The courtroom buzzed with murmurs before the hearing began. Journalists lined the back benches, legal aides hustled around with bundles of paper, and the air thrummed with an electric anticipation. In the midst of it all, Parineeti Gupta adjusted the cuffs of her blazer and breathed in deeply, steadying herself.
This wasn’t just any hearing.
It was the first battle in what was fast becoming one of the most controversial corporate litigations of the year.
At stake: a scandal involving Singhania Industries, shell companies in Mauritius, and a series of ghost shipments that mysteriously disappeared without any customs records but left behind whispers of money laundering.
And facing her on the opposite bench, with an expression carved from marble and eyes sharp like frost, sat Ivan Petrov.
Petrov was a seasoned shark—silver-haired, ruthless, and known for disarming his opponents with icy calm and surgical precision. A specialist in international trade law, he was flown in to represent a powerful consortium alleging illegal corporate practices by Singhania Industries. His reputation was intimidating, but Parineeti held her ground.
She wasn’t alone.
In the second row, behind her, Vikram Singhania sat quietly with Vyom beside him. Vikram’s expression was unreadable—stoic, unreadable—but his gaze never left Parineeti.
He was trusting her to win. Not plead, not settle. Win.
The judge entered, and the courtroom rose.
As everyone settled again, Petrov stood first. “Your Honour, we intend to show how Singhania Industries used a shell entity—Aurelian Exports, registered in Port Louis, Mauritius—as a front for laundering close to 180 crore rupees under the guise of importing machinery parts that never arrived.”
He paused and turned to the gallery with a slow sweep of his eyes, then continued.
“These shipments were conveniently routed through lesser-monitored docks in Gujarat, bypassing inspection protocols. The customs slips? Forged. The goods? Non-existent. The funds? Dispersed across offshore accounts.”
There was a ripple in the courtroom. A journalist scribbled rapidly.
The judge turned to Parineeti. “Ms. Gupta?”
She rose.
“Your Honour,” she began, voice calm but ringing with authority, “we will present evidence that Singhania Industries was the victim of corporate impersonation. The shell company in Mauritius was not registered by them, but rather by a splinter group within their European distribution network—one now under investigation by Interpol.”
She lifted a set of documents from her table. “Additionally, we have customs correspondence, port authority logs, and encrypted emails indicating sabotage from internal actors. My client has already submitted themselves to an independent financial audit, which has not found any direct or indirect funds linked to the disputed transactions.”
There was a murmur again, but this time it was curiosity.
Petrov raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt. His poker face was legendary, but Parineeti caught the slight tilt of his head. She was on the board.
The judge nodded. “Proceed with opening evidence.”
As Parineeti began laying out the documents—email threads, supply chain records, discrepancies in signatures and access logs—Vikram leaned slightly forward. From the corner of her eye, she saw it. His focus, his faith. It fuelled her even more.
Petrov objected twice—technicalities, slow-burn traps—but she anticipated both.
“And lastly, Your Honour,” she said, finishing, “we will demonstrate that the primary contact point for Aurelian Exports was not Mumbai, but a private firm in Prague—linked to a different conglomerate entirely.”
The judge glanced between both sides, considering. “I want further documentation on this Prague link. Mr. Petrov, you may respond.”
Petrov stood, calm as ice. “Very well, Your Honour. But I assure the court, beneath this clever web of innocence, lies a structure deliberately designed to deceive.”
The courtroom recessed for a short break.
---
Outside in the corridor, Vikram and Vyom stood near a marble pillar.
“She held her ground,” Vyom said quietly, hands clasped behind his back.
Vikram didn’t reply for a moment. His eyes were still fixed on the closed doors of the courtroom.
“She did more than that,” he muttered finally, jaw tightening. “She turned the tide.”
Inside the courtroom, Parineeti stood at her bench, flipping through her notes—but her heartbeat thudded faster than usual. Not because of the pressure. Not because of Ivan Petrov.
But because when she’d looked up in the middle of her argument, Vikram’s eyes had met hers.
And in them, she’d seen not just trust—but something deeper. Something unspoken.
___________________________
The echo of the gavel still lingered in the corners of the courtroom as everyone began to shuffle out, the buzz of hushed conversations replacing the earlier tension.
Parineeti packed her notes with quiet precision, her fingers moving mechanically, but her mind was still racing with every line of crossfire exchanged. The judge had adjourned the hearing for two days, enough time for the court to consider the fresh documentation and evidence she had presented.
She could feel the weight of eyes on her even before she looked up.
Vikram.
He stood leaning against the frame of the courtroom door, his black suit sharp, presence magnetic. His tie was slightly loosened, and his expression—though composed—held an edge of something dangerous and unreadable.
He waited until she approached him.
“You did well,” he said. His voice was low, intimate—meant only for her ears amidst the hallway chatter.
Parineeti lifted a brow. “Is that your version of high praise?”
He chuckled, a rare sound. “If you’re fishing for more compliments, you’ll have to earn them over lunch.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I haven’t agreed to lunch.”
“You will,” he said, with the kind of certainty that made her stomach tighten—not out of annoyance, but something else entirely.
Before she could respond, Arun Gupta walked up. He had been standing near the courtroom entrance the whole time, watching his daughter with immense pride and quiet protectiveness.
“Beta,” Arun said, eyes kind, “you were brilliant in there. Your mother’s going to be proud when I tell her how you held that courtroom like it belonged to you.”
Parineeti smiled and hugged her father gently. “Thank you, Papa.”
Vikram cleared his throat.
“Mr. Gupta,” he said with uncharacteristic softness, “would you mind if I stole your daughter for lunch? There are some crucial details about the case I’d like to go over… privately.”
Arun raised an amused brow but nodded without hesitation. “Only if she agrees.”
Parineeti gave her father a mock glare. “That’s not helpful.”
Arun chuckled. “You’re capable of handling yourself. And if Vikram’s buying, you might as well order dessert too.”
She rolled her eyes, but Vikram could see the faint curve of a smile tugging at her lips.
---
Later that Afternoon
The restaurant Vikram chose was understated but exclusive—tucked away inside an art gallery in a quiet lane of Colaba, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea.
They were seated in a private booth with soft jazz in the background, the sunlight filtering in like golden silk.
Parineeti toyed with her water glass. “You don’t really need to discuss case details, do you?”
Vikram tilted his head. “I always need to discuss case details.”
“And the setting? The private view, the silence, the jazz?”
“That’s for me,” he said bluntly. “I needed something… quieter. After today.”
She glanced at him, her guard slipping for a moment. “It was intense.”
“You’re intense,” he said, almost absently. “Most lawyers would have cracked under that kind of pressure.”
“Are you trying to flatter me again, Mr. Singhania?”
“No,” Vikram said, his gaze serious now. “I’m stating a fact. You were better than Petrov today.”
Parineeti blinked. That was a compliment—genuine and heavy.
Their food arrived, but neither made a move to eat right away.
She leaned in a little, fingers tapping the table. “Why me, Vikram?”
The question hung between them.
“You could have hired any top senior advocate. You have the power, the reach. Why pick a criminal lawyer in her early thirties to lead your most high-stakes corporate defense?”
Vikram studied her, the shadows of the sea playing across his sharp features.
“Because I needed someone ruthless. And fair. Someone who’s fought dirtier wars and still knows what justice tastes like.”
She didn’t answer, but her throat worked as she swallowed.
Then, softly, he added, “And maybe because I like watching you take down men twice your age without breaking a sweat.”
Her eyes lifted to meet his.
Something had shifted.
Not loud. Not dramatic. But it pulsed between them like the slow-building thrum of a war drum before the next battle.
---
Parineeti stirred the edge of her fork through her risotto, her appetite barely catching up to the whirlwind of the day. The way Vikram was watching her now—less like a client, more like a man with something unspoken sitting on his tongue—set her further on edge.
She finally said, “You know, for a lunch that was meant to be about strategy, you’re awfully quiet.”
Vikram set his glass down and leaned back. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Maybe it is.”
The air thickened.
He didn’t fidget. He didn’t soften his voice. Instead, he looked directly at her—like he did that first night when she stepped into the lion’s den called Singhania Estate.
“I want to propose something.”
Parineeti blinked. “Another twist in the case?”
Vikram gave a short laugh—low, but undeniably amused. Then it dropped. “Marriage.”
Silence.
Parineeti stared at him as if the air had knocked clean out of her lungs. “I’m sorry… what?”
“Marriage,” he repeated, calm and unaffected. “To me.”
She sat back slowly, eyes wide and unreadable. “This is either a joke or the most confusing cross-examination I’ve ever experienced.”
“I’m not joking,” Vikram said evenly. “I’ve considered it. You’re sharp, fiercely independent, politically untouchable, and morally terrifying when provoked. That alone makes you more powerful than half the Singhania board. Add that to the fact that I like being around you—sometimes too much—and the decision makes itself.”
“Vikram…” she said, blinking again, her voice barely catching up to her thoughts, “you cannot just—drop marriage proposals like you’re negotiating a merger.”
“I can when I know what I want.”
She stared at him, heart pounding in her ears. “This can’t be real.”
“You’ll need time to think,” he said, folding his hands neatly on the table. “Take it. But I won’t withdraw the offer.”
“You’re not giving me a job offer,” she muttered, trying to catch her breath.
“No,” he said with an almost-smirk. “This one’s far more permanent.”
She shook her head, trying to process the absurdity, the intensity… the honesty of it. “Why now?”
His gaze hardened. “Because in that courtroom today, watching you stand toe-to-toe with Ivan Petrov without blinking, I realized something: You’re not just my best defense. You’re the only person I trust with my future.”
Parineeti swallowed hard, every wall in her head rising and crumbling at the same time.
“I’m not saying yes,” she said softly.
“I wouldn’t respect you if you did.”
“And I’m definitely not saying no.”
A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Good. I don’t like losing.”
Just then, her phone buzzed. A message from Shaurya:
Call me as soon as possible. It's about Ivan.
Her fingers hovered over the phone.
Vikram caught the sudden shift in her expression. “Everything alright?”
She stood slowly, her voice returning to its usual steel. “Not sure yet.”
The tension of the marriage proposal still lingered between them like incense in the air—but the case was calling again.
“I’ll answer your proposal,” she said, meeting his eyes, “once we win this war.”
Vikram rose as well, matching her intensity.
“Then let’s win it.”
_________________________
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