"Raghav..Raghav.." a distant voice was echoing in a bedroom.
The bedroom stretched wide, exuding an air of quiet opulence. A master-sized bed, vast and inviting, reigned at the center like a throne of comfort. Sunlight spilled through tall, elegant windows, their silk-draped curtains swaying gently—as if flaunting the room's understated grandeur. Nestled beneath a thick, warm blanket, a boy of about nineteen lay asleep. Dressed in soft pajamas, he seemed entirely at peace, the world beyond the glass forgotten in the hush of morning dreams.
"Raghav, wake-up son. Your uncles are waiting for you to open the cash box". A voice that of a female entered the room.
"Unn..., just ask papa to do it" Raghav yelled in distress while changing his sleeping position.
The bedroom door creaked open, revealing a middle-aged woman with jet-black hair pulled into a loose knot. She stepped inside, clad in a simple green kurti paired with matching baggy lowers, the fabric swaying gently with her movement as she approached.
"Your father didn't return from the park yet, son. So, it's your duty to fulfill his responsibility. Come on, wake up" she snatched the blanket away from him.
As soon as she did, Raghav shifted in his sleep, lazily flinging an arm across his chest. In an instant, as if summoned by instinct, a second blanket shimmered into existence and draped itself over him, wrapping him in even deeper comfort.
"You, don't use your powers in front of me." she screamed in anger and snatched the second blanket but the same thing happened again and he made a third blanket for his body.
She scowled, standing stiff, her glare sharp enough to slice through steel. In that moment, she looked downright terrifying. She got really close to his ear and said with a sinister smile
"If you don't wake up now, I will tell Amayra that you wet your bed until the age of 12"
Raghav opened his eyes with a shock and scared look.
"Aah, wait wait, I got it mom, I got it." he instantly jumped out of bed and stood straight like a cadet. He was tall and slender, with short black hair and striking blue eyes. His frame was lean, almost fragile—more like someone who avoided effort than embraced it.
"Hurry up, your uncles are waiting."
"Yes Yes mom. Being eldest child is such a pain in the ass."
He hurried outside the room.
"Wipe that saliva off your face first" she shouted from behind while he rubbed his lips.
Raghav dashed down the grand staircase, its wide steps unfurling like a crimson river into the heart of the hall. Plush red carpet cushioned every step, and towering chandeliers of gold hung above, scattering light like falling jewels. Every detail of the scene quietly screamed wealth.
Raghav Agar is the eldest child of Agar clan. Agar clan owns the whole Agar merchandise which makes them one of the richest people in Delhi. This merchandise include the malls, amusement parks, cinemas and many other private limited shops and their branches.
But the main heir of this clan received a peculiar blessing from the heavens—a tradition wrapped in divine favor. The eldest child was always chosen as the god's favorite, marked by fate itself. Whenever a new establishment opened under the clan's name, it was only the heir who could unlock the cash counter. Until they did, business simply could not begin. This simply meant that unless the clan leader permits it, no one in the clan can earn money.
Raghav's father, Mukesh Agar was the previous clan head but when Raghav turned 18, he automatically gained the power as he was recognized as the new leader by the pact. But Mukesh still didn't lose his power, so at the present both of them had it and usually Mukesh used to do the cash counter thing.
"What the hell is papa doing in park to be so late. I had to wake up early on Sunday morning." Raghav sank into the back seat of the sleek black BMW parked just outside the mansion, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The driver sat silently at the wheel, waiting. Slumping against the leather seat, Raghav muttered his complaints under his breath, his face twisted in tired distress—as if the weight of being special was the greatest curse of all.
The engine hummed to life as the driver started the car. They cruised through the bustling crossroads of Hauz Khas—a charming enclave at the heart of South Delhi, where tradition and modernity blended effortlessly. After a short drive, they arrived at a massive mall, grand enough to rival a small city. It spanned three interconnected buildings, each rising six floors high and covering nearly 20,000 square feet—an empire of glass, steel, and consumer dreams.
Raghav, still in his blue Pajamas entered the mall, the guards identified him and opened the glass gate for him to welcome his arrival.
At the counter stood a man in a crisp black suit, his hair dyed to a flawless, unnatural black that gleamed under the lights. The moment he spotted Raghav, he straightened and hurried over.
"Raghav, you are finally here"
"Yes, yes uncle Rajeev." he totally ignored and got past him. He rushed to the counter, twisting the key already lodged in the cash box. With a soft click, it opened. Without missing a beat, he turned to the computer, logging into the online accounts with practiced ease. It was more than routine—it was ritual. No payment, digital or otherwise, could go through unless he was the one to log in. The system simply wouldn't allow it.
"Bye bye uncle, I have to go other places too."
"Yes, thank you." he greeted him as he left but bit his underlip in frustration.
"Just you wait, brat. Today is gonna be the last day of you and your father being cocky."