Main Hall, Moments Earlier
A second fleet of cars pulled up outside the grand entrance. Not the matte black Maybachs like the others. These were deep emerald Rolls-Royces.
The main doors parted in reverent hush.
Ira Neel was the first to step out. Dressed in a silk sapphire sari by Gaurav Gupta, her silhouette was austere and regal. Sapphire studs gleamed on her ears—cold, deliberate, like truth daggers. Her expression? Unreadable. Untouchable.
Photo Booth Corner – Minutes Later
A brief respite unfolded near the modern photo booth setup—a corner filled with golden drapes, velvet stools, and a box of vintage props. A few unsuspecting guests still sought levity.
Click.
A camera snapped. The strip of photos rolled out—four stills of awkward smiles and half-drunk poses.
Then came the hush again.
Mrs. Bansal, elegant in burgundy and heavy gold, noticed Ira approaching the main cluster of guests with her usual silent authority. Sanvi and Meeraa, her daughters, flanked her—poised and distant.
Mrs. Bansal stepped forward, her tone sharp with layered disdain: "What are you doing here, Ira? "You do know this is an invitation-only event. No matter how grand your fall, crashing parties isn't fashionable yet."
Ira offered a faint, amused smile. She raised her wrist lightly and waved the invitation card in her manicured hand.
"Who said I wasn't invited?"
A pause.
Mrs. Bansal's eyes flicked toward the guards.
"That's impossible," she snapped. "Check it. She's bluffing."
Two security guards moved forward. One took the card with gloved hands, sliding it into the scanner. The room watched. The scanner blinked red once. Then again.
Mrs. Bansal smirked.
Then—green.
Verified.
The scanner chimed. Welcome, Ira Neel.
Gasps rippled around them.
Even Veer looked unsettled for half a second.
"But how…" Mrs. Bansal whispered under her breath.
"You should check your guest list more thoroughly," Ira replied, voice like silk on steel. "Sometimes power doesn't come in the form of a signature. Sometimes... it's the signature you erased years ago."
She walked past, unhurried, eyes straight ahead.
And suddenly, the party didn't feel like a celebration anymore.
From the far side of the ballroom, Veer Upadhyay watched her arrival through narrowed eyes.
"She came," he murmured, arms folded.
"Naturally," Rishika Upadhyay responded from the shadows behind him, her tone flat and insightful. "I delivered the invitation. The empire's finances are hemorrhaging, and she's drawn to that like a hound to a scent."
Balcony, Rooftop Garden – 11:07 PM
The wind had picked up just enough to lift the ends of Rishika's gown, brushing it against the sculpted marble railing. Riyansh stood beside her, jacket off, tie loosened, the last of his composure clinging to the chill in his glass.
"I want this to work. TK. Us. All of it," he had said.
Rishika didn't meet his eyes, only smiled faintly.
"Then don't screw it up."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was old. Familiar. Worn like the corners of a love letter read too many times.
But just as Riyansh was about to respond— A ripple of tension below.
From the ballroom, a wave of whispers began spreading like smoke from a slow fire.
Elsewhere – Mr. Oberoi raised a glass near the viewing deck, muttering to Mrs. Singhania.
"That's the Bansals for you. Late, loud, and loaded."
"And that boy—Rajat? Wearing a legacy like it's cologne," Mrs. Singhania replied coldly.
Ira Bansal was now deep in conversation with Mr. Kumar, head of the City D Lawyers Consortium.
Meanwhile – Across the room, Ira N.K had found her way to Rishika.
"You cleaned up well," Ira said.
"We all do, when fire forces us to rise."
"Let's not pretend we're on the same side."
"We're not," Rishika agreed. "But we're in the same room. And that always makes people nervous."
They both sipped from their glasses. A stand-off in elegance and ice.
Garden Terrace | Outside The Imperial V
Kavya had stepped out for air — and to stop thinking about the memo, the political reporters, and how Riyansh's uncle had cornered her for five minutes to talk about tribal resettlement policies.
She hadn't noticed someone else step outside.
Aakash stood near the balustrade, staring at the moonlit lake, his hands in his pockets.
She smiled softly and walked toward him.
Kavya (teasing): "Let me guess — you're hiding from socializing too?"
Aakash turned, startled.
Aakash: "Uh — yeah. Just… fresh air."
She stepped beside him, close but not too close.
Kavya (gently): "You were quiet inside. Not like the Aakash I remember — the one who quoted Palkhivala while spilling coffee in the war room."
Aakash (grinning): "That guy only shows up when there's no press."
They both chuckled. Then silence.
Kavya (after a pause): You okay?"
He looked at her. And for a moment, under the moon, with no boardrooms or billionaires watching — he almost said everything.
Instead, he simply nodded.
Aakash: "I just… don't always feel like I belong in their world."
Kavya (softly): "That's why they need you."
The wind lifted strands of her hair. He looked at her — really looked — and smiled.
Aakash: "And maybe… I need you too."
Midnight Suite | Hotel Room, City M
The night outside the velvet-draped windows of the suite pulsed with distant music, but inside — silence.
Dev stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, wearing only a loose white t-shirt. His laptop lay closed, unread emails blinking behind the screen. A half-drunk cup of coffee had gone cold beside it.
On the couch, Vivaan sat with a book open but untouched on his lap. His tailored tuxedo jacket had been flung across the armchair; his cufflinks, forgotten on the marble table.
Dev (watching him): "You don't talk about yourself much, you know."
Vivaan didn't look up.
Dev (gently): "Not your family. Not where you're from. Not even why you suddenly came to City M."
Vivaan's jaw tightened. He turned a page — mechanically.
Vivaan: "Some stories… they're better left off the page."
Dev walked over and sat down beside him. Close. Careful.
Dev: "You know mine. I'm just a logistics guy. You know everything. And me? I don't even know your last name."
Vivaan looked away, avoiding his gaze.
Dev (softer now): "Is it about your family? Are you… running from something?"
Vivaan (after a long silence): "No. I'm just… not ready to be found."
Dev reached for his hand — tentative, gentle. Vivaan let him.
Dev (whispering): "Who are you, really, Vivaan?"
Vivaan leaned forward, kissed him — not with fire, but with grief. Quiet and conflicted.
Vivaan (pulling back): "I don't know who I am when I'm with them. But with you… I don't have to pretend."
Dev wanted to ask more — but something in Vivaan's eyes stopped him.
He simply held him as the city buzzed far away.
1:00 AM | Private Lounge | Post-Party War Room
Away from chandeliers and curated smiles, the Bansals were already regrouping.
Ira Bansal stood at the table, hair in a sleek bun now, her gala gown replaced by a navy silk robe and leather-bound notebook in hand. Her cousins and uncle sat scattered across velvet sofas.
A large screen showed muted footage of the gala highlights.
Ira: "We're six weeks away from the merger bid closing. The Madhvans are regaining credibility — too fast. And now the Upadhyays are circling them again. This is a problem."
Aahan Raj, poured himself a drink.
Aahan: "Are you suggesting sabotage?"
Ira (without blinking): "I'm suggesting we control the narrative before they do."
She clicked a remote. A new image popped up — Aakash Mital, legal analyst, standing behind Kavya at the gala.
Ira: "They have an intern who changed a law. But he's their analyst. Young. Idealistic. Probably isolated. He's a lever. And Kavya Thakur... she's their human shield."
Her cousin whistled.
Mr.Raj : "You're going to target them?"
Ira (flatly): "I will ensure Madhavan and Upadhyay do not befriend the Bansals. Otherwise, they will likely endeavor to remove me from my position." "The most important thing, I have to stop this marriage.
Vivaan's Morning, Vivaan woke late.
Dev was gone — only a note on the table: "Coffee at Café Pruvia downstairs. Hope you're okay. – D"
He picked up his phone. Over a dozen messages. Mostly from Riyansh.
Riyansh: Where are you?
Riyansh: Board wants you at the second panel today.
Riyansh: We need to discuss your upcoming role. Don't delay, Vivaan.
Vivaan's chest tightened.
He hadn't told Dev his last name — Madhvan — because he hadn't been ready to explain the expectations, the board seat, the legacy.
But the lie was growing legs.
He texted Riyansh: "I'll be there in 30 mins. Just needed space."