He paused. Whatever little emotion had surfaced in his voice at the mention of Arundhati vanished, like a ripple swallowed by still water. Then, after a moment's silence, he spoke again—this time, colder, distant:
"Looks like I got ahead of myself and said more than I should. Let's get to the point."
His voice dropped to a practiced calm, polished yet vacant.
"I'm leaving, Avi. I know that tiny head of yours is bursting with questions, but trust me… one day, I'll look you in the eyes and answer every single one. You've held up well, kid. I know it hasn't been easy. Just hang in there a little longer."
He hesitated—just for a fraction—before adding, "And… Bear Uncle. I know he's slow, but he's the only one who can protect you for now. Take care."
Without another word, he turned toward the door. Just before disappearing from view, his lips curved—not with affection, but with an unnerving, calculated smile.
---
Back in the room, Avi sat up slowly. Her gaze settled on the spot where he had been moments ago. Reaching out, she brushed the bedsheet with her fingertips as if trying to hold on to a fading warmth.
"I'll hold you to that, 'Ray,'" she murmured. "For the first time… I saw something real in you. Not the fake smiles you wear like masks—but something human. Don't make me regret trusting that glimpse."
---
The mansion's study was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the moonless dark outside. As if the world beyond couldn't pierce the manufactured brilliance within.
Aarav sat alone in a high-backed leatherette chair, legs crossed, arms resting with deceptive ease. He looked like a man who could command empires—or crush them—with a single word.
But beneath that poised exterior, thoughts raged.
> "Aarav, you arrogant idiot… you walk around like you're the smartest man alive, but you couldn't even manipulate people right. What kind of villain fumbles his pawns?"
His jaw clenched as he mentally replayed past mistakes—decisions made by the former version of this body. And now, he had to clean up the mess.
> "I need a plan. Running won't work—Trivedis won't let go of their golden goose. And Arundhati… for her, I was the reason to live. She won't give me up, either. The Trivedis I can manage. But Arundhati? She's dangerous."
His hand curled into a fist on the armrest.
> "I barely know anything about this body's history. Every step I take now has to be calculated."
He exhaled slowly, dragging his thoughts into order.
> "If I suddenly treat her better, she'll grow suspicious. No… for now, cold and distant is safer. As for later…"
His internal monologue was cut short by the sharp creak of the door. A man walked in without knocking.
"Aarav Trivedi, enjoying some peace and quiet?" the man asked, his smile more of a threat than a greeting. The kindness in his tone was a lie; his eyes were merciless.
"I fucking hate it," Aarav muttered, lost in his own thoughts. Only after speaking did he realize who stood before him.
He didn't look up. He didn't have to. Just remembering the man's character from the novel made his skin crawl.
"Oh?" the man said, amusement glinting in his voice. "That's not what I heard. I thought you were having the time of your life with her… while you took your sweet revenge."
---
Six Months Ago
The award ceremony was in full swing, the crystal chandeliers casting golden reflections across the marble floors. Waiters moved through the crowd with practiced grace, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Among the many winners that night, Aarav Trivedi had just claimed the award for Best Young Entrepreneur of the Year. Cameras flashed, hands were shaken, and glasses were raised in his name.
Back at his table, Aarav lounged like a man who owned the room—one arm casually draped over the shoulders of a woman in a shimmering silver dress. She laughed at something he whispered, leaning closer, her red lipstick smudging against the rim of her wine glass.
"Aarav, seriously," one of his friends teased as he poured himself another drink, "how do you manage to have a different girl on your arm every time we meet?"
Aarav raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to hide his smug grin. "It's a gift," he said, adjusting the cuff of his tailored suit. "You don't ask a painter how he blends his colors. You just appreciate the masterpiece."
Laughter erupted around the table. The woman beside him giggled too, clearly basking in the attention. Aarav leaned back in his seat, completely at ease—until something, or rather someone, pulled his attention to the far end of the ballroom.
In the crowd, walking with quiet confidence, was a woman in a wine-red gown. The fabric clung to her curves with an effortless elegance, the deep neckline balanced by the sophistication of her full-length sleeves. Her hair was swept up into a graceful bun, a few soft strands framing her striking face. No heavy makeup, no flashy jewelry—just a pair of silver earrings and the kind of presence that turned heads without asking for it.
Arundhati.
She moved through the crowd like she didn't owe the room anything. She wasn't smiling, but there was no bitterness either. Just stillness, like the eye of a storm. Her almond eyes scanned the guests not with curiosity but with detachment, as if measuring their worth and rarely finding them interesting.
Aarav's gaze followed her for a moment too long.
His friend Vikranth noticed. "Don't even think about it, Aarav."
Aarav turned lazily to him. "Think about what?"
"You're staring at her."
One of the other boys chuckled and leaned in, nudging Aarav. "The girl in red. Arundhati Sharma."
"She's got that old-money aura," another added. "Carries herself like she's descended from royalty."
Aarav took another sip from his glass, not letting his gaze linger again. "She's alright."
"Alright?" Vikranth scoffed. "She shut Ajay down so hard last week, man still can't speak in complete sentences."
"She lectured him," someone added, "in front of a full panel. For nearly an hour. Called him out for trying to buy her time like she was a cheap showpiece."
"Damn," Aarav smirked. "Sounds like someone with a little fire."
"She's different, bro," Vikranth said, serious now. "She doesn't care about money, charm, connections—none of it. You try anything with her, she'll tear you down before you even blink."
Aarav chuckled, setting down his drink and standing up. "Different? Nah. All girls are the same, Vikranth. Some like compliments, some like control, but in the end, they all want to be wanted."
He buttoned his blazer with practiced elegance. "Watch and learn. In ten minutes, she'll be laughing at my jokes, maybe asking for my number. In thirty? Maybe my bed."
The woman on his arm pouted as he stepped away. "Where are you going, Aarav?"
He smiled at her indulgently, like a parent to a child. "Nowhere far. Stay pretty."
As he walked, his friends exchanged glances.
"He's gonna crash hard," one muttered.
"You think she'll slap him?" another grinned.
"I'm just hoping she doesn't call security again," Vikranth said.
Aarav didn't hear them. His eyes were fixed on Arundhati—the enigma in red. She didn't sparkle like the women he was used to. She glowed, quietly and confidently. And as he approached, he realized… she hadn't even noticed him yet.
And that irritated him more than he expected.