"At most, how much could it be…"
Saying this, Rishabh pulled his card out of his pocket.
He twirled it between his fingers, deliberately showing off—
as if he wanted the entire club to witness his status.
There was arrogance in his eyes, pride in his walk—
but what he didn't realize was that the man he was showing off to
could, if he wanted, put a price on his entire family while standing right there.
In a voice filled with ego, Rishabh looked at the waiter.
"Waiter, bring me Penfolds Bin 407 Cabernet Sauvignon…
the same wine I always drink."
Then his gaze shifted to the man sitting across from him.
"And yes, bring one for him as well.
Let him also know what real wine tastes like."
"And one more thing…"
Rishabh added with a crooked smile,
"Add the bill for the wine that spilled earlier to this as well."
With the beat dropping, the waiter cut through the crowd and returned.
In one hand—Penfolds Bin 407 Cabernet Sauvignon 2010,
in the other—a thin bill slip.
Neon lights shimmered over the white paper
as he placed both right in the middle of the table.
Rishabh's eyes fell on the bill.
He picked it up, and the moment his gaze reached the amount,
the color drained from his face—
Because the total written there was ₹3,20,000.
For a moment, he simply stared at the number.
Then anger flared in Rishabh's eyes.
He half-rose from his chair and roared,
"Waiter! Is this a joke?"
The waiter nervously pushed the bill forward.
"Sir… this is your bill."
Rishabh snatched the paper and jabbed a finger at the amount.
"₹3,20,000?
I only ordered two wines and some normal items.
How is this daylight robbery?"
The waiter's voice trembled.
"Sir… you yourself said that you would pay
for the drink that spilled on this gentleman."
Rishabh fell silent for a second—
then suddenly laughed.
A bitter, sharp laugh.
"What rubbish!" he shouted, pointing across the table.
"The bottle of wine that spilled costs ₹3,00,000 by itself!"
Now the entire hall was watching them.
Whispers spread. Chairs shifted.
Yet through all this, Aryan remained unaffected.
Instead, he calmly picked up the second wine of the same brand—
the one ordered after the first bottle had spilled—
and took a slow sip,
as if nothing around him even existed.
Rishabh scanned the people around him.
Every pair of eyes was fixed on him now.
Then his gaze landed on Aryan—
sitting there, completely at ease, enjoying his wine.
That was when his anger truly exploded.
Because if Aryan hadn't been there,
he wouldn't have been arguing with a waiter in public—
and his pride wouldn't have been smashed to the ground like this.
The next moment, he pointed straight at Aryan and barked,
"Why should I pay for his loss?"
The waiter, hiding his fear, replied calmly,
"Sir, you yourself said you would cover the gentleman's loss.
Otherwise, the ma'am who spilled the wine
will have to pay for it."
Fear was clearly visible on his face—
he was afraid of losing his job.
Hearing this, Dolly, sitting beside Rishabh, turned pale.
In reality, she didn't belong to any wealthy family.
She knew how to identify men like Rishabh—
spoiled sons of rich fathers,
always ready to throw money around under the influence of luxury.
But today, the price of that indulgence
was being placed right in front of her.
And when she realized the bill might fall on her head as well,
her reaction was only natural.
Just then, a heavy voice echoed through the commotion—
"What's going on here?"
The manager strode forward.
Dressed in a black suit, lean but commanding—
his very presence changed the temperature of the room.
He walked straight up to the waiter.
"Waiter, what's happening here?"
His tone was firm, yet controlled.
The waiter hesitated for a moment,
then swallowed and explained everything.
Silence followed.
The manager looked at Rishabh—
questions in his eyes.
Then his gaze paused for a few seconds on Aryan.
Just one moment.
He gave Aryan a slight nod,
as if saying without words,
"I'll handle this."
The manager had seen many such situations before.
He knew that in places like this,
you always side with the one who brings profit, not loss.
And one look at Aryan was enough to tell him—
anger him, and it would be expensive.
Turning to Rishabh, he said firmly,
"Rishabh sir, this was your order.
You said you would pay the gentleman's bill."
He emphasized,
"You cannot back out of your words now."
That's when Aryan placed his glass on the table.
Clink.
A small sound—
but silence spread across the table.
With a faint smile, Aryan spoke,
"What happened, Mr. Rishabh?
You said you come here every day.
So a small bill like this shouldn't mean much to you."
He leaned forward slightly.
His voice was calm, but every word was precise.
"And you also said I'd never even seen expensive liquor.
So… what happened now?"
There was a normal smile on Aryan's face.
No sarcasm. No arrogance. Just calm.
But the truth was something else entirely.
Rishabh simply didn't have that much money in his account.
He had assumed Aryan was just like him—
another rich man's son, here only for fun.
But now he realized
he had underestimated the wrong person.
Seeing his silence, the manager spoke coldly,
"Mr. Rishabh, will you pay the bill,
or should we handle this another way?"
Rishabh shot an angry look at Dolly,
then extended his card with trembling hands.
The waiter swiped it.
Beep.
The screen lit up—
₹2,10,000.
The entire hall froze for a moment.
Then whispers filled the air.
"So this is Rishabh?"
"I thought he was rich—he can't even pay his full bill."
"I heard no one messes with him because of his rich father."
"But he doesn't even have the status to clear a bill."
"Looks like his father's gone bankrupt."
The words pierced Rishabh's ears like arrows.
But now, attention began shifting toward Aryan.
"This guy looks really rich."
"Yeah—₹3,00,000 premium wine is no joke."
"But why have I never heard of him before?"
On one side of the table,
Rishabh's pride lay completely shattered.
On the other,
Aryan sat quietly, watching everything—
as if none of this concerned him.
The manager stepped forward again.
"Rishabh ji, only ₹2,10,000 has been paid.
You still owe ₹1,00,000."
Rishabh clenched his teeth.
The veins on his jaw tightened.
"Fine. I'll pay."
He pulled out his phone and made a call.
Ring.
Once.
Twice.
"Hello, Vishal!"
"Hey bro, what's up?"
"Fine…"
Rishabh glanced around. Eyes were still on him.
Lowering his voice, he said,
"Yaar, I need a favor… it's urgent."
Vishal laughed.
"Say it, bro."
After a pause, Rishabh forced the words out.
"Vishal… I need ₹1,00,000."
"Since when do you need money?" Vishal joked.
Rishabh snapped.
"Are you giving it or not?"
A pause.
"Bro, I only have ₹80,000 right now."
Rishabh closed his eyes.
"Fine. Deposit it in my account right now.
I'll return it soon."
Vishal laughed again.
"By the way, who are you out with?
Why didn't you call me?"
Grinding his teeth, Rishabh replied,
"Next time… for sure."
No laughter in his voice—only helplessness.
Call cut.
He pulled out a cheque.
Scratch—scratch.
The pen sounded like it was carving lines through his dignity.
He wrote ₹80,000
and handed it to the manager.
"Here."
The manager looked at it.
"Still ₹20,000 remaining."
Rishabh's eyes moved to Dolly.
"Dolly…"
Frustration and desperation in his voice.
"Why should I pay everything alone?
How much is on your card?"
Dolly hesitated, fear in her eyes.
But Rishabh snatched her card.
Swipe.
Beep.
₹20,000 deducted.
The hall buzzed again.
The same Rishabh—always arrogant—
now stood humiliated in front of everyone,
all because of one man.
Aryan sat calmly.
The manager's eyes fell on Aryan again.
He noticed the watch on Aryan's wrist—
gleaming softly.
Just one second.
And the manager's expression changed.
Looking at Rishabh, he said,
"You may leave now."
The bodyguards stepped aside.
Rishabh stormed out.
But before leaving, he stopped.
Turned.
Looked at Aryan.
In that look—
anger, humiliation…
and somewhere deep down, fear.
So what happens next?
Will Rishabh's humiliation return as a storm of revenge?
Or will Aryan step into a danger
from which there is no return?
Was this just one night—
or the beginning of a war?