Chapter 3: The First Move
6:00 PM — The Sterling Hotel, Private Executive Lounge
The lounge reeked of wealth and silence. No music. No idle chatter. Only the weight of decisions being made in real-time.
Vikram Singhania sat at the head of a circular obsidian table, surrounded by men who controlled industries and women who owned entire countries’ worth of real estate — legally and otherwise.
The air was thick with anticipation. He broke it.
“There will be no delays at the Jawahar dockyard. The containers move as scheduled.”
One of the older men — Rana, the shipping magnate — shifted uncomfortably. “There’s new surveillance. Thermal drones. They’re testing every third crate.”
“Then don’t be the third,” Vikram said coldly.
Another partner, Khalid from Dubai, spoke next. “Customs Commissioner’s son just enrolled at St. Andrews. We could apply pressure.”
Vikram turned to Vyom, who stood like a shadow by the bar. “Send tuition payment from our Education Foundation. Make it clean.”
Vyom nodded once, already typing.
A junior partner tried to be clever. “If things go wrong, we’ll let the lawyers deal with the fire.”
Vikram’s eyes turned on him like a blade being drawn. “There won’t be fire. Not yet.”
The man swallowed his smirk.
“We aren’t cleaning messes,” Vikram continued. “We’re controlling narratives. This empire doesn’t survive on luck — it survives because every room thinks we’re already inside.”
Silence. Heavy. Final.
Then, the name was spoken — carefully.
“Parineeti Gupta.”
The only woman in the room — Madhavi, a legal fixer — raised the point.
“She’s unpredictable. That Korgaonkar evidence didn’t leak — it was placed. Precisely. Someone gave her the right puzzle piece at the right time.”
Vikram leaned back. “And she knew how to use it. That’s not luck. That’s vision.”
“She’s not for sale,” Rana added. “We tried.”
“She’s not for sale,” Vikram repeated. “But she might be... interested.”
“In what?” Khalid asked.
“In something bigger than money.”
His voice cut like quiet thunder.
“Get ready for Zurich. And send the invitation.”
Vyom asked, “Anonymous?”
Vikram nodded. “No logo. No sender. Just the place and time. Let her curiosity arrive before she does.”
---
7:15 PM — Sterling Foundation Gala, Main Ballroom
The ballroom glittered with all the polished excess Mumbai could offer — tailored egos, diamond clinks, and glass promises.
Parineeti Gupta stepped in alone.
No entourage. No stylist. No apology.
Her gown was a statement in structured simplicity — black velvet, floor-length, no slit, no shimmer. Just power in fabric form.
The usher hesitated. “Ma’am, name?”
“Parineeti Gupta.”
A pause. Then a nod from a suited man in the corner, speaking quietly into an earpiece.
“You’re expected.”
She didn’t react. But she noted it.
Not invited.
Not welcomed.
Expected.
She walked in, eyes scanning the room like a surgeon evaluating a patient she had no intention of saving.
---
Upper Balcony —
Vikram stood above it all, drink in hand. A predator surveying his kingdom.
Beside him, Vyom murmured, “She came.”
“She was always going to,” Vikram replied.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
“That’s why she matters.”
They watched her move — unsmiling, unhurried, untouched by the extravagance around her.
“She knows she’s being watched,” Vyom noted.
“She doesn’t mind.”
Vikram’s voice held no fascination. Just a calm acknowledgment.
“She’s not here to be impressed. She’s here to assess.”
---
Ballroom Shadows — Parineeti’s Instincts
She’d barely touched her drink.
People whispered as she passed. Someone murmured, “That’s the lawyer who broke Korgaonkar.”
Another replied, “I heard she was invited by him.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Him.
There was only one him in rooms like this.
---
8:05 PM — The Terrace
Parineeti stepped onto the open terrace. The air was cleaner. The noise muffled. The city stretched before her, arrogant in its sprawl.
She needed a moment of clarity.
Then came footsteps. Measured. Intentional.
She didn’t turn.
“Ms. Gupta.”
His voice was unmistakable. Low. Smooth. Unhurried.
She faced him. “Mr. Singhania.”
No handshake. No greeting. Just recognition.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward — it was calculated.
“You’re not easy to invite,” he said finally.
“You’re not easy to avoid.”
He almost smiled. Almost.
“I watched your argument.”
“I didn’t send it to you.”
“I don't need an invitation.”
“Neither do I.”
Their words weren’t flirtation. They were positioning.
A quiet duel between two minds that didn’t blink.
“Your presence here… caused speculation,” he said.
“That wasn’t my goal.”
“No,” he said. “But it was your effect.”
She didn’t react.
He continued, “You forced a corrupt system to choke on its own silence. That’s rare.”
“I didn’t force anything. I exposed what was already rotting.”
“And lit it on fire.”
A pause. Measured.
“Some people don’t like fire,” he added.
“I’m not here to be liked.”
Another pause.
“Why am I here, Mr. Singhania?”
“I wanted to see what kind of person walks into a room knowing half the city’s watching her... and doesn’t flinch.”
She studied him. “Curiosity is a dangerous habit.”
“So is being unbought.”
They stood at the edge of the terrace, neither offering vulnerability. Only sharp, deliberate truths.
---
Inside — Vyom and Aaryan Watch
Aaryan frowned, arms folded. “He’s never like this.”
Vyom didn’t look away. “She’s not like the others.”
“He trusts no one.”
Vyom nodded. “And yet… he told her nothing, and still gave her everything
“You should be careful,” Vikram said quietly. “This city watches those who don’t bow.”
“I’m not here to bow,” she replied.
He took a slow sip of his drink.
“No,” he said. “You’re here to change the game.”
“And you?”
“I built the board.”
Parineeti stared at him for a long second. Then turned away.
As she reached the doorway, she paused.
“You invited me to observe.”
“I invited you,” he replied, “because I don’t ignore threats. Or opportunities.”
She didn’t look back. But her voice was calm.
“I’m neither, Mr. Singhania.
I’m inevitable.”
And then she disappeared into the crowd.
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