” Sneha shot back. “Confidence without respect is just insubordination. And I won’t have that in my team.”

Bharghav leaned forward, calm as always. “Sometimes people who seem like obstacles end up being our sharpest weapons. Maybe he’s testing you. Maybe you’ll learn from each other.”

Sneha’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need lessons from a man who can’t even hold a conversation without sounding like a robot. I’ve worked too hard to get here, Papa. I need control. Not chaos.”

“Patience,” Bharghav said softly, “doesn’t mean giving up control. It means knowing which battles are worth fighting.”

Sneha stabbed a piece of grilled fish with unnecessary force. “Then consider this battle worth fighting.”

Her father watched her for a long moment, then chuckled. “Just don’t let pride cloud the bigger picture.”

Sneha’s voice was steel. “I see the bigger picture clearly. And Siddharth Iyer is a problem I will solve.”