The hall was silent. No one dared to breathe too loudly in the presence of Anirudh Singh Rathore, the prince of Rajasthan. Draped in a tailored black suit embroidered with gold, he sat at the head of the long marble table, fingers tapping slowly against its surface. Each tap echoed like a drumbeat in the chests of the men seated before him .
"Deadlines," he said, his voice low, calm — too calm.
"Do you know what happens when people miss them?" His gaze lifted, sharp as a blade, and landed on the trembling manager at the end of the table.
"I–I apologize, Your Highness. There were unforeseen delays—"
Anirudh's chair scraped back, the sound slicing through the air like steel. He rose, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence swallowing the space around him. With measured steps, he closed the distance, stopping just inches away from the man. He smiled, but there was no warmth in it, only the kind of coldness that made the blood run thin.
"Unforeseen delays?"
His words dripped like poison. "When I want something, I get it. Nothing stands in my way. Not time. Not people. Not fear." He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, intimate and threatening.
Remember this: the moment you work for me, your excuses stop existing."
The manager swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. The room remained silent, no one daring to move.
Anirudh straightened, adjusting his cuffs as if he had just discussed the weather. "Good," he said softly, turning back to his seat.
"Because when I want something, I take it.
And God help anyone who tries to keep it from me."
The last words lingered, heavy and sharp. Every man in the room knew — he wasn't just talking about business.
Anirudh didn't wait for the trembling manager to gather his things. He simply nodded once to Vikram, his assistant, and left the room. The men scattered immediately, like birds startled from a tree.
Vikram followed him out, checking the time on his watch. "Sir, the board meeting is canceled. We have a five-minute window until the jet leaves for Mumbai."
"No," Anirudh said, pausing at the glass doors. He looked back toward the conference room, then down the hall toward the fire escape where the terrified manager had fled.
"The meeting isn't canceled, Vikram. It's just delayed by fifteen minutes. Send an alert to the media: effective immediately, Rathore Industries is dissolving the entire 'Logistics Division'—all three hundred employees. The manager missed his deadline."
Vikram didn't flinch. "Yes, Your Highness. The severance packages?"
Anirudh smiled, a flash of pure ice. "Let them read the news on their phones. We keep the money. Efficiency, Vikram. That is what I pay for."
He stepped into the waiting elevator. As the doors slid shut, the cold air in the lobby was pierced by the sound of a hundred phones buzzing simultaneously.
Anirudh Singh Rathore was not just a powerful man. He was a force of destruction that spared no one. And tomorrow, the entire city would know it.