Three days had passed since his family had collapsed around him, yet Vidhwan sat in his office exactly as he always did—calm, composed, and focused on business. The large conference screen in front of him glowed with the faces of foreign investors joining from different countries. Their voices overlapped with accents from London, Dubai, and Singapore as they discussed numbers, shipments, and contracts.
For Vidhwan, grief had no place in the boardroom.
“This deal requires precision,” one of the investors said firmly. “If the funds aren’t transferred correctly through the export channels, the authorities will freeze the accounts.”
Vidhwan leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled together. The plan he had built was risky but profitable. His company was about to begin exporting high-value machinery and industrial equipment to several overseas markets. The contracts promised massive returns, but the payments had to move through complex international routes—currency conversions, overseas banking regulations, and strict government approvals.
A single mistake in documentation…
A delay in transferring the export payments…
Or even one suspicious transaction flagged by foreign regulators…
Any of it could lead to the company’s accounts being frozen. Investors could pull out. Contracts could collapse.
And if that happened, the empire Vidhwan had spent decades building could crumble overnight.
Yet his expression showed no doubt.
“Everything will move through the designated channels,” Vidhwan said confidently. “The shipments will be documented under the manufacturing division, and the payments will come through our international partners. There will be no mistakes.”
The investors exchanged glances before nodding slowly.
Three weeks later.
Night had fallen by the time Vidhwan returned home from the office. The mansion felt strangely quiet, the silence stretching through the halls like an unspoken reminder of what had once lived there.
As he walked into the bedroom, something caught his attention.
A diary lay on the table.
Sakshi’s diary.
Curiosity flickered in his eyes as he picked it up and opened the first page, his gaze moving over the familiar handwriting.
But before he could read more than a few lines, his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket.
A message from one of his men.
Sir, there’s a problem with the export you made today.
The words struck him instantly.
His expression hardened. Without another thought, he rushed out of the room, already dialing numbers and issuing orders.
In the sudden hurry, the diary slipped from his hands.
It fell to the floor with a dull thud, the pages spreading open as it lay there, abandoned and forgotten.
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