The next morning, the headlines confirmed her prediction.
"Fallen Heiress Aarya Verma Crashes Exclusive Shareholder Event"
"Karan Malhotra Stands Firm Against Former Heiress's Return"
"Verma Industries Faces Uncertain Future Amidst Power Struggle"
Aarya sipped her coffee, the bitter warmth grounding her. She read each headline, her expression unreadable.
"They're trying to frame it as desperation," Janhavi remarked, scrolling through the latest news updates.
"Good," Aarya said simply. "Let them underestimate me."
Her phone buzzed — a private number. She answered without hesitation.
"Miss Verma," a deep voice greeted. "It's Mr. Sharma."
"Mr. Sharma," she responded, her tone polite but guarded.
"I'd like to meet. Off the record," he continued. "There are... matters I believe we should discuss."
A calculated smile touched her lips. "Name the time and place."
A few hours later, Aarya stepped into an intimate corner of an upscale cafe. Mr. Sharma was already seated, a black coffee in front of him. He gestured toward the empty seat across from him.
"I was surprised when you accepted so quickly," Aarya noted, lowering herself into the chair.
"You may have disrupted the shareholders' meeting," Sharma said, his voice low. "But you certainly captured our attention."
"Good. Because I'm not stopping here."
Sharma's gaze studied her. "Your father was a visionary. Verma Industries was more than just a corporation under him. It stood for something. Karan Malhotra? He only sees numbers. Profits. He's selling off divisions like trinkets, dismantling what your father built."
Aarya leaned in. "And you disapprove."
"I disapprove of watching a legacy rot." He paused. "But I also don't make decisions based on sentiment."
"Then make them based on logic. Karan's short-term strategies may boost the numbers now, but long-term? The company will collapse. You know it, and soon the others will too."
Sharma exhaled, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his cup. "You claim to have a plan. But what makes you certain you can reclaim control?"
Aarya smiled. "Because I understand Verma Industries. Its people. Its values. And I've spent five years preparing for this." She slid a sleek black folder across the table.
"Projections. Acquisition targets. A future that benefits everyone."
He flipped through the pages, his expression unreadable. When he finally met her gaze, there was a spark of intrigue.
"I'll consider it," he said simply.
"That's all I ask."
As Aarya stood to leave, Sharma's voice followed her. "And Miss Verma? Be careful. Karan's not the only one watching."
She didn't turn back. She didn't need to.
The game was unfolding.
And Aarya Verma was already making her next move.
----
Hours later, Karan Malhotra's office was lit only by the faint glow of the city skyline. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, his mind racing. The headlines weren't enough. The shareholders were stirring. And now, Sharma was taking meetings with Aarya.
His phone buzzed.
"She's gathering support," the voice on the other end said. "And gaining traction."
"Then we accelerate our plans," Karan growled. "No more waiting. We hit her where it hurts."
The glass cracked under the pressure of his grip, but Karan barely noticed.
The game wasn't over.
Not yet.
----
Back at the Verma family estate, the weight of the day lingered. The grand hall stood silent, the echoes of memories brushing past her. Aarya traced her fingers along the ornate railing of the staircase, recalling the laughter that had once filled these walls.
Manohar Kaka, the loyal caretaker, approached with a silver tray of tea. "You held your ground today, Miss Verma. Your father would be proud."
"Thank you, Manohar Kaka," she murmured, accepting the cup. The warmth steadied her, though her thoughts raced. "But there's still so much left to do."
He nodded knowingly. "And you will. The city remembers the Verma name, and soon they'll remember the truth."
But Aarya knew that exposing Karan's deception wouldn't be enough. She needed allies. People who still believed in the legacy her father built. And there was one person in particular who held the key to that.
-----
The city skyline gleamed beneath the indigo night, but Aarya Verma wasn't admiring the view. Her emerald suit still held its crisp perfection, her posture poised, but her mind churned. The game had officially begun.
Janhavi watched her friend carefully, the faint hum of the car's engine the only sound between them.
"You made a statement tonight," Janhavi said, her voice even. "But Karan won't stay idle. He'll retaliate."
Aarya's lips curled into a half-smile. "That's what I'm counting on."
Janhavi tilted her head, studying her. "And the shareholders? Some seemed intrigued, but others…"
"Are too comfortable under Karan's rule." Aarya finished. "But comfort breeds complacency. It's time to shake them up."
Janhavi nodded, though the concern in her gaze lingered. "You need leverage. Proof of what Karan did."
"And I'll get it." Aarya's tone was resolute. "But first, I need to remind them what true leadership looks like."
The car slowed, pulling into the circular driveway of the Verma estate. The towering gates stood like silent sentinels, their iron presence a reminder of the family legacy. The headlights illuminated the grand facade, its once-pristine elegance dulled by years of neglect.
Manohar Kaka greeted them at the door, his weathered hands clasped behind his back.
"Welcome home, Miss Verma," he said, his eyes warm.
"Thank you, Manohar Kaka." Aarya stepped inside, the scent of aged mahogany and forgotten grandeur enveloping her. "Any news?"
"A visitor was here earlier," Manohar Kaka replied. "No name. Just left a note."
He handed her a folded envelope. Aarya opened it, her sharp gaze scanning the elegant script.
"Your return has set the city ablaze. But remember, the brightest flames attract the most shadows. - A Friend"
Janhavi leaned closer, frowning. "Cryptic. Could be a warning."
Aarya traced the signature with her thumb. "Or an opportunity."
Her eyes narrowed, the weight of the words pulling at the corners of her guarded mind. The handwriting was precise, deliberate—too deliberate to be casual.
She folded the note and slipped it into her coat pocket.
"It's not just a warning," she murmured. "It's a sign."
Janhavi raised a brow. "From who?"
"I don't know. Yet."