By late morning, the office had turned into a low-key warzone of whispers.
"They're really equal now?" one junior analyst asked another, eyes wide.
"They said Rudra Malhotra accepted a fifty-fifty deal," another replied, trembling slightly. "Do you know what that means? The richest man in the USA just bent to him. BENT!"
Even the interns walked with extra caution, glancing nervously at Rudra's office. From behind his frosted glass door, he might have been typing silently — or plotting the end of the world. No one could tell.
Meanwhile, Meera and the floor managers tried to gather themselves. "Honestly," whispered one, "I don't even know what to say. He's like… like some mythical creature. No one has ever done this before. Sam Carter never comes back for a second meeting. Never!"
"Exactly," Meera said, arms crossed. "And Rudra Malhotra doesn't bend. He only accepts what he wants, and even then, he makes you sweat for it."
The office buzzed with excitement, fear, and admiration all at once. Rudra's reputation had just gone global.
Around noon, Rudra's phone vibrated on his desk. He didn't check it immediately. Only when it buzzed a second time did he answer, expression unreadable.
"Rudra," a familiar, measured voice said.
"Sir," Rudra replied, almost automatically — a subtle pause, but enough to show his father that he never calls him Dad anymore.
"Rudra, I heard about your meeting with Sam," his father said, voice calm, yet expectant. "How did it go?"
Rudra paused, then spoke plainly. "He proposed a deal. Fifty-fifty. I accepted after reviewing everything. He… understood the terms."
There was silence on the other end for a moment, then a soft, approving hum. "Good. I trust your judgment."
Rudra's lips pressed into a thin line. "Sir."
Again — not Dad. The word felt distant, formal. No warmth lingered in the office line. His father didn't question it. Rudra hung up immediately, letting the silence fill the space his words left behind.
Even in success, even in victory over one of the richest men in the world, Rudra Malhotra remained a man of distance, untouchable even to those who had given him life.
At exactly 3:00 PM, a soft ping sounded on his phone. Rudra glanced at it, brow slightly furrowed.
"Please eat your lunch and also dinner."
He froze, staring at the message. It was simple, almost gentle. Yet the tone — the care behind it — caught him off guard. His fingers hovered over the screen.
Rudra Malhotra didn't respond immediately. He didn't send a message back. He didn't even frown. Instead…
At 3:01 PM, he picked up his lunch box and moved to his desk's corner, opening it slowly. Even as he ate, he kept glancing at his phone — curious, slightly unsettled, and inexplicably alert.
No name. No signature. Only the reminder.
And yet, the hint of warmth lingered in that simple message.
Rudra Malhotra, the man feared by everyone in the building, continued his meal in silence, mind running faster than his fork could move.