It was Ajay Sharma's first day working at Hotel Narayana.
Just hours ago, he had worn this crisp uniform for the first time, adjusted the collar nervously in the mirror, and told himself he'd get through it—one shift at a time. He didn't belong here, not really. At least not in this role. But life doesn't always care about who you are or where you come from.
Ajay was 28. A graduate from IIT Bombay with a degree in Computer Engineering—a name that once opened doors and turned heads. At 22, he had married his college sweetheart, Kavya. A year later, their daughter Divya was born. For five beautiful years, life had felt full. A good job, a happy family, a sense of purpose. It was the kind of life people hoped for.
And then, it all fell apart.
A month ago, his world shattered. Kavya—his wife, his partner—had been cheating on him. Not just with anyone, but with his boss, Arun. As if the betrayal wasn't enough, they framed him. Falsely accused of leaking company data for personal gain, Ajay lost everything—his job, his reputation, and the future he had worked so hard to build.
The divorce came fast and cold. He fought for his daughter, and he won. But the cost was everything else—his house, his savings, his peace.
Now, he was here.
The manager at Hotel Narayana had taken one look at him—tall, well-spoken, and presentable—and offered him a job as a waiter. Not out of kindness, but because he looked the part. Ajay had accepted without hesitation. Pride was a luxury he could no longer afford.
He had a daughter to feed. A life to rebuild.
So tonight, he was here, standing in a stranger's suite, wearing a uniform that didn't quite feel like his own, delivering wine and food to a woman whose eyes carried a storm he didn't understand.
And then, she made him an offer.
One lakh. One night. No strings.
He didn't flinch. He didn't answer right away. Not because he was shocked—but because for the first time in a month, someone had seen him. Not his losses. Not his failures. Him.
He stood in silence, watching her walk back to the table, her back to him now. The rain whispered against the glass behind them.
And Ajay Sharma, a man with a shattered past and a little girl waiting at home, wondered what this moment would mean. Not just for tonight—but for everything after.
For a moment, there was silence. Just the sound of rain against glass, and the soft hum of the city below.
Ajay stood still, not shocked—just thoughtful.
Anjali watched him, swirling the wine in her glass slowly, her gaze steady and unreadable. "So?" she asked, her voice calm but curious. "One lakh. One night. What do you say?"
Ajay took a quiet breath and stepped forward, but not closer to her. Instead, he looked her in the eyes—not with judgment, but with honesty.
"You're beautiful," he said, voice low but firm. "More than beautiful, actually. Any man would be lucky to be standing here."
Anjali tilted her head slightly, waiting for him to continue.
"But I'm not that kind of man," he continued. "And… I have a daughter waiting for me at home."
His words didn't carry pride. They carried something rarer—conviction. Real, steady conviction.
Anjali blinked, slightly surprised. She had met powerful men who couldn't resist her. CEOs, celebrities, tech moguls—all ready to throw away whatever values they pretended to have for a moment with her.
But this man—a hotel waiter, on his first day—just refused her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She chuckled lightly. "Okay," she said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. "Two lakhs."
Ajay gave her a soft smile, respectful but unwavering. "My answer's the same."
She leaned back, amused now. "Five?"
"No."
She stood up slowly, walked to the window, and looked at her reflection in the glass for a second. Then, turning around, she said with a half-laugh, "Ten lakhs, Ajay. That's more than most people make in a year. Think of your daughter."
His jaw tightened just slightly—not from temptation, but from the weight of everything he'd already lost.
"I am thinking of her," he said quietly. "That's why I'm saying no."
And there it was.
Anjali looked at him—not like a billionaire, not like a woman used to getting her way—but as someone suddenly intrigued by a man who stood for something real.
She wasn't angry. Not even disappointed.
She was… impressed.
"Righteous," she murmured under her breath, her lips curving into a faint smile. "And cute."
Ajay gave a polite nod, ready to leave.
But Anjali Mehta wasn't done just yet.
"Ajay," she said, just as he turned.
"Yes, ma'am?"
She walked back toward him, stopping just a few feet away. "Sit down. Have a drink. Not for anything else—just… talk. I think I need someone like you around tonight."
Ajay hesitated. Then slowly, he nodded.
"Just one drink," he said.
And so, the billionaire and the hotel waiter sat across from each other, the rain still falling, and something unexpected beginning to take shape.
After sharing a few drinks, Anjali deliberately begins to consume more alcohol, pretending to get heavily intoxicated. Her movements become slow and exaggerated, her speech slightly slurred, as she leans closer to Ajay, her fingers brushing against his arm.
Then, in a bold move, she starts unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her black lace bra beneath. Ajay's breath hitches, his face flushing as he immediately averts his gaze, his hands gripping the edge of the couch to steady himself.
Anjali smirks internally but continues her act, swaying slightly as she reaches for him. "You're so handsome... why don't you stay?" she murmurs, her voice dripping with false drunkenness.
Ajay, despite the temptation, forces himself to stay composed. He gently but firmly pushes her back, keeping a careful distance. "Ma'am, you've had too much to drink. You should rest."
Anjali pouts playfully, pretending to stumble. "But I don't wanna sleep alone..."
Ajay exhales sharply, his jaw clenched with restraint. Without another word, he scoops her up—ignoring the way her body presses against his—and carries her to the bed. He carefully lays her down, pulling the covers over her before stepping back.
For a moment, he hesitates, watching her. Then, shaking his head, he turns and practically bolts out of the room, his heart pounding.
The moment the door clicks shut, Anjali's eyes snap open, sharp and sober. A slow, intrigued smile curves her lips as she mutters to herself, "Interesting... cute boy."
She had expected him to give in—most men would have. But Ajay had resisted, even when she made it impossible for him. That kind of self-control was rare.
And now, she was more than just intrigued.
She was determined to see him again.