The luxury cabin of the international flight hummed quietly with the subdued noises of air travel. Shivaraj sat in the business class section, dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal suit, his calm demeanor and piercing eyes drawing attention from those around him. He had decided to return to India, and as fate would have it, the seat beside him remained empty until the final boarding call.
A tall, elegant woman appeared—dressed in a chic beige ensemble, sunglasses hiding her eyes. As she settled into the seat beside him and removed her glasses, Shivaraj recognized her immediately.
Aishwarya Rai.
The former Miss World, now a celebrated actress and one of India's most beautiful women, was right beside him. Her expressive eyes locked with his.
She blinked. "You're… Shivaraj, right?"
"Guilty," he replied with a half-smile. "I didn't expect such pleasant company on this flight."
She laughed lightly, intrigued by his poise. "I've seen your face in every major financial magazine over the past month. You seem to be everywhere lately."
"Only where I need to be," he replied. "Including here, apparently."
Their conversation flowed easily, from cinema to travel to philosophy. As hours passed, the flirtation grew more natural. Their chemistry was undeniable, and it didn't go unnoticed by the flight attendants.
By the time they landed in Mumbai, the two were quietly laughing and walking out together. As paparazzi snapped photos of Aishwarya exiting the terminal, Shivaraj shielded her from the crowd, leading her into a waiting limousine.
"Let me take you to dinner," he said.
She hesitated, just for a moment. But then she nodded. "I'd like that."
They arrived at a private suite in one of Mumbai's most exclusive hotels. After an elegant meal, wine flowed and so did the conversation. Their eyes held the kind of tension that words couldn't hide.
When she leaned forward and placed her hand on his, the invitation was clear. That night, their passion consumed them. The world outside faded as they explored one another's depths—emotionally, physically.
Morning sunlight peeked through the curtains.
Aishwarya woke to the sound of water running. She stretched, the silk sheets slipping down her bare shoulders. She turned toward the bathroom door just as it opened.
Shivaraj stepped out, his tall frame wrapped in a black bathrobe. Drops of water glistened on his chiseled abs, each muscle defined, his hair still damp. He looked like a prince out of myth—strong, silent, and endlessly composed.
She smiled, eyes lingering. "You really are something else."
He walked over and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on her lips.
"And you," he whispered, "are mine now. You don't need to worry about anything."
He walked over to the desk and pulled out a tablet.
"I've transferred $100 million to your account," he said without looking up. "Use it to buy yourself a home, and whatever else you desire. The rest is pocket money. If you need more, just call me."
Her eyes widened. "Shivaraj, that's insane."
"It's not," he replied. "It's what I want to do. I've also assigned bodyguards to you. I want you safe, always."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a gentle kiss.
Over the next seven days, they lived in a luxurious bubble.
They shopped at Mumbai's most exclusive boutiques, where Shivaraj bought her rare couture dresses, diamond jewelry, and vintage handbags. Her protests became playful after the third boutique. She saw he was unstoppable and, in truth, she enjoyed his unwavering attention.
One evening, they viewed a magnificent waterfront mansion in Worli. With 12 bedrooms, panoramic views of the Arabian Sea, and a private spa, it was a sanctuary fit for royalty.
"I bought this for you," he said casually.
Aishwarya gasped. "Shivaraj…"
"I want you to have your own space," he said. "But I hope you'll invite me often."
He also gifted her a sleek, custom-built Bentley with interiors designed to her taste.
From romantic dinners on private yachts to helicopter rides over the Western Ghats, their week was a sequence of magical moments. They visited private beaches in Goa, danced on marble terraces, shared candlelit baths, and even cooked together once in the hotel's penthouse kitchen.
For Aishwarya, it was more than just the luxury—it was the way Shivaraj listened, how he cared, and how he protected her in a world that often expected her to be perfect.
And for Shivaraj, this was one of the few times he let his guard down.
The man who had taken over the global business world now found peace in the eyes of a woman who needed no introduction. Their chemistry was a perfect storm: power and poise, beauty and brilliance.
They didn't speak of forever. They didn't need to.
They just lived each moment fully, madly, and fearlessly.