The city skyline stretched beyond the Aarav Singh sat at his expansive black desk, his fingers gliding over the thick file in front of him, dark eyes scanning the contents with laser focus. The dim, ambient light reflected off the polished glass surface, casting a sharp glow over his features—defined, unreadable, dangerous. The only sound in the vast office was the rhythmic ticking of his platinum Swiss watch, a quiet reminder that time, much like money, waited for no one.
Power was a game of precision, and precision was something Aarav had mastered.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
"Come in," he said, his voice even, controlled—the kind of control that made people obey without question.
The door opened, and Aryan, his assistant, stepped inside, posture straight, movements careful. He had been working under Aarav for years, yet even he had never grown comfortable around him. Few did.
"Mr Singh," Aryan said, clearing his throat. "The board is ready for the meeting."
Aarav didn't look up immediately. Instead, he snapped the file shut with quiet finality, letting the silence stretch long enough for Aryan to shift uncomfortably.
Then, finally, he stood.
"Let's go."
His presence alone shifted the atmosphere, turning the air sharp and charged. As he strode through the long corridor, every passing employee straightened instinctively—some lowering their voices, others pretending to be engrossed in their work as if the mere act of being seen by him required purpose. Fear. Respect. They were often the same thing when it came to Aarav Singh.
By the time he reached the boardroom, the tension was already waiting for him.
The senior executives, seated in a perfect row, fell into immediate silence the second he entered. The massive screen at the head of the room displayed financial projections—numbers, graphs, risk assessments. But numbers never intimidated him. People did. And that was the difference between him and them.
He took his seat at the head of the long, gleaming table. Steepling his fingers, he glanced at the men in front of him, their stiff postures, their barely concealed nervousness. They knew better than to waste his time.
One of them cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his chair. "Sir, we've reviewed the reports, but—"
Aarav's gaze flicked to him. "But what?"
The executive faltered, swallowing hard. "The investment plan..." He hesitated, then continued carefully. "It's too risky. If we proceed, we could face major losses."
Aarav exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair. A smirk—sharp, calculated—curved at the edge of his lips. "That's where you're wrong."
Reaching for the remote, he flipped through the presentation effortlessly, his voice calm, but each word cutting through their doubts with surgical precision.
"Numbers don't lie. But your fear does," he stated, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the sleek table. "The risk you see? It's an illusion. You're too focused on potential failure to recognize inevitable success. That's why you sit there questioning decisions, while I make them."
His words, cold and undeniable, settled into the silence like an unspoken challenge.
In minutes, he dismantled every argument, countered every concern, and turned the so-called 'risk' into an opportunity so airtight, so lucrative, that even his most skeptical board members had nothing left to say.
The room sat in stunned silence.
One of the older executives finally exhaled, shaking his head. "Unbeatable as always."
Aarav adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. "I don't play to lose."
A beat of silence. Then, one by one, the executives nodded, some even exchanging glances as if they had just been reminded why he was in charge.
Because Aarav Singh didn't just run an empire—he commanded it.
And anyone who stood in his way? Didn't stand for long.
The boardroom discussion had ended, the deal secured, yet Aarav Singh felt nothing. Victory was routine. Success was expected. He never celebrated what was inevitable.
As he exited the meeting, Aryan walked beside him, listing upcoming engagements. "Sir, the legal team has finalized the contract for the Mumbai acquisition. Your flight to London is scheduled for next week. And the investors from Dubai—"
"Cancel it," Aarav interrupted, stepping into his office.
Aryan hesitated. "Sir?"
Aarav turned, His eyes darkened.
He hates it when someone questions him or disobeys him.
Aryan didn't say anything he just nodded.
Aarav Singh didn't waste time. As soon as he stepped into his office, he was already reviewing the next move. Deals, contracts, acquisitions—each one executed with the same precision that made him untouchable in the corporate world.
Aarav Singh didn't just work—he lived for the game. Deals weren't challenges; they were inevitabilities waiting to be executed with surgical precision.
Hours bled into each other without pause. He never took vacations, never indulged in distractions. Even celebrations felt redundant—why acknowledge what was already expected?
His office, a sleek fortress of glass and steel, reflected his world—minimalistic, ruthless, efficient. Papers were neatly stacked, and reports were reviewed before they even reached his desk. The hum of his laptop and the rhythmic clicking of his pen were the only sounds in the dimly lit room.
He loosened his tie slightly, rolling his shoulders before dialing a number. "Reschedule the London trip," he ordered without preamble. "And tell the legal team I want the finalized Mumbai contract on my desk before midnight."
"Understood, Sir," came the crisp reply.
Aarav ended the call, his gaze already fixed on the next file in front of him. The world outside didn't matter. Rest was irrelevant. If he stopped, someone else would move faster.
The shrill ring of his phone cut through the silence. He didn't need to look at the screen. Shamsher Singh.
His jaw clenched. He let it ring.
One second. Two. Three.
Then, silence.
Aarav exhaled, tossing the phone onto the desk. He knew what his father wanted—updates, control, the usual strategic discussions. But today, Aarav wasn't in the mood to entertain the expectations of a man who had taught him that power came before everything.
The phone buzzed again. This times . A message.
Father: Call me back.
Again, the phone buzzed, and another message flashed on the screen.
Shamsher: Come home early. It's urgent.
Aarav's fingers paused over the keyboard. Urgent.
Aarav's grip tightened around the phone as he reread the message. Whatever this was—it wasn't business as usual.
At the Mansion
The moment Aarav stepped into the grand mansion, he found his father waiting for him in the study.
Aarav stepped into his father's study, the heavy mahogany doors shutting behind him like the closing of a cage. Shamsher stood by the window, his broad shoulders stiff, his presence suffocating. A king who had already decided the fate of his heir.
"You took your time," Shamsher remarked, not even looking back.
Aarav clenched his fists, his patience thinning. "Let's skip the games. What is this about?"
Shamsher turned, his sharp gaze slicing through the space between them. "You'll marry Noor Verma." No preamble. No discussion. Just a verdict delivered like a death sentence.
Aarav's body went rigid. His father's words echoed in his ears, laced with the weight of finality. His fists clenched at his sides, rage burning beneath his skin.
"Who the hell is Noor Verma?" Aarav spat, eyes dark with defiance. "Why should I marry her? I don't even know her! And listen carefully, Father—I am not marrying her. I'm not marrying anyone. So get that into your head."
The room tensed, thick with unspoken war. Aarav's breath was harsh, his pulse hammering. But the moment his father spoke next—the world beneath him cracked.
Shamsher's voice was calm, but every syllable dripped with power. "You built this empire with your blood and sweat. But don't forget—it's still in my name."
Aarav's breath caught.
His father stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "I will take everything from you. Strip you of every deal, every contract, every piece of this empire you think belongs to you. And make no mistake, Aarav—I do not make empty threats. You know that very well."
The silence that followed was deafening.
For the first time in his life, Aarav felt helpless.
Not because he feared losing wealth. Not because he couldn't rebuild. But because this was Shamsher Singh. A man who never bluffed. A man who had never once lost a war.
Aarav let out a slow breath, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You're joking."
Shamsher's jaw tightened. "Did I raise a fool who mistakes my words for a joke?" His voice was steel, his authority absolute.
Aarav met his gaze, unflinching. "And since when do I take orders like a pawn in your game?"
Shamsher's lips curled into a smirk—not of amusement, but of control. "Since the day you were born. You breathe because I allowed it. You exist because I built this empire for you to rule. And now, you will do what is required."
Aarav clenched his fists, but his father continued, relentless. "Noor is Abir's daughter. My oldest friend. A man I trust with my life. And unlike the power-hungry parasites circling us, he is family. With your marriage, this alliance will be unbreakable."
Aarav exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You want to play god with my life.?"
Shamsher slammed a hand on the desk, the impact reverberating through the room. "This is not a request, Aarav. Abir is dying. He won't say it, but I know. And I won't let his legacy be left to vultures. Noor needs a protector. And you will be that man."
Aarav scoffed, his father's manipulation as transparent as ever. "She doesn't need a protector—she needs freedom. And I am not your tool to keep your guilt at bay."
Shamsher's expression darkened. "You mistake this for a choice. It is not. Noor will be your wife. The Verma Estate will merge with our empire. And you..." His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. "You will obey."
Aarav held his father's gaze, a storm brewing in his chest. But he knew Shamsher too well—once he decided, there was no undoing it.
This wasn't just a marriage.
It was a throne being forced upon him. A cage, crafted in wealth and power.
Shamsher's voice was cold, devoid of emotion. "Now you can go. I'll tell you the wedding date."
Aarav exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. But then, something shifted in his gaze—a flicker of mischief beneath the simmering rage.
"I want to meet her before the wedding," he said, his tone unreadable.
Shamsher barely spared him a glance. "Fine. I'll arrange it."
Without another word, Aarav stormed out of his father's study, the air crackling with unspoken defiance.
Shamsher watched the door swing shut, his expression impassive. But inside, he knew his son too well. Aarav was up to something—a scheme, a way out, a move against him.
Yet, Shamsher wasn't concerned.
Because he also knew Noor.
She wasn't just the best choice for Aarav—she was the only one.
For years, Shamsher had denied his son the love he deserved, shaping him into the ruthless man he had become. Now, he had no time for personal indulgences. No patience for sentiment.
Despite the power Aarav holds —there was a silence in his life, one that even the loudest victories couldn't fill.
He wanted Noor to be the light in Aarav's darkness.
Shamsher knew—this was the best decision he had ever made.
Author note,
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