Canada, Ottawa
In the cold, steel-lit underground of Ottawa, Rudranshi stood at the center of a boxing ring, her breath steady, her knuckles unshaken. Around her, men lay sprawled across the canvas, their groans slicing through the heavy silence, evidence of a lesson learned too late. She hadn’t come here for a fight; this was supposed to be a simple business deal. But arrogance has a way of rewriting plans. When the dealer, Ethan Caldwell, had smirked and questioned her capability, asking her to prove her worth, he unknowingly signed his own humiliation.
Typical — thinking strength had a gender.
Rudranshi’s gaze found Ethan at the edge of the ring, her expression unreadable yet piercing. Without a word, she stepped down, her heels echoing against the floor as she walked toward him. The same hands that had just crushed egos now held a pen with effortless grace. She signed the papers, slid them back, and turned away without waiting for a reaction.
Just like that—deal closed.
As she walked out, the doors shut behind her with a quiet finality, leaving chaos in her wake… while she carried nothing but victory.
The night air brushed against Rudranshi’s skin as she walked toward her car, the aftermath of chaos already forgotten. Sliding into the backseat, she opened her laptop, her eyes scanning through the latest business updates flashing across the screen.
“Arden Voss acquires HelixCore Tech in a surprise takeover.”
“Liora Bennett’s fashion conglomerate reports a 47% surge in global revenue.”
“Kieran Holt under investigation for offshore asset concealment.”
A faint smirk touched her lips—amateurs playing dangerous games.
Without wasting a second, she opened her messages and typed.
[Rudranshi: Bring all upcoming business files to Delhi. Urgent.]
[Secretary: Ma’am, should I come to Canada?]
[Rudranshi: No. Stay in India. Be ready before I land.]
[Secretary: Yes, ma’am. Everything will be arranged.]
Closing the laptop, she stepped out once again, her destination already decided.
Airport
At the private terminal, everything moved at her pace. Minutes later, she was seated inside her jet, the soft hum of the engine a familiar comfort. A flight attendant approached, her posture polite yet cautious.
“Ma’am, what would you like to have?”
“Black coffee. No sugar.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
The jet ascended into the dark sky, cutting through continents and time. The journey from Ottawa to Delhi stretched across approximately 14 to 16 hours, but to Rudranshi, it felt like nothing more than a calculated pause between battles.
When the jet finally touched Indian soil, she stepped out without hesitation. The car was already waiting.
The drive was silent. Precise. Controlled.
Within minutes, the car halted in front of a towering corporate building.
She stepped out, her heels clicking against the marble floors as she entered. Inside her office, everything was exactly where it belonged—untouched, perfect.
Her eyes briefly landed on the desk.
CEO
Rudranshi Malhotra
No emotion. Just acknowledgment.
Hours passed in swift efficiency; files signed, decisions made, empires shifted. And when it was done, she left just as she had arrived, without a trace of exhaustion.
Malhotra Mansion
The warmth of the house contrasted sharply with her presence.
At the dining table sat her mother, Niyati Malhotra, waiting. Dinner was already served.
“You’re late,” her mother said softly.
“Work.”
“How was it?”
“Productive.”
A pause.
“You should take care of yourself too, Rudra.”
“I do.”
Her tone was calm, clipped—every word measured, nothing unnecessary.
Her mother sighed faintly before continuing, “You know Misthi Verma is getting married next month?”
That made her pause. Just for a second.
“Hmm.”
“They’ve invited us. It’s a big alliance.”
Rudranshi placed her fork down, her gaze sharp, calculating.
“Good for them.”
Nothing more. Nothing less.
But beneath that composed exterior, something had shifted, quietly, almost invisibly… like the beginning of another game.
The moment Rudranshi stepped into her room, the door shut behind her with a soft click—sealing away the world she ruled so effortlessly. The silence inside was different… heavier, almost personal. She walked ahead without pause, pulling out her phone as her expression shifted from indifferent to something far more unreadable.
The call connected within seconds.
“Details on Misthi Verma’s wedding,” she said, her voice calm, leaving no room for delay.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll send everything right away.”
“Everything,” she repeated, softer this time—but sharper.
The line disconnected.
For a brief moment, she stood there, still, her grip on the phone tightening just slightly. Misthi…
Fights, arguments, broken conversations; none of it erased what once existed between them. No matter how far things had drifted, some bonds refused to break completely.
Rudranshi exhaled slowly, her expression returning to its usual composed state.
“Stupid,” she muttered under her breath; though whether it was for Misthi… or herself, even she didn’t clarify.
The message arrived within minutes.
Rudranshi didn’t sit—she simply unlocked her phone and opened the file, her eyes moving swiftly, absorbing every detail with practiced precision.
Misthi Verma’s Wedding Details:
Date: 14th November
Venue: The Grand Meridian Palace, New Delhi
Functions:
Mehendi – 12th November (afternoon)
Sangeet – 13th November (evening)
Wedding – 14th November (late night ceremony)
Guest List: High-profile business families, political figures, and international delegates
Groom: Aarav Khanna, heir to the Khanna Group of Industries
A perfect setting. Controlled. Grand. Public.
A slow, almost dangerous smile curved on her lips.
Without wasting another second, she dialed a number—one she clearly didn’t call often. The phone rang twice before the line connected.
“It’s time,” Rudranshi said, her voice low, steady.
A pause. Then a faint, curious response from the other side, “What happened?”
“The game is on.”
Silence. The kind that held understanding.
“I’m sending you the details,” she continued, her tone turning sharper. “Be there. As soon as you can.”
Another pause—this one shorter.
“Understood.”
The call ended.
Rudranshi lowered the phone, her gaze drifting back to the wedding details on the screen.
What was meant to be a celebration… was about to become something else entirely.
Rudranshi’s eyes lingered on the date—14th November. A faint scoff escaped her lips as she leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Kamini, baccho ke din pe khudke bacche paida karegi,"
(“Bitch… on Children’s Day, she’s planning to have children of her own,")
she muttered under her breath, the sarcasm laced effortlessly in her tone.
A soft chuckle followed, quiet yet filled with irony.
For a moment, the tension eased—just slightly.
She lifted her gaze toward the window, where the moon hung high in the midnight sky, its pale glow spilling into the room. And in that silver light, her expression softened… just enough to betray that somewhere beneath all the control and calculation, memories still existed.
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