The rain dripped steadily over the city of Mumbai, casting a silver sheen over the skyline. Neon lights bled across the wet glass of the Kapoor estate, a towering fortress of wealth and ambition. At the very top, behind tinted glass walls, Aaravi Kapoor stood barefoot in her silk robe, a glass of whisky in hand, watching the world she ruled from above.
She wasn't just a billionaire heiress. She owned one of India's most influential sports empires—Kapoor Industries, the silent puppeteer of cricket leagues across Asia. At 29, she was smart, sensuous, and ruthless. Men desired her. Boardrooms feared her. And somewhere beneath her calculated poise, something... ached.
Across the sprawling marble floor, a crisp folder lay open. Inside were confidential documents about "The Syndicate"—a shadow cricket underworld that had begun threatening her grip over the sport. Their name wasn't spoken aloud. But the whisper was growing.
Her fingers traced the photo of a man. Not Mehul, her late father's best friend and now her dangerously enigmatic advisor. Not even Vivaan—the brilliant, awkward cricket data analyst she had recently hired, who watched her too closely, too carefully.
This photo was different. Rough. Dark. A player she thought had died years ago.
Veer Kapoor. Her brother.
And possibly, not so dead after all.
The intercom buzzed. Aaravi turned, slowly. "Ma'am, the analyst is here," came the voice of her assistant.
She smiled.
"Send him in."
—
Vivaan stepped in, notebook clutched to his chest like a shield. He wore thick glasses, a navy shirt tucked too tightly, and an Adam's apple that bobbed when he got nervous. Aaravi always made him nervous.
"I asked you here late for a reason," she said, voice low, velvet with danger.
He looked up. "I—I ran the data on the unregistered league in Chennai. The betting odds were rigged. Patterns matched an algorithm used by a London firm once tied to Veer Kapoor. But he's… he's dead."
"Is he?" she asked, sauntering toward him. Her robe loosened slightly. The soft scent of jasmine and whisky filled the space between them.
Vivaan's breath caught.
"Do you know what turns me on more than a man's body?" she whispered.
He gulped. "N-no…"
"A man who sees through chaos. Who touches the truth even when it burns."
She leaned in, lips grazing his ear.
"Do you touch truth, Vivaan?"
He stiffened. His logic told him to step back. But his body had already betrayed him.
She backed away slowly, robe parting slightly as she did. Enough to let him see.
"I want you to dig deeper. I want you inside every shadow of this Syndicate. Think you can handle that?"
"Yes," he croaked, voice hoarse.
"Good. Because this isn't just a game anymore."
As she walked away, hips swaying, Vivaan realized—
He was already addicted.
And this was just the first over.