"Are you sure?"
"How many times do I have to tell you, Yash? I'm sure as hell."
"Kabeer, as your best friend, I'm telling you - don't do this. It's dangerous... and it could change everything."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Yash! Shut up already!" I push back my chair and stand, irritation burning in my chest. "I'm tired of this same talk again and again," I mutter under my breath, walking toward the door.
But then I see her - my grandmother - standing there with worry clouding her eyes. The anger in me softens instantly. I rub my hands over my face, trying to calm down.
"What happened, Dadi? It's nothing serious - just two friends arguing," I say, forcing a smile.
"Beta," she says softly, "I agree with Yash. Think once more, please. I know how much you love your family, and how far you'll go for them... but it's not necessary that they're always right."
I take a deep breath, stepping closer to her. "Dadi, please. I've thought this through - every risk, every outcome. Don't worry, everything will be fine."
I kiss her forehead gently and leave.
Outside, I sigh. What a great way to start the day. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through my contacts and call Nora.
Her voice slides through the line - smooth, teasing. "Hi, handsome."
"Meet me at our usual," I say quietly, my tone cold but deliberate.
She laughs softly, the kind of laugh that promises distraction.
For a brief moment, the chaos in my head fades. But deep down, I know - this isn't peace. It's just escape.
------
Ahh fuck ahh kabeer !!!
Ohh umm shh, i spank her!!
Hmmm ummm yeah !!!
Ohh ahh i finally cum and pull out of her and get up from the bed to take shower.
-------
I step out of the shower, water still dripping down my hair, a towel loosely wrapped around my waist. The mirror fogs as I run a hand through my hair and pull on my black Armani suit - sharp, tailored.
"Kabeer,you're leaving so soon?" Nora's voice drips with sweetness from behind me.
I don't even turn. "You know the deal, Nora. Don't overstep your boundaries," I say flatly, adjusting my cufflinks. "I didn't give you the right to ask questions."
Without another glance, I grab my keys and walk out.
"Suresh, let's go," I instruct my driver, sliding into the car.
As I step into the office, the staff greets me with polite smiles and respectful nods. Normally, I'd ignore it, but today, thanks to Yash's lecture earlier, my mood's already ruined. "Perfect," I mutter under my breath, "late and irritated."
By the time my morning meetings wrap up, my secretary, Megha, knocks lightly on the door.
"Sir, Mr. Anirudh Mittal is waiting for you in the lobby."
A slow smirk tugs at my lips. "Send him in, Megha."
As she leaves, I lean back in my chair, the anticipation almost electric. Finally. The man I've been waiting for.
I glance toward the door, a cold smile spreading across my face.
"Welcome to hell, Mr. Mittal."
----
On the other side of the city, another storm was brewing.
"Oh God, please!" I whisper tiredly, tears cascading down my cheeks like a waterfall.
You can do this, Riya. You can do this, I repeat to myself over and over, but my trembling hands clutch the steering wheel too tightly, and my foot refuses to press the accelerator.
I want to die.
That thought visits me every single day - yet somehow, every time I reach the edge, I pull back. I don't even know why anymore.
I realized I had suicidal tendencies when I was thirteen. I tried to drown myself in a pool once. But every time I tried to give up, a small flicker of hope would whisper that maybe... one day, everything would be okay - that I'd finally breathe freely.
And now, here I am. Twenty-nine years old. One of the most successful women in India. A self-made millionaire.
Yet... still not happy.
I suppose I'm privileged - at least when it comes to money. But family? I'm not sure that word holds any meaning for me anymore. For the record, I do have a mother, a father, a sister, and a brother. But if I died today... I doubt any of them would even blink.
I know, I probably sound like some spoiled rich girl whining about her perfect life - the one everyone else dreams of. Money, looks, a picture-perfect family who seems to adore me... at least that's what the world believes. That's what they see. But only if the world knew the truth.
So let's start from the beginning. I'm the eldest child - the one who was never really wanted. My parents never planned to have kids; they did it because my grandparents pressured them to. And they never let me forget that.
But when my parents had twins - my siblings, Ahana and Krish - everything changed. Suddenly, they loved children. Suddenly, they knew how to smile, how to care, how to be parents. I never understood why it was only me they couldn't love. Why was I the mistake, and they the miracles?
Alas, that question haunted me again today - the day I caught my fiancé with my own sister. At our wedding venue. The same place where, in just a few days, I was supposed to say I do. And the worst part? They didn't even try to hide it. They looked at me, unfazed, and carried on - as if my pain meant nothing.
When I told my parents, hoping for at least an ounce of comfort, they brushed it off as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "It happens in our circle," they said. "You were foolish to expect loyalty. If you don't fulfill your fiancé's needs, he'll find someone else. What choice does he have?"
Fiancé.
That word alone feels like poison on my tongue. Because I never chose him. Rishab Mehra wasn't a choice - he was a command, an arrangement shoved down my throat one fine evening.
It began with a call from my mother - sweet, gentle, almost affectionate. Which, for her, was the biggest red flag of all. My mother only turns nice when she wants something her way. She invited me to dinner at "home." Home - what a joke. But saying no was never an option.
When I arrived, everyone was there - my parents, Ahana, Krish - and one unfamiliar face. A man I'd only heard of: Rishab Mehra. A businessman... or rather, a man trying desperately to become one. His father still held the reins of their empire, refusing to hand over the CEO title because, according to him, Rishab was still a child. Frankly, I agreed with the old man.
But to prove himself, Rishab needed to show he was responsible - settled - the perfect heir. And what better way than marrying me? Because apparently, his father, Mr. Ashutosh Mehra, "admired" me - not just as a businesswoman, but as a woman. Disgusting, right? Still, the plan worked perfectly. The moment Rishab proposed this alliance, his father instantly agreed to promote him.
My father, of course, saw an opportunity. Mehra Industries was one of our biggest competitors. A merger - through marriage - would mean total control of the market. And so, I was sold.
When I refused, when I tried to protest that Rishab had more affairs than Akshay Kumar had film releases, my father's response was a sharp slap across my face. Pain wasn't new to me - I had grown up with it. My parents always believed that beating me was the only way to make me listen.
But this time, what broke me wasn't the slap - it was the threat that followed. They said if I didn't agree, they'd destroy my company. Rain. My pride. My peace. The one thing I had built from scratch, the only thing that was truly mine. My father Anirudh Mittal already owned 51% of it as my "business partner," which meant I could lose everything with a single signature.
And that's how I ended up here - engaged to a man I don't love, betrayed by the sister I once protected, and trapped in a world that mistakes silence for strength.
As I sat there, tears streaming down my face, every memory that had led me to this moment came crashing over me like a storm. Each betrayal, each wound, every word that had once cut too deep - all replaying in my mind like a cruel montage I couldn't escape from.
My phone buzzed against the marble floor, the screen flashing my mother's name. For a moment, I just stared at it - at the name that had always meant more pain than comfort. I didn't answer. Of course, I didn't.
A moment later, her voicemail played.
"Riya, where the hell are you? We have to go for your wedding shopping today! Don't tell me you're still crying over that stupid thing. When will you grow up and smell the fucking coffee? Stop with your whining. Come home within five minutes and make yourself presentable. Do it. Now."
Her voice was sharp, cold, and commanding - every word a reminder that my feelings had no place in her world. I stared at the phone long after the message ended, my reflection blurred in the cracked screen - the reflection of a girl who was supposed to be a bride, but felt more like a ghost.