The charity gala was dragging on exactly the way I had anticipated. The initial thrill of my intense, razor-sharp exchange with Kiara Malhotra had faded into the background, leaving behind a lingering, irritated heat under my collar.
I stood near the edge of the sprawling terrace, the cool Mumbai breeze doing very little to ease the tension humming in my muscles. Around me, the soft clinking of crystal glasses, the monotonous hum of corporate networking, and the occasional burst of fake laughter from older board members felt incredibly exhausting.
I took a slow sip of my scotch, my eyes scanning the glittering crowd inside the ballroom. Every two minutes, some mid-tier startup founder or a desperate logistics director would try to catch my eye, hoping to pitch an unsolicited proposal under the guise of casual party banter.
I ignored them with practiced, icy indifference. My family was scattered across the VIP lounge, entirely trapped in pleasant conversations with various high-society circles.
Dad was laughing at something a politician said, and Mom was still busy singing praises of the wonderful Malhotra girl to anyone who would listen. The mere thought made me roll my eyes.
Suddenly, my peace was interrupted as a young man in a crisp hotel staff uniform approached me. He held a silver tray in one hand, looking incredibly nervous as he stopped a polite distance away, bowing his head slightly.
"Excuse me, Mr. Singhania?" he said, his voice trembling a little under my direct gaze.
"Yes?" I replied, my tone clinical and short.
"Sir, Mr. Rathore requested your presence immediately. He is currently upstairs in the private VIP conference suite on the third floor," the helper explained quickly, adjusting his vest nervously.
"He mentioned that the senior delegates from the European electronics consortium have just arrived there for a private sit-down, and he explicitly asked for you to join the discussion before the main press briefing."
I raised an eyebrow, my sharp business instincts instantly locking onto the mention of the electronics consortium. Mr. Rathore was a major international client we had been working with for months, and his backing was crucial.
The upcoming electronics merger was my top priority, and if Rathore had managed to pull the European delegates into a private room away from the prying eyes of the media and away from Kiara Malhotra it was a massive tactical advantage. It was exactly the kind of calculating, aggressive move that could seal the deal tonight "The third-floor suite?" I questioned, my eyes narrowing slightly as I studied the young man's face. He looked pale, almost terrified, which wasn't unusual for staff members delivering messages to me.
"Yes, Sir. Suite 304. He said to hurry, as the delegates have a tight schedule and need to leave for the airport shortly," the helper added, nodding frantically.
"Fine. You can go," I dismissed him with a brief nod.
I set my empty scotch glass down on a passing waiter's tray and adjusted the lapels of my midnight-black tuxedo jacket. A cold, victorious smirk touched my lips as I walked back through the ballroom toward the elevators.
If we locked down Mr. Rathore and the European consortium tonight, Kiara's little victory from yesterday would mean absolutely nothing. I would completely choke her supply chain before she could even draft a counter-proposal.
The elevator ride to the third floor was completely silent, the digital numbers ticking upward as my mind raced through the financial projections and terms I wanted to lay out before the international investors.
When the doors slid open, the contrast was immediate. The loud, booming music from the grand ballroom below was reduced to a faint, distant hum. The long corridor of the executive floor was heavily carpeted, lined with dim, elegant wall sconces and polished mahogany doors. It was completely deserted, wrapped in a heavy, almost eerie quiet.
I walked down the hallway, my leather shoes sinking into the thick carpet, making absolutely no sound. I located the brass numbers on the door: 304.
I didn't bother knocking. If Mr. Rathore and the international delegates were waiting inside to discuss a highly confidential multi-million dollar merger, a formal knock was unnecessary. I turned the heavy, polished brass handle and pushed the door open, stepping firmly into the room.
The suite was spacious, dimly lit by a single modern chandelier hanging over a large glass conference table. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the glittering lights of the city. I stepped further inside, expecting to see Mr. Rathore sitting at the head of the table surrounded by men in sharp corporate suits.
Instead, the room was completely, utterly empty.
"Mr. Rathore?" I called out, my voice echoing slightly against the wooden panels of the walls.
There was no answer. The air in the room felt stagnant, smelling faintly of expensive jasmine and polished leather.
I walked over to the adjoining lounge area, checking behind the frosted glass partition, but there wasn't a single soul in sight. A sudden, sharp prickle of unease shot down my spine.
My jaw clenched as I pulled out my phone, realizing that something about this entire setup felt incredibly wrong. Why would a helper lie to me about a meeting with our top client?
Before I could even dial a number, the heavy mahogany door behind me suddenly clicked, swinging open once more. I whipped around, my expression dark and furious, ready to snap at whatever idiot had directed me to the wrong room.
But the words died completely in my throat.
Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the corridor, was a striking silhouette in deep emerald green silk. Her glossy waves were slightly tossed, her breathing a bit shallow, and her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and intense irritation.
Kiara Malhotra.
The music inside the grand ballroom was loud, the laughter was fake, and my heels were starting to kill me, but none of that mattered. I was having the absolute time of my life. After completely shutting down Shivansh Singhania in front of his entire family, I felt like I was walking on air.
Myra and Ishani had been teasing me for the last twenty minutes, trying to mimic the exact frozen expression on his face when he ran out of comebacks.
"I swear, Kiara, I thought his tailored suit was going to rip from how hard his jaw was clenching," Myra laughed, taking a sip of her champagne.
"Honestly, tu toh killer hai," Ishani chimed in, fixing her hair in a gold-framed mirror nearby. "The way his brother and sister were holding in their laughs? Priceless."
I laughed, leaning against a marble pillar, my eyes casually sweeping the room. I noticed that the midnight-black tuxedo was nowhere to be found. Shivansh had vanished from the main hall, probably off somewhere brooding in a corner to heal his bruised ego. Good. The more space he gave me, the better.
Our conversation was interrupted when a young female event coordinator in a sleek blazer approached us. She looked flustered, holding a tablet tightly against her chest as she stopped in front of me with a polite, frantic nod.
"Ms. Malhotra? I am so sorry to disturb you," she said, her voice laced with urgency.
"Yes? Is something wrong?" I asked, my professional guard immediately going up.
"Ma'am, Mr. Singhania Senior Mr. Vikram Singhania is upstairs in the private VIP conference suite on the third floor," she explained, leaning in slightly to keep her voice low. "He requested your presence immediately. He is currently sitting down with the lead directors of the European electronics consortium, and he explicitly mentioned that before they finalize any press statements regarding the upcoming merger, he wants you in the room to discuss a potential joint-venture framework."
I froze, my fingers tightening around the stem of my wine glass. Vikram Singhania wanted to talk to me? About a joint venture for the electronics merger?
This was massive. Shivansh had just finished threatening me about how his company was going to dominate the electronics market, but his own father was apparently smart enough to realize that Malhotra Enterprises held the real leverage.
Vikram Singhania was a legendary businessman; he knew when to fight and when to negotiate. If he was bypassing his arrogant son to offer me a seat at the table with the European delegates, I would be a fool not to take it.
"The third floor?" I confirmed, my mind already calculating the terms I would demand.
"Yes, Ma'am. Suite 304," the coordinator nodded quickly. "He asked if you could come up quietly through the executive elevators so the media downstairs doesn't catch wind of it just yet. They have a very tight window before the delegates leave."
"Alright. Thank you," I said, handing my empty glass to Ishani.
"Wait, Kiara, is everything okay?" Myra asked, her teasing smile fading into a look of curiosity.
"Better than okay," I whispered, a brilliant, ambitious spark lighting up in my chest. "Vikram Singhania wants to talk business upstairs. Stay here, don't follow me. I'll be back in fifteen minutes."
I turned on my heel, the emerald green silk of my gown flowing behind me as I navigated through the crowd toward the quiet elevator lobby. My heart was racing, but not from fear from the sheer adrenaline of the game.
If I walked out of this gala with a piece of the electronics merger alongside the coastal highway project, I would completely crush Shivansh Singhania's corporate career before it even truly began.
The elevator doors opened on the third floor, and the loud, thumping bass of the party instantly vanished, replaced by an unsettling, heavy silence.
The executive corridor was long, lined with dark wooden panels and dimly lit sconces that threw long shadows across the thick, plush carpet. There wasn't a single soul around. No security, no delegates, no assistants.
I frowned, my heels clicking softly against the floor as I walked down the hallway. It felt weirdly deserted for a high-level international meeting, but I shook the unease off.Billion-dollar deals happened in absolute secrecy all the time.
I reached the door labeled 304. I took a deep breath, smoothed down the front of my gown, and turned the brass handle. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, a confident, sharp smile already forming on my face as I prepared to greet the senior Singhania.
"Mr. Singhania, thank you for inviting me-"
The words died in my throat.
The large, dimly lit conference room was completely empty. The long glass table reflected the quiet light of a single chandelier, and the heavy velvet curtains were tightly drawn. There was no elder businessman. There were no European delegates.
Instead, standing near the frosted glass partition of the lounge area, looking equally shocked and completely furious, was the one person I never wanted to see again tonight.
Shivansh Singhania.
For three whole seconds, we just stared at each other in absolute, dead silence.
The confidence I had walked into the room with shattered, replaced by an immediate, overwhelming wave of irritation. Shivansh stood there, looking at me like I was a ghost that had just crashed his private sanctuary, his hand frozen mid-air where he had been holding his phone.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, his voice dropping into that dangerously low, icy tone he always used when he was losing his temper.
"Oh, believe me, if I knew you were lurking in the dark here like a textbook corporate vampire, I wouldn't have even stepped onto this floor," I retorted, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as the emerald silk of my gown shifted around me.
"Why are you here? Don't tell me you followed me up here to cry about your half-percent loss again."
"Follow you?" Shivansh let out a cold, sharp laugh that didn't reach his eyes at all. He took two slow, menacing steps toward the glass conference table. "Ms. Malhotra, let's get one thing straight. I was here first. If anyone is pulling a desperate, pathetic stunt to initiate a conversation, it's you. Did you seriously bribe the hotel staff to tell me a client was waiting, just so you could trap me in a room?"
I gasped, my jaw dropping in absolute disbelief.
The sheer, unadulterated audacity of this man.
"I bribed them?!" I raised my voice, stepping fully into the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind me. "Are you insane? Your father literally sent his personal coordinator to call me up here for a joint-venture meeting! I came here to talk to a legendary businessman, not his arrogant, bruised-ego son who can't handle a simple defeat!"
"My father is downstairs laughing with a minister, Kiara," Shivansh said, his voice cutting through the air like a razor blade as he used my actual name for the first time, making my chest tighten with a strange spark of anger. "He didn't call you. And he certainly wouldn't offer a joint venture to a company that just pulled a dirty stunt on a tariff line yesterday. Stop lying."
"I am not lying!" I took another step forward, standing right across the glass table from him. Up close, the intense, hateful glare in his dark eyes was suffocating, but I refused to back down an inch. "I have better things to do than trap myself in a dimly lit room with a rigid, emotionless robot. Look at you! You're so stiff I'm surprised your tailored suit hasn't snapped in half yet."
"It's called discipline, Ms. Malhotra. Something your chaotic, impulsive strategy completely lacks," he shot back, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You think you're a genius because of one lucky bid? You're playing a dangerous game, and frankly, your arrogance is getting ahead of your actual capability."
That hit a nerve. The sarcastic, funny banter instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, heavy silence that stretched between us. This wasn't just a petty argument anymore; this was the deep-seated, genuine hatred of two people who wanted to completely annihilate each other's empires.
"My capability?" I whispered, my voice dropping into a clinical, dangerously calm register that made him pause. "I built my position brick by brick, Mr. Singhania. While you were handed an untouchable monopoly on a silver platter, I had to fight twice as hard to ensure Malhotra Enterprises stands exactly where it does today. Don't you dare question my capability just because you're terrified that a woman finally stepped into your playground and beat you at your own game."
Shivansh's expression turned completely stone-cold. For a second, a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes perhaps a reluctant flash of recognition before it was instantly wiped away by his usual icy mask.
He opened his mouth to deliver a devastating counter-attack, but before a single word could leave his lips, a strange sound caught my attention.
Click.
It was a faint, metallic sound coming from behind me.
I frowned, turning around slowly to look at the heavy mahogany door. I reached out and grabbed the polished brass handle, pulling it toward me. It didn't budge. I rattled it a bit harder, pushing against the heavy wood, but the handle was completely rigid.
"What are you doing now? Trying to dramaticize your exit?" Shivansh sighed heavily behind me, his tone dripping with annoyance.
"The door," I said, a sudden prickle of genuine panic hitting my throat as I turned back to face him. "It's locked from the outside."
And that's a wrap on this part of the chapter! ✨ What do you think about them being officially locked in together? 👀 If you loved reading this, please don't forget to hit that little star to VOTE and leave a COMMENT with your favorite moments! Your support means the world to me. See you in the next one! ❤️✨
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