The night air outside the Arya Imperial Hotel is velvet warm, shot with camera flashes and glittering with the city's wealth and secrets. As her car door opens, Arohi feels Mumbai's gaze settle directly on her—some intrigued, most skeptical.
The ballroom seethes with color and judgment. Waiters swirl past mirrored pillars. The city's three "queen bee" aunties form a council by the stage, clutching pearls and Instagram feeds.
In a far corner, Shruti nervously smoothes her borrowed dress, clutching her phone. She's Arohi's anchor, but tonight even she is unsteady.
Across the hall, Rhea Juneja (heiress, social media shark) surveys Arohi and whispers to her clique:
"Is that really her? I thought girls like that were supposed to serve, not show up. Did she borrow that gown?"
Her friends snicker, eyeing Arohi's simple emerald dress.
By the dessert table, Tap Bhandari (the office gossip, recently fired) scrolls through old emails trying to spot any leverage over Arohi.
Arohi enters, shoulders back, calm but pulse racing. She offers the doorman a quiet "thank you," met by a rare, genuine smile—her first easy moment of the night.
Shruti notices side-eyes and loud jokes:
- "She looks thinner—must be all that running from family," someone says.
- "No bangles, no heels? Must be hiding something," says another.
- Auntie council, led by Mrs. Lobo, sighs:
"Arohi Malhotra. Her poor parents. All this big-city attitude, so little security."
Shruti's grip on her purse tightens.
Shruti (whisper): "Don't listen. Let me fetch us drinks."
Arohi nods, but the words stick. She squares her jaw, recalling yesterday's self-defense class: "Chin up, spine straight, breath steady."
Across the hall, Neha and Ojasvi (the family spies) snap photos—already sending, "Here, spotted. Alone. Looking lost," to the Malhotra chat group.
The First Real Sting: Mockery and Undermining
By the bar, Somya Jain (disgraced ex-chef):
"So, the great café queen does show up. Who's she freeloading off now? She can't even pay staff, everyone knows."
Next to her, Sumit Singh (rival manager):
"Maybe she's angling for a job. That's the only way these poor ones get in."
Their table laughs, basking in mean cleverness. A handsome but wary stranger—Aarav Roy (investor, known flirt)—looks on with interest, unsure if Arohi will bite or break.
Arohi stands quietly at the bar, not reacting. Inside, her internal voice wavers—anger, then the steel she's slowly built through sweat and training.
Shruti returns, squeezing her shoulder—solidarity in a crowd. Riya (newcomer, charity founder) notices and, with a nod, lets Arohi know at least one friend exists here.
Arohi catches her breath, focusing on her posture:
"Mom used to say: They can mock your money, not your backbone. Prove them wrong by surviving."
She picks up her water glass, hands trembling just a little less.
Arohi (soft, to Shruti): "One event at a time. We'll make them bored before we let them beat us."
Arohi walks toward the silent auction table, determined not to bow out early. Rhea's crew glares; Somya mills around, waiting for her to stumble. The air is thick with expectation.
Her phone buzzes—a system hint:
[Sign-in reward: Social Mastery Level I. Use words, not fists, to turn the tide tonight. Courage is its own muscle.]
Arohi's next move will change everything—but for now, she's simply standing her ground, one breath at a time.