The Oberoi Hotel buzzed with an air of sophistication, conversations flowing like fine wine, laughter polished and measured. But in one corner of the grand ballroom, Siddharth Rathore stood unmoving, his dark gaze locked onto her.
Aaradhya Malhotra.
He watched as she exchanged pleasantries with the elite, her laughter soft yet distant, her posture poised but detached. She belonged in this world of glittering chandeliers and silver platters, but something about her felt... untouched. Unaffected by the arrogance of power that ruled this city.
It irritated him. And intrigued him.
Reyansh, ever the observer, leaned in. "You're staring too hard, boss."
Siddharth didn't respond, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his mind clouded with something unfamiliar. He never looked at women twice—never cared enough to. But she had dismissed him without a second glance, and that did something to his temper.
No one ignored Siddharth Rathore.
Across the room, Aaradhya gracefully accepted a flute of champagne from a waiter, her mind only half-present in the event. The flashing cameras, the reporters whispering her name—it was all routine. She had mastered the art of being unbothered.
"Miss Malhotra, a quick interview for Bollywood Insider?" A journalist appeared, mic in hand.
She smiled professionally. "Of course."
The usual questions came. Upcoming films? Her dream roles? She answered with ease, her voice carrying the elegance of someone who had fought to be where she was.
But then—
"We heard a certain business tycoon has been watching you all night." The reporter smirked. "Any thoughts on Mr. Siddharth Rathore?"
Aaradhya blinked. Who?
She turned slightly, following the reporter's gaze—only to meet a pair of dangerously intense eyes.
Siddharth Rathore.
Even with the distance between them, his presence felt overpowering. He wasn't just looking at her; he was studying her, like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.
Aaradhya's lips curved into a polite yet dismissive smile. "I don't pay attention to businessmen, only my films."
A calculated answer.
Siddharth saw her response. Saw the way she barely acknowledged him. And something inside him snapped.
She wasn't playing hard to get. She truly did not care.
And that was unacceptable.
The First Collision
Minutes later, Aaradhya excused herself from the gathering, moving towards the secluded corridor that led to the terrace. She needed air—space away from the suffocating conversations and the weight of expectations.
The cool night breeze greeted her, bringing with it the distant hum of the city. She exhaled, leaning against the marble railing.
And then—
A shadow moved behind her.
She tensed just as a deep, commanding voice cut through the silence.
"Actresses have a habit of pretending."
Aaradhya turned sharply, her gaze meeting his.
Siddharth Rathore stood mere feet away, his black suit tailored to perfection, his expression unreadable. Up close, he was even more imposing—broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and eyes that held something dark and unrelenting.
Aaradhya didn't flinch. "Excuse me?"
Siddharth took a slow step forward, his gaze never leaving hers. "You're used to attention, aren't you? The cameras, the applause." His voice was smooth, almost lazy, but there was an edge to it. "And yet, when you saw me, you acted like I didn't exist."
Aaradhya arched a brow. So, that's what this was about.
She folded her arms, unfazed. "I don't act, Mr. Rathore. If I ignored you, it wasn't pretend—it was real."
Silence. Thick. Charged.
A flicker of amusement crossed Siddharth's face, but it didn't reach his eyes. He wasn't used to this—to indifference.
He leaned in slightly, his presence dangerously close. "You don't know me."
Aaradhya met his gaze, unshaken. "And I don't need to."
For the first time in years, Siddharth Rathore felt something other than control.
And he did not like it.
A War Had Just Begun.
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