~ One and a half years ago

The glass facade of Mehra Global Resorts shimmered beneath the sharp Mumbai sun, its mirrored surface casting back the city's chaos as if to say—it didn't belong here. The building was all sleek edges and silent power, a shrine to old money and quiet dominance.

Manya Raheja crossed the courtyard with steady steps, her heels clicking with purpose. Her focus was fixed on the interview ahead. Her portfolio was tucked under one arm, her nerves caged beneath layers of preparation.

Resume? check.

Metrics? check.

Every potential question mentally rehearsed on loop during the ride over? check.

She didn't pause to admire the grandeur. Chandeliers, marble floors, curated floral arrangements—nice, but irrelevant. Manya wasn't here to be impressed.

She hadn't even cared enough to notice the company bore that surname—until the HR email this morning casually mentioned "Mehra Group Board Interview – Final Round."

Even then, she'd shrugged it off. Meh—there were Mehra's everywhere in Mumbai. It didn't have to be that Mehra family.

It was.

The realization hit the moment the boardroom door opened, just as she lifted her hand to knock.

"Manya?" a familiar voice called.

Her eyes widened for a moment before she composed herself.

Standing in front of her was Laksh Mehra—tall, greying at the temples, dressed in a finely cut navy suit that didn't draw attention but quietly demanded respect.

"Laksh uncle," she said before she could stop herself. Then quickly corrected, "I mean—Mr. Mehra."

His expression warmed with mild surprise. "You remember me."

Of course she did. They'd met briefly at Kyra's wedding. Back then, he'd hovered at the edges of conversations, always polite, always observant, never loud.

"I wasn't expecting you to be the one conducting the interview," she said, shaking his hand.

Laksh gestured toward the open door with a small shrug. "Our marketing head moved to Singapore last month. And Aarav's never in the city long enough to bother with interviews."

Aarav.

There it was—the name like a dropped pin on a map she'd hoped to avoid.

Aarav Mehra.

Ruhaan's notorious cousin. All charm and reputation, whispered stories and curated smiles.

She remembered him clearly—how he'd made eyes at half the women at Ruhaan's birthday dinner two years ago, and still managed to charm an old woman—as old as her grandmother into offering him a second ice-cream.

A contradiction in expensive cologne: careless, clever, and completely full of himself.

Manya pushed the thought aside as she stepped into the room.

Focus.

This wasn't a family function. It wasn't about who she knew. She wasn't here as Kyra's best friend. She was here because she'd earned it.

Because she belonged.

And if Aarav Mehra ever did show up—well, he'd just have to learn that the girl he once saw as background noise had become someone who could rewrite the script.

The boardroom was cool and understated—walnut paneling, a long glass table, minimal décor save for a discreet vase of white lilies in the center. Nothing ostentatious, just enough to remind you this wasn't a place for small ambitions.

Manya sat across from Laksh Mehra, her shoulders straight, hands steady in her lap. He had greeted her with polite warmth and then shifted effortlessly into business mode, as if flipping a switch.

"I see you led the Athreon campaign last spring," he said, adjusting his reading glasses as he glanced down at her résumé. "That was a tricky rebranding job, wasn't it?"

"It was," Manya replied, her voice calm. "They had a fractured digital presence and inconsistent messaging across platforms. We streamlined their tone, rebuilt engagement from scratch, and the brand recall jumped by 48% in three months."

Laksh nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her portfolio. "And your strategy for that? You pivoted from luxury to lifestyle, yes?"

"Yes. We realized their audience didn't connect with the aspirational tone. It felt out of reach. We repositioned the brand to feel more inclusive but still aspirational—less about the product, more about the feeling."

Laksh smiled faintly. "You speak like someone who listens before they speaks."

Manya didn't miss the hint of approval in his tone. "I believe brands are only as strong as the stories they tell—and the stories people want to hear."

He leaned back slightly, studying her. "Tell me about a campaign that didn't go as planned."

Manya didn't flinch. "ChromaCell, two years ago. We misjudged the target audience. The messaging skewed too technical—it alienated the everyday user."

"And how did you handle it?"

"We owned it. Pulled the campaign early, conducted direct consumer interviews, and released a revised series in under three weeks. It cost us short-term revenue, but long-term? Trust went up. They're still a client."

Laksh's gaze didn't waver. "That's rare—most agencies blame the brief."

"I don't believe in blaming the brief," she said simply. "If something fails, I learn from it. Then I fix it."

He made a small sound of agreement and jotted something in the margin of her résumé.

The conversation moved easily from there—her work ethic, her experience managing cross-functional teams, how she handled difficult clients. He asked about her leadership style, and she spoke of clarity, accountability, and making sure every voice on the team was heard.

She could feel the shift midway through—when the questions stopped sounding like a test and began to feel more like a conversation. A professional courtship, subtle but unmistakable.

By the time Laksh closed her portfolio and offered a final, approving nod, something flickered in her chest—unexpected but welcome.

Hope.

"I have to say, Manya," he said, standing, "you're one of the more prepared candidates we've seen. And easily the most composed."

She smiled as she rose to shake his hand again. "I've learned preparation is the one thing I can control."

His handshake was firm, his expression thoughtful. "We'll be in touch soon. But between you and me—I'd be surprised if it wasn't good news."

She stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her just as her phone buzzed in her hand. Without thinking, she glanced down to check the notification—an email, maybe, or a message from Kyra or Dhruv—and turned the corner.

Right into someone.

Solid. Tall. Warm.

Strong hands caught her by the elbows, steadying her before she could stumble.

"Whoa," a deep voice said, amused, easy. "Careful there. Or is this your version of a dramatic entrance?"

The scent hit her next—expensive cologne with a hint of citrus and something darker underneath. And then she looked up.

Her heart dropped into her stomach.

Aarav Mehra.

Of course.

He looked exactly like she remembered—no, somehow worse. Tousled hair that managed to look deliberately messy, a black shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest confidence that bordered on arrogance, sleeves casually rolled to his forearms. And that damn smile—crooked, knowing, like he lived in a slow-motion music video and had never heard the word modesty in his life.

He was leaning slightly against the wall now, hand still on her elbow, eyes lazily amused. Like she was a plot twist he hadn't expected but found thoroughly entertaining.

Manya took a step back. Too late. The damage was done.

"You work here," she said flatly.

He tilted his head, brows lifting with theatrical surprise. "Manya Raheja," he said slowly, savoring the name. "Didn't expect to run into you. Unless you're following me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I walk into buildings, not people."

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Still sharp, I see. Though in your defense, you did walk into me pretty hard. If I were anyone else, I'd take it personally."

"Good thing you're used to rejection," she replied, folding her arms.

His grin only widened. "Touché. You've been saving these up since Ruhaan's birthday?"

"You mean the day you flirted with both the dentist and her sister in a ten-minute span?"

"I prefer to call that multitasking."

She stared.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm just here to visit Dad. I don't actually work here... yet."

That gave her pause. "Yet?"

"Thinking of joining officially. Maybe take a more hands-on role," he said with a shrug, like he hadn't just upended her afternoon. "Family expectations and all that."

Manya blinked, once. Of course. The universe wouldn't let her off that easily.

He looked her over, slower now. There was a flicker of something assessing behind the amusement, like he was trying to place a puzzle piece.

"You're all dressed up," he said, tone casual but probing. "Big meeting?"

Manya's face gave nothing away. "Maybe I just like wearing blazers in April."

He smirked. "Right. Because that totally screams not here for an interview."

She lifted her chin. "Not that it's any of your business, but I have meetings everywhere."

He held up his hands, palms out. "No judgment. Just making conversation."

"Well," she said, stepping around him, "don't."

He turned slightly to keep her in his line of sight. "You always this charming, or am I just special?"

She gave him a tight smile. "You're a Mehra. I'm sure you hear that a lot."

"True," he said, grin crooked. "But not quite like that."

She didn't look back, didn't give him the satisfaction. But her spine was straighter, her steps firmer.

"Wait," he said, taking a slow step beside her. "You know, for someone who claims she didn't expect to see me, you're walking away awfully fast. Could be misinterpreted."

She shot him a dry look. "By who? A narcissist?"

"Ouch." Aarav clutched his chest, mock-wounded. "Still allergic to compliments, I see."

"That wasn't a compliment."

He ignored that. "You know, I've always admired your... efficiency. Straight to the insult. No detour."

She resumed walking. "Some people call it honesty."

"Some people," he said, matching her pace, "also call it 'hot'."

Manya stopped short. "Excuse me?"

He leaned in, just enough to ruffle her calm but not quite enough to cross a line. "I'm just saying. Confidence looks good on you. The blazer doesn't hurt either."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is this your thing? Harass women in hallways until they submit to your... what is this? Aarav brand flirting?"

"Not harassment," he said lightly. "Call it... brand engagement. High-end, limited edition."

She folded her arms. "You really think you're charming, don't you?"

"No," he said, gaze dropping briefly to her mouth before lifting again. "I know I'm charming. But I also know you're immune. Which—" he smiled, "—makes this so much more fun."

Manya shook her head, annoyed that the corner of her mouth almost twitched.

"You're impossible."

"And yet here I am," he said with a wink. "Looking this good in a hallway near you."

She sighed and turned away again. "You're not serious."

"I wasn't," he admitted easily. "But now? I might stick around. This place suddenly got... interesting."

She didn't respond.

"Come on, Raheja," he added, calling after her as she walked ahead. "If we're both working here, we might as well try to get along."

She didn't slow her pace. "I'd rather try skydiving with a faulty parachute."

He grinned, hands slipping into his pockets as he watched her disappear around the corner.

He didn't say it out loud, but something told him this wouldn't be their last hallway run-in.

And he couldn't wait for the next one.

Manya Raheja.

Sharp tongue, quick mind, impossible to ignore. She still walked like the world owed her nothing—but she was ready to earn everything anyway. And now, apparently, she was stepping into his world. The timing couldn't have been better... or more dangerous.

He waited until the sound of her heels faded down the corridor, then pushed open the glass door to his father's office with the kind of confidence that didn't ask permission.

Laksh Mehra looked up from a thick file, expression dry. "You're back. That's unexpected."

Aarav dropped into the chair across from him, legs stretched out, every movement unhurried. "What can I say? Mumbai traffic showed mercy. Or maybe destiny did."

Laksh didn't bother hiding the skepticism in his gaze. "You don't believe in destiny."

"I believe in good timing," Aarav said, toying with his watch strap. "Speaking of which—what's Manya Raheja doing here?"

Laksh paused, then closed the file halfway. "You know her?"

Aarav leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. "Kyra's best friend. The one who almost decked Ved and Tara for hijacking the DJ playlist on Ruhaan's birthday last year. She called them a walking embarrassment."

Laksh smirked despite himself. "They kind of are."

"She's memorable," Aarav said lightly. "And competitive. I remember she beat Ruhaan in that trivia drinking game. Didn't even blink."

Laksh gave a nod, thoughtful now. "She's here for the Director of Marketing role. Final round. Impressive credentials. Handled luxury campaigns in London. Sharp instincts, tight execution."

Aarav's mouth curved just slightly. "Sounds like someone I'd like to work with."

Laksh raised an eyebrow. "You don't work with people. You work around them. Occasionally at them."

"Maybe I'm evolving," Aarav said with faux sincerity. "In fact..." He trailed off for effect. "I'll take the Strategy and Innovation role."

Silence.

Laksh blinked. "Now you're taking it?"

Aarav shrugged one shoulder. "You've been offering it for what—eighteen months?"

"Nineteen."

"Well," Aarav said, standing and smoothing the sleeve of his shirt, "maybe I needed the right incentive."

Laksh narrowed his eyes, but there was a faint smile hiding behind the disapproval. "Is this about Manya?"

Aarav gave him a look of pure innocence. "No, Dad. This is about business. Vision. Innovation."

"You're full of it," Laksh muttered, then sighed. "But fine. If you're serious, I'll start the paperwork."

"I'm always serious when I'm interested," Aarav said, already backing toward the door.

Laksh raised an eyebrow. Then Laksh chuckled, dry and amused. "God help her."

"Relax," Aarav said, already on his feet. "I play nice. Mostly."

As he walked to the door, he pulled out his phone, typing something with that same half-smile still tugging at his lips.

He wasn't exactly corporate material. Never had been.

But if Manya Raheja was stepping into this world?

He'd be damned if he wasn't there to stir the pot—and enjoy the front-row view.