Chapter 1 – Boardroom Blades
(Rudraksh POV)
Mumbai, Marine Drive. 47th floor. 9:17 a.m.
The glass wall in front of me reflects the entire city like it's already kneeling.
I don't look at the view. I look at the woman walking into my boardroom uninvited.
Ishqi Singhania.
Black blazer cinched at the waist, red soles flashing like blood under the table, hair in that tight knot she thinks makes her look untouchable.
She's twenty-six. Six years younger than me.
And for the last eighteen months she has been trying to bury Malhotra Imperium six feet under.
Today she's here to gloat because her company just outbid mine for the Nhava Sheva port expansion rights.
Fifty-three thousand crores.
Money I let her win.
I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled.
"Miss Singhania," I say, voice low enough that the lawyers on both sides pretend they're suddenly deaf. "You're on the wrong floor."
Her eyes dark honey, sharp enough to cut deals and throats meet mine without blinking.
"Actually, Mr. Malhotra, I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Your board invited me to rub it in your face personally."
A soft chuckle leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
She thinks she's winning.
She has no idea the game started the second she stepped into this building.
Ishqi POV
I hate the way he says my name.
Like he's tasting it. Like he already owns it.
Reyansh Malhotra doesn't stand when a woman enters the room. He never does.
He just sits there black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, that stupid dagger tattoo curling up his forearm like a promise of violence.
He looks like sin poured into an Armani suit and I hate that my pulse stutters every single time.
I slide the acquisition contract across the table.
"Sign. Or watch your port dreams sink for the next decade."
He doesn't even glance at the papers.
Instead he picks up the silver pen, twirls it once, and snaps it in half.
Ink splatters like blood on the white sheets.
My breath catches.
Everyone else in the room pretends they're statues.
Rudraksh stands slow, deliberate and walks around the table until he's right behind my chair.
He bends, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
Not touching. Never touching.
Yet.
"Careful, Singhania," he murmurs, voice smoke and gravel. "Some games you don't want to win.
Rudraksh POV – Three nights later
Delhi, The Obsidian Mask Charity Gala
I don't do charity.
I do hunting grounds.
Tonight everyone wears masks.
Perfect.
I spot her across the ballroom before she sees me.
Silver mask, backless red gown, the curve of her spine visible every time she laughs at something that isn't funny.
She's drinking champagne like it's water, pretending she isn't scanning the crowd for threats.
For me.
I move through the bodies like a shadow.
When I reach her, I don't speak.
I simply take the flute from her fingers, drain it, and place it on a passing tray.
She turns. Eyes widen behind the mask.
Recognition. Heat. Fury.
"Rudraksh," she hisses.
I tilt my head. "No names tonight, baby."
Her lips part anger or invitation, I don't care which.
I lean in until the world narrows to the inch of air between us.
"Dance with me," I say.
It's not a request.
Ishqi POV – Same night
I should say no.
I should walk away.
Instead I let him pull me onto the floor, his hand low—dangerously low—on my bare back.
The music is slow, filthy. His thigh slides between mine with every step.
"You crashed my gala," I breathe.
"You stole my port," he counters, thumb tracing the edge of my spine. "We're even."
We're not even.
We're gasoline and fire pretending we're not already burning.
His mouth brushes my ear again. "Tell me to stop."
I don't.
I tilt my head back instead, meeting those storm-grey eyes.
"Make me."
Rudraksh POV
That's the moment I decide.Not tonight. Not yet.But soon.I'm going to ruin Ishqi Singhania.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Until the only thing left standing between us is the sound of her screaming my name.
I spin her once, pull her flush against me, and whisper the only truth that matters:
"Run if you want, Singhania.
I always catch what's mine."
(To be continued… )