AUTHOR'S POV

The ticking of clock hammering to break the silence that has blanketed the room, a little shabby, the colors chunked at spots, snatching away the color of this side of world. The place smelled damp, with it's cheap curtains tightly shutting out the moonlight.

Moon was banned from her world..... because moon is deceptive. Beautiful, with flaws and calmness.......exact replica of manipulation.  Because Moon doesn't even leave the Sun, who gave her light. When tables turn, Moon plunges Sun into darkness too.

Looks are deceptive, isn't it? And so is the world, it soothes you and slowly throw you off the cliff. 

Mosquitoes buzzed,  disturbing the one, who if wakes up, will turn heaven into hell. The cockroaches ruled the floor on the darkness, because once it was time for Sun to take back it's position.....everyone has to bow.

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As the dawn broke through the world , the faint bluish light , an innocent sparkle, unmistakably vulnerable, wrapped itself on every object. It is the first shimmer, before it heated up the soil.

Morning sunlight attempted to break through the thick curtains, but the darkness clung stubbornly to the room, swallowing any trace of warmth. It was as if light had been banished—unwelcome in this forgotten corner of the house. Because this space belonged to someone who was blinded by light and was only embraced by the feary darkest secrets.

In the heart of that darkness, on a bed, too hard, no mattress, just a single pillow, a torn blanket draped in shadows and wrapped in silence, lay a girl. Her body curled under a cold blanket, but her rest was anything but peaceful.

Beads of sweat lined her forehead, her features twisted in pain, and silent tears freely slid down her cheeks, soaking into the pillow. Her fingers clutched the blanket as if anchoring herself from some invisible force, her chest heaving with shallow, erratic breaths. Her pupils rapidly moving , a bad dream.....her legs cramped,  every minute the sheets were creased more from how tightly she held it, her nails digging into it. The pillow, absolutely drenched with her tears, sweat and sheer nightmare.

The room was too quiet, as if everyone was getting ready for her to wake up. It was time, wasn't it? The ticking of clock seemed to standstill. The insects crawling between the floors - were aware another day closer to her secret was knocking .

Then, suddenly—

"Maaa!!"

The scream shattered the silence. A shattering, ear piercing, blood curdling scream - laced with agony, fear, anger, but worst......revenge.

She jolted upright, drenched in cold sweat, her eyes wild and searching,darting around to make sure she wasn't back to that night. The reality itself had momentarily slipped from her grasp. One trembling hand pressed against her chest, desperately trying to calm the storm within. She ran down her palms over her face, wiping away the traces of the nightmare. No trace of that nightmare should be visible. 

Her cold feet touched the cold floor,  both familiar to each other, her knees wobbled, body still reeking from images of that night. Her eyes were trained to the drawer, beside her bed, gaze lingering with memories too bitter. But there was no escape, was there? Past has already embarked it's presence and now she waited. Waited for............

Dragging her aching body across the cold floor, she reached the mirror and stared at her reflection. The mirror was fogged up, dirty from the dust - not quite taken care of. She swerved her palm over the mirror, cleaning up just a patch. Not fully. Just a little crack.

There she was.

Disheveled. Drenched. Broken—and yet terrifyingly alive. Eyes exact replica of someone too close - yet couldn't be addressed in her world.

She tied her damp, tangled hair back into a tight knot, her tired gaze locked on her own reflection. The warm honey of her complexion glowed faintly in the dim light, and her deep brown eyes—so achingly familiar—reflected not innocence, but fury. A lineage she loathed stared back at her.

She sat on the stool , infront of mirror. Her fingers twitched,  turning on and off the little lamp. Her eyes glowed when the light fell, illuminating her features, the softness, the innocence shining.  Yet when the lamp flickered off , her eyes turned sharper, head tilting, secrets, sins, deception trapped inside her innocent features.

Her fingers moved instinctively to the delicate locket resting on her collarbone. She traced its edge, her breath steadying.

And then, slowly, dangerously, her lips curved into a cruel smirk.

"Good morning, world. Ready?"

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The scent of rose and sandalwood lingered in the air as she stepped out of a long, calming bath. Her mind was already racing, plotting, weaving the day ahead like a spider spinning its web. Clad in a silk robe, hair still dripping, water trailed along her neck like whispered promises.

She dressed herself in a soft pink salwar suit, the color deceivingly delicate, the dupatta neatly folded over her shoulder—a costume tailored for the role society had cast her in: the demure, traditional daughter. Innocence, stitched to perfection.

She adorned herself with silver earrings that glinted like hidden daggers, glass bangles that chimed a rhythm known only to her. A stroke of kohl lined her intense gaze, deepening their mystery. A black bindi centered on her forehead sealed her transformation.

She took one last glance at her reflection and nodded—not at the girl she saw, but at the woman she was becoming.

Then the mask slid into place.

The curtains were pulled aside with just a pull, the bright sunlight entering without any apology. Her eyes closed on their own, and when she opened her eyes - calmness, innocence and love flickered. A smile etched, a warm, delicate, bright smile........... as she counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

"Isha!! Isha!!! Where are you?! Who’s going to make breakfast? Useless girl!"

The shrill voice echoed from beyond the hallway.

Isha adjusted her dupatta, letting a soft, practiced smile bloom on her lips. It was gentle, sweet—artfully crafted. Here it was, not even five minutes,  she has practically memorized everyone's routine, even if a cup was missing- she knew.

"Coming! Your breakfast will be ready soon! How can I keep my family hungry? I'll serve the best of everything."

Isha hurried into the kitchen, bowing at the maids, smiling softly, the maids looked impressed by her. She took the saucer and turned on the stove, boiling water, " Maasi, can you bring the milk from the fridge..."

Maasi, an old maid, nodded, her trembling hands bringing the milk pot.

Isha gave a smile, making tea for everyone.

A woman entered the kitchen, her presence cold and commanding. She wore a richly draped saree, her sleeveless blouse accentuating her poised arrogance. Thick makeup masked her cruelty, but the whiskey glass in her hand swirled with venom.

"You look better here, in the kitchen, Isha." Her voice was low, sharp. "It’s better you stop dreaming. Give up on that position… what do you say, daughter?"

Isha remained quiet, her focus on the boiling water. The fragrance of tea leaves bloomed in the air.

"Who says I can’t handle two shows at once?" she said coolly, stirring the brew. "After all, I am the daughter of—"

But before the sentence could reach it's end, the woman’s hand moved with serpentine grace, knocking over the teapot.

Boiling water splashed onto Isha’s hand.

"Ahhh...." Isha screamed, holding her burnt right hand, eyes glistening.

The maids tried to help Isha, stepping forward to take her hand.

But the woman, glared," If you love your job, then better step back. Nobody helps her in my home. "

Isha looked at the maids, shaking her head, asking them silently not to help her out.

Her skin reddened instantly, pain flaring sharp but she didn’t scream anymore. Not a sound escaped her lips. She stared at the burn, cradling the hand and then… smiled.

A smirk, dark and knowing.

She whispered to herself, so softly that the walls themselves had to strain to hear—

"Very soon…"

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AUTHOR'S POV

Steam coiled upward, curling like wisps of forgotten dreams, blurring the tall glass doors and the ceiling-to-floor window. Droplets clung stubbornly to the surface, like memories that refused to fade, even when doused in water.

The air was thick, perfumed with the rich, smoky scent of sandalwood...... dense and almost intoxicating. It wrapped around the solitary figure lounging in a porcelain bathtub carved deep like a royal chalice. He reclined like a monarch, his body half-immersed in the warm, frothy water, arms draped lazily over the edges, muscles taut under a sheen of dampness, each line of his form cut with practiced grace. Foam veiled his bare chest in soft clouds, water lapping gently against his skin, soothing him like a secret lullaby.

Delicate rose petals floated on the water’s surface—blood-red, bruised pink, ethereal white—clinging to his torso like silken lovers. He cupped a handful in his palms, lifted them slowly, reverently, to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled the subtle, sweet fragrance, a quiet smile curling at the corner of his lips. His voice was low, almost wistful, as he whispered:

“Rose…”

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed them into the air, scattering them across the water like discarded confessions. He chuckled—dry, dark, a shade away from madness.

“Too beautiful... too deceptive…” he murmured, watching the petals drift, watching them drown.

He took a black rose out of a bouquet of red roses, specially designed as per his wishes. The stem held between his fingers, as he ran the rose down his face. His forehead, where damp curls clinged to.....his eyes, which were too deceptive...to his nose, inhaling the memories laced with roses......to his lips....not quiet touching. It hovered over his lips, taking his own time, teasing it with his touch....slowly bringing it closer and letting his soft lips just touch the rose.

Then he pulled away, gaze fixed on rose, as if it was the same person, he was imagining while kissing. 

He laughed, the sound, that could make anyone shiver, " All mine........and once you cross your path with me......there's no escape. I'll show you what true devotion mean, Rose....."

He let the rose fall on the water, plopping as it floats on the surface, "Exactly like you.....you know how to float and never get caught.........but I know." Then he forced the rose to drown, " Shhhhh.....no one should know..... secrets."

Time ticked away in heavy silence, those sharp eyes scanning each and every flower petals, his mind remembering only her. The only exception...just like the black rose in a bouquet of red roses. A blood curdling smirk tugged,  head tilting sideways....enjoying the rare moment of silence.

Until...

—

The shrill ring of his phone shattered the stillness. He groaned, but slipping on his role as the businessman.

He rose from the bath, a white towel knotted dangerously low on his hips, water streaming down his chiseled torso in shimmering rivulets. Each drop traced the path of sculpted muscle, cascading downwards. The man moved with unhurried confidence, sensual and dangerous.

He slipped in the AirPods, tapped them once, and his voice dropped—calm, commanding.

“Yes? Ved Singh Chauhan speaking.”

The response came immediately, nervous and stuttering.

“S-Sir, we… we couldn’t get the deal. The company declined. But there are many others—better offers, better potential, I swear—”

Ved, now standing in front of the floor-length mirror, began drying his hair, silent. His silence made people fear, because they didn't know what was in his mind. And he knew it. He leisurely  started buttoning his crisp white shirt, each pop of the button a deliberate pause. His voice didn’t rise; it didn’t need to.

“I choose the company I want. Not based on potential. Not based on logic. Based on instinct. And if you can’t do that simple job…” He slipped on his watch, adjusted his cufflink, “…you’re inefficient. Collect your dues from Finance and disappear. Before I arrive.”

His tone turned glacial at the last word—lethal in its elegance.

And the call was cut. Because it was better to escape from his world alive than be played by the devil itself. Everyone knew, he was very true to his words.

He finished dressing—a perfectly tailored charcoal-grey blazer over the pristine white shirt, formal pants pressed with sharp lines. His final act before stepping out: a spritz of rose-scented perfume behind his ears and along the collarbone. The fragrance wafted in the air like a promise—sweet, beguiling, dangerous.

A smile played on his lips—enigmatic, unreadable.

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Now seated behind a grand mahogany desk, sunlight slicing through the blinds behind him, Ved rocked slowly in the CEO’s chair. The world outside moved fast—but in here, time bowed to his will.

This was his haven. He ruled, he ordered and everyone else followed. The cabin huge, implicating that he was the - Owner. His order were rules - no one dared to break those. The entire cabin was designed exquisitely- the power felt from each artifact. The desk made from exotic African Blackwood and craftmanship,  the matbles in floor directly shipped from Italy, every inch of the cabin a tale of the luxury Ved Singh Chauhan has gained.

He sipped his morning coffee—black, strong, unsweetened.

Across from him sat Ajay Mehta, his most trusted aide. Loyal, sharp, unwavering.

“I want that company,” Ved said, his voice silk over steel. “Get it for me. I don’t care how. I don’t care what rules you break. I don’t care who you have to bleed. Find a way inside their walls, Ajay. I trust you.”

Ajay frowned, confused but too wise to question recklessly. Still, curiosity slipped through.

“Why only that company, sir? You’ve got conglomerates begging to work with you. This one’s a boutique firm—small, undervalued. It doesn’t make sense.”

Ved didn’t respond immediately. He turned slightly, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk—the one no one else was allowed to touch.

He pulled out a tiny, dried rose, the petals brittle, the color faded to a haunting crimson. He held it gently between his fingers, as if afraid it would crumble.

His voice dropped to a near-whisper, but the weight of it filled the room.

“Because that company is priceless.”

A beat of silence, before he continued.

“That company...” he said, almost to himself.

“...isn’t a deal. It’s a promise. A memory. A thread I’m not willing to cut.”

He held the rose against the sunlight seeping through the blinds.

“Some things aren’t about business, Ajay. Some things are personal.”

Ajay didn’t ask again. He simply nodded.

Because he understood one thing—

When Ved Singh Chauhan decided something was his...

The world moved, or it burned.

He placed the rose back in its velvet-lined compartment, closed the drawer softly, and leaned back.

Eyes sharp. Smile slow. The past was never forgotten. Some things were never about business.

Some were personal.

Deadly personal.

"Smallest are the ones that hide the massive secrets...the world is afraid of.  And this one......it was a way to reach her - the mastermind. " his whispers were secrets he had unraveled slowly.

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AUTHOR'S POV

Inside a brightly lit, glass-walled cabin on the topmost floor of Malhotra Enterprises, sat a woman whose presence was as commanding as the skyline behind her.

Her hair was pulled into a sleek, flawless bun—no strands dared rebel against her discipline. A tailored navy-blue suit clung to her frame with precision, paired with stiletto heels that clicked sharply against the marble floor every time she moved. Her legs bounced subtly under the table, betraying the storm beneath her composed surface. Silver-rimmed glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose as her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing at a speed that could rival machines.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The only sound in the otherwise still office—no music, no chatter, not even the hum of an AC dared to interrupt her. Sunlight poured in from the expansive windows, bathing the office in a golden hue.

Footsteps approached. Very familiar sandals. The door opened without knocking, and there stood her sister.

Her sister, walked up to her desk, her hands inching closer to the nameplate.

"Naina Malhotra. CEO of Malhotra Enterprises. " her sister read it out aloud.

Naina lifted her eyes, standing up in respect more like the love she had for her sister - Isha.

Isha lifted the nameplate up," Are we getting an incapable CEO?"

Naina lowered her head," Isha di...... I don't know how it happened. "

Isha walked upto the chair of CEO, a delicate touch on the leather chair, and gaze too far deep for Naina's imagination.

Then Isha pulled away, turning towards Naina, embracing her , patting her back, the taller sister, Naina leaning down in the hold.

"It's ok, Naina. It happens. Fix it."

Naina obliged,  though she was CEO, she let her elder sister be the one who could order her.

Naina sat down on the chair, Isha giving a warm smile, nodding her head for her to start working on fixing the problem.

So Naina, kept on typing on her keyboard,  furiously, eyes sharp, trying to prove she was worth it. She was not just sitting at this position because her father handed it to her.

Isha lingered in the background,  as if she didn't exist but her presence! How could any clever person miss it? Her eyes were trained on the chair behind the desk, and on the person sitting on it. She studied every flicker of Naina's eyes, her fingers, her tension simmering inside.

Yet, Naina Malhotra remained cloaked in the shadows of her own ambition. Engrossed. Consumed.

Until—

A knock.

It was hesitant. Almost timid.

The glass door creaked open and a man stepped in—mid-forties, wearing the company tag around his neck, his shirt damp with sweat despite the cool interior. His voice trembled like a child confessing a broken vase.

“Ma’am… there’s been a… security disruption.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“But—w-we couldn’t find the source. No trace… no digital footprints… nothing.”

For a moment, silence. Deafening silence.

Isha stood leaning on a shelf, hands folded on her chest, listening to the conversation,  and something dangerous bloomed. Secretly.

Then—a loud slam.

Naina’s palms crashed against the polished desk, sending files and printed reports flying into the air like startled birds. Her chair scraped back as she stood, eyes flashing behind the lens of her glasses, her voice sharp and cold as a blade.

“Is this what I’m paying you all for?” she hissed.

“This is the height of your competence? A breach in my system, and you don’t have even a trace, not even a speck of digital dust?”

The man flinched as if the words had physically struck him.

Naina exhaled sharply, composing herself. Her jaw tightened as she looked away, gaze drifting momentarily to the framed photograph of a smiling girl beside an older man—her Di and Papa.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was lower. Firmer.

“Call everyone to the meeting room. Now. Tell them, Naina Ma’am has called for it.”

As the man scrambled away, she sank back into her chair, rocking it slightly, her eyes flickering with determination and something darker guilt, or maybe vengeance. She whispered to herself, as if reaffirming a vow:

“I can’t let down Papa… or Di. Especially her.”

She stared at the floor, lost in her storm.

“I’ll prove I’m more than the whispers behind my back… Naina Malhotra can run a business—better than any man, and certainly better than a homewrecker’s d—”

Isha placed her hand over Naina's,  her eyes held love, sweet and warm. Just like a mother's eyes.

"Everything is going to be ok. Trust yourself. Because once you lose trust on yourself...that's the time Everything vanishes. Poof!" Isha pulled away the file on Naina's table in a pull, catching Naina offguard.

Naina, surprised looked at Isha," Di that's important file, for the next commission work. If it gets tampered, Papa will lose the businessman award, and it will harm our company's image."

Isha placed the file down, fingers lingering, " Then keep it safe. Guard it." She whispered.

Naina smiled ," Only you know about it, di, and what  harm is there from you."

Isha smiled widely, nodding .

Just then.

Ring.

The intercom buzzed, cutting her off.

“Ma’am, the meeting room is ready.”

Naina stood, shrugging on her blazer like armor. As she walked down the hallway, her heels echoed like war drums on the polished floors. Employees shrank into their cubicles, sensing the electricity in the air.

Her sharp eyes scanned the floor, inspecting each employee with laser focus. Every pair of eyes that met hers quickly looked away.

“Whoever is responsible,” she said, voice cool as ice, “will face consequences. Severe ones. And believe me…” she stopped, turning slightly, her voice now a whisper that still cut through the silence,

“…I will find you.”

After the meeting—brief, intense, and full of veiled threats—she returned to her cabin.

Alone now, the façade dropped slightly.

But her eyes found Isha , sitting on her desk, her dupatta falling off her shoulder, hair falling over her face, fixing the bandage on her burnt hand.

Naina , narrowed her eyes," How did this happen Di?"

Isha looked at her bandage, a ruefully smile crept onto her face, " Just hands slipped while straining tea."

Isha nodded her head towards the chair, asking Naina to sit down to rest.

Naina leaned back in her chair, her head resting against the leather cushion, eyes fluttering closed. Her breaths slowed. For just a moment, she allowed herself to relax, if only for the length of a heartbeat.

But her mind refused rest.

Because Naina Malhotra was not just a CEO.

She was a shadowed fire, burning quietly, determined to light up the empire she received, and extinguish every name who dared challenge her rise.

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AUTHOR'S POV

The soft, cool air from the AC whispered through the room, wrapping itself around lingering emotions—unspoken words, quiet love, and the kind of warmth only a home can offer.

By the large window, where sunlight streamed in gently through sheer curtains, sat a man on a cushioned sofa, legs curled beneath him. A quiet smile played on his lips, one so soft it seemed untouched by the harshness of the world—as if the cruelty around him dared not touch the tenderness within.

His hair was tousled, slightly messy from the morning breeze, framing a face that held peace like a secret. His eyes, calm and radiant, focused on the notebook resting on his lap. A pen moved slowly, thoughtfully—its ink bleeding emotion into the white pages, pouring out his soul in verses only the paper could understand.

In that moment, he was far away—lost in a world of thoughts, words, and forgotten yesterdays.

Until—

A gentle voice broke the silence.

“Dhruv, you haven’t had your breakfast yet, beta. Come, have it…”

At the doorway stood a woman—his mother—her sari slightly crumpled from the morning chores, a plate in her hand filled with his favorites. Steaming poha, a side of curd, and freshly cut fruits—not sliced with precision, but with something more meaningful: love.

Dhruv looked up, eyes softening.

“Maa, you didn’t have to bring it here,” he said, setting his pen down.

She walked to him with a knowing smile, the kind only a mother can wear.

“Bete ke liye Maa kuch bhi kar sakti hai,” she replied, settling beside him with practiced ease. She scooped a spoonful of poha and raised it.

“Now come on… say ‘ahhh’.”

A chuckle slipped past Dhruv’s lips—light and boyish.

He opened his mouth dramatically. “Ahhh…”

They both laughed softly, but beneath the laughter shimmered the glassiness of tears. The kind that sat in the eyes for a moment before making their way down.

Dhruv leaned forward and pulled his mother into a warm embrace—tight, fierce, like he was afraid the moment would slip away.

“You are the best mother I could’ve ever asked for,” he whispered, voice trembling.

“I’m truly blessed to have you, Maa.”

She wrapped her arms around him, gently cradling his back as if he were still her little boy. Her hand moved in soothing circles, grounding both of them in that quiet moment.

“And I’m blessed to have you, Dhruv,” she said softly.

“You’re the light that walked into my shadows… my peace, my redemption. You make me want to be stronger, to be the best mother I can be.”

Her voice quivered as she wiped his tears with the edge of her pallu, fingers trembling slightly from age and emotion.

“You are my pride , Dhruv… my son.”

And in that simple truth, spoken in a mother's unwavering voice, existed a love that nothing in the world could match.

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