The rain hadn’t stopped for days. Mumbai’s skyline blurred into a grey wash beyond the chamber’s window, but Parineeti was too absorbed in her paperwork to care.
A knock echoed against the heavy glass door. Before she could respond, her assistant peeked in, her expression visibly unsettled.
“Ma’am… there’s someone here to see you. He didn’t give his name, but—he insisted you’d know who he is.”
Parineeti raised an eyebrow.
“Send him in.”
Vyom stepped in like he belonged. Dressed in all black, tailored to precision, he brought with him an air of controlled danger that made the silence in the room heavier. His gaze flicked once around the space before settling on her, expression unreadable.
She folded her arms. “I assume this isn’t a social visit.”
Vyom gave a faint smile. “Vikram Singhania would like to retain you as legal advisor for a developing matter involving Singhania Industries. Your name came highly recommended... by the man himself.”
Parineeti blinked, then let out a dry laugh. “Highly recommended? From a man who barely believes in courtrooms?”
“Precisely why he needs someone who does,” Vyom replied smoothly, placing a thin file on her desk. “This case has potential political and media consequences. Your expertise, and reputation, make you... suitable.”
She eyed the file but didn’t open it. “Why not use one of the top firms on retainer?”
Vyom tilted his head. “Because this is personal. And because he trusts precision over pedigree.”
“And he trusts me?”
Vyom’s silence was answer enough.
She picked up the file and leafed through the contents—environmental allegations, misuse of permits, offshore leakages… not just controversial but messy, and possibly explosive.
“And if I say no?”
“He said to tell you: decline if you must. But once you see the whole picture… you may not want to.”
Parineeti looked up sharply. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” Vyom said. “It’s a door.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, as calmly as he came, Vyom turned toward the exit.
“One more thing,” she called after him.
He paused.
“Why didn’t he come himself?”
Vyom didn’t turn back. “He doesn’t believe in asking twice.”
And then he was gone.
Parineeti sat alone, file open before her, the rain thundering louder now against the window. The shadows in the room stretched longer than they should, like warnings or invitations—she wasn’t sure which.
But one thing was certain: Vikram Singhania didn’t invite people into his world.
He summoned them.
And she’d just been summoned.
___________________________
The scent of cardamom and ghee hung heavy in the Singhania mansion’s air. Somewhere in the courtyard, the gardener watered the lilies Meera Singhania refused to let anyone else touch. Inside, chaos reigned—but the kind that only love could bring.
“Shaurya!” Meera’s voice rose above the clatter of silver bangles and hurried footsteps as she rushed into the foyer, her silk saree swishing. “You didn’t even tell us you were coming today!”
Before Shaurya could reply, his mother engulfed him in a hug that pressed all the air out of his lungs.
“I missed you too, Mom,” he laughed, setting down his duffel bag.
“I knew it,” came the sharp voice of Aunt Nandini, Vikram’s oldest paternal aunt, as she emerged from the dining room. “You’ve lost weight again. What do you eat in London—air?”
Aunt Savita, Meera’s younger sister, chuckled behind her. “Leave the poor boy alone, Nandini. He just landed.”
“Exactly why I’m checking if he still has bones left,” Nandini huffed, pinching Shaurya’s cheek.
Vikram entered the scene just then, standing tall at the archway. “Still soft, aren’t you?”
Shaurya looked up at his eldest brother, grinning. “Not everyone trains in underground boxing rings, bhai.”
A rare smile ghosted across Vikram’s face as he stepped forward and briefly hugged him—strong and brief, the way Vikram always was. “Good to have you back.”
Aaryan appeared, arms wide. “My man returns and I get nothing?”
Shaurya practically jumped into his second brother’s embrace. “You owe me gelato and a tech expo.”
Aaryan grinned. “Done. But first, Ma’s halwa.”
“I made it just for you,” Meera said, already pulling him toward the kitchen.
In the dining hall, the long teakwood table was dressed in a vibrant tablecloth, bowls of steaming food covering every inch. Nandini passed Shaurya a bowl of his favorite mutton curry while Savita scolded Aaryan for texting at the table.
Meera sat proudly at the head, watching her sons with quiet satisfaction.
“So, Shaurya,” Nandini began slyly, “any girlfriends we should know about?”
Shaurya choked on his water while Aaryan snorted. Vikram raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
“No one,” Shaurya managed, clearing his throat. “Too busy being a nerd.”
“You’d better not follow your eldest brother’s footsteps and remain stubborn,” Savita said, throwing a glance at Vikram. “We all want to see a Singhania wedding before we die.”
Meera’s eyes twinkled. “One day, maybe.”
But Vikram remained unfazed, sipping his water, gaze distant.
In the background, laughter echoed. The Singhania mansion, for all its power and reputation, had its heart in these rare, chaotic, loving evenings. Shaurya looked around—his mother fussing, his aunts bickering, his brothers teasing—and for a moment, he was just a 23-year-old boy at home for dinner.
No secrets, no shadows.
At least for tonight.
-----------------------------------
Later that night, the mansion had quieted. Meera had retired early, the aunts were locked in animated gossip in the drawing room, and Aaryan was still on a call about a Singapore merger. Only the distant hum of the rain and the soft clicking of a ceiling fan remained.
Shaurya stood at the threshold of Vikram’s study-bedroom—spartan, severe, and drenched in muted lighting. Unlike the rest of the mansion, this space bore no signs of warmth. Just glass, metal, shadows, and order.
“Come in,” Vikram said, not looking up from the documents he was reviewing.
Shaurya stepped in, closing the door behind him. “You knew I’d show up.”
Vikram finally looked up. “You always come home before the storm breaks.”
Silence settled between them, thick with memories and mutual awareness.
Shaurya took the seat across from him. “They still treat me like a kid, you know.”
“They love you,” Vikram replied, leaning back. “That’s not a weakness.”
Shaurya studied his brother’s face. “You haven’t asked me what I’ve been working on.”
“I already know enough,” Vikram said coolly. “Cryptography, network security, data laundering protocols. Shaurya, I fund your education—I don’t ignore it.”
“But you’ve also started watching me lately.” Shaurya's voice lowered. “I can feel it.”
Vikram’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve been... near people I usually don’t associate with my blood. That’s enough to raise questions.”
He didn’t say Parineeti. But he didn’t need to.
Shaurya didn’t flinch. “I’ve never crossed a line.”
“Maybe not yet,” Vikram said, his tone sharper now. “But you’re dancing on the edge. You’re smarter than most people I know, Shaurya. But intelligence doesn’t protect you from being used.”
“She’s not using me,” Shaurya said, voice firm.
The tension pulsed.
Vikram stood and walked toward the window, the dim city lights reflecting on the glass. “You believe in what’s right. That’s your biggest strength. And your biggest liability.”
“You sound like you don’t.”
“I don’t have that luxury anymore.”
Shaurya remained silent.
After a long moment, Vikram turned back to him. “Stay careful. That’s all I’ll say—for now.”
Shaurya stood. “And if I don’t?”
A faint shadow of a smirk ghosted over Vikram’s face. “Then you’ll learn the hard way, like I did.”
Shaurya started toward the door but paused, glancing back. “You know… for someone who claims to not care, you sound like you do.”
Vikram didn’t respond. He simply returned to his desk, gaze settling back on the files.
The door clicked shut softly behind Shaurya.
And Vikram sat alone again—with his shadows, his doubts, and the slowly growing suspicion that blood may not always remain neutral.
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