Opening: Tension in the Ballroom
Arohi stands by the silent auction table, her hands cool around a glass of sparkling water. The ballroom's gold-anointed light glides over rivals and allies alike. She feels invisible and yet exposed—gazes land, glide off, and return, always appraising.
Shruti circles nearby, quietly offering words of encouragement and quietly observing who watches Arohi a touch too closely. Tonight, even the air feels judgmental.
Across the dance floor, Rhea Juneja's clique orchestrates sly glances and whispers at Arohi's "plain" jewelry and "last season" gown, never confronting but always commenting.
Mrs. Lobo positions herself so she can observe every newcomer, making notes on heirs, influencers, and "scandals to remember."
By the dessert station, the rival café manager Sumit and ex-chef Somya Jain are loose with their laughter, sharing "rags to riches" rumors—a little too loudly.
Near the foyer, the sharp jawed Aarav Roy watches everything, weighing Arohi's every reaction and the crowd's temperature.
It takes only a careless remark to turn the mood. At the cheese buffet, a junior executive named Samar (new, hungry for power) tries to test Arohi.
Samar (with fake cheer): "Aren't you the Malhotra girl who… doesn't live with them anymore? Must be weird seeing all this, no?"
Somya (joining in): "She likes freedom, Samar. That means living wherever you find a couch, right?"
Laughter flickers on lips around them. Arohi sets down her plate, breathes in, and steadies herself.
Arohi (gently, without venom): "Some people think you need a palace to feel at home. I learned sometimes you only need good people… and a strong lock on the door."
The group isn't silenced—yet. But a few faces smile—Megha (a mid-level banker, herself once mocked for her village accent) steps up, changing the subject. It's a tiny rescue that doesn't save the day, but it keeps Arohi afloat.
Arohi nods in thanks, grateful—still stung, but steady.
Later, by the terrace doors where the city's noise hums up from below, Shruti checks on her.
Shruti: "You did well. Don't let them decide who you are."
Arohi: "I'm trying. I just wish standing my ground didn't feel so lonely."
Shruti gives her hand a squeeze.
Shruti: "It won't always. I promise."
Before she can catch her breath, Riya (the social entrepreneur) catches her eye, offering a welcoming smile and an invitation to join her circle. Aarav, keeping his distance, nods in silent approval.
Arohi's phone buzzes—her system's soft prompt:
[Next sign-in reward: Opportunity often looks like discomfort. Flex—muscle and resolve.]
She glances at her reflection in a mirrored pillar, shoulders a little straighter, gaze a touch braver. Tonight, the battle isn't just with rivals—it's with the old self who wanted to flee at every insult.
### *Chapter End: The Long Game*
Arohi decides she won't leave early. Instead, she'll finish her water, learn a few new names, and see every cruel joke as another curl in the weight rack of her soul's gym.
Tomorrow, the next challenge or triumph will rise. Tonight: one smile, one ally, and a promise—to herself—to grow, no matter who's watching.