The boardroom was a battlefield in disguise—mahogany table, crystal water glasses, the faint scent of expensive cologne masking the smell of blood in the water.
Vikrant sat at the head, confident and almost smug, flanked by the directors he'd been slowly turning to his side. The merger proposal sat neatly in front of each board member, but the real fight was already happening in the glances, whispers, and calculated silences.
Rohini walked in with Shivansh beside her, their steps matching like a single unit.
She wore a steel-grey power suit, every hair in place. He wore a tailored navy suit, no tie, his presence a calm but unshakable force.
The meeting began with polite formality. Vikrant's allies spoke of "expanding market reach" and "securing long-term partnerships." It all sounded reasonable—until you peeled back the language and saw the trap: once the merger was signed, Rohini's position would be hollowed out from within.
When it was her turn to speak, Rohini rose, her voice crisp. "The logistics company in question is over-leveraged, operating at a loss for the last three quarters. This isn't a partnership—it's an anchor."
A few members shifted uncomfortably, but Vikrant smiled lazily. "You're letting personal feelings cloud your judgment, sister."
That was when Shivansh stood.
Every head turned. He wasn't a board member—just the CEO's husband. But his voice carried like he owned the room.
"I've run the numbers. If this deal goes through, not only will Kothari Group absorb the debt, but our operational liquidity will drop by 14% within six months. The only party who benefits… is the logistics company's current owner." He paused, eyes locking on Vikrant. "And anyone with private ties to him."
Gasps flickered around the table.
Vikrant's jaw tightened. "You're making accusations without proof."
Shivansh's smile was cold. "I have proof. It's already with our legal team. Shall I circulate it now, or give you the dignity of withdrawing the proposal?"
The room went silent.
After a long, tense pause, Vikrant leaned back. "No need. I'll… reconsider the terms."
The vote was never taken. The proposal was dead.
When the meeting ended, Rohini walked out without looking back, but the moment they were in the private elevator, she turned to him.
"You just risked war with my brother," she said quietly.
"I thought we were already at war," he replied, his tone steady.
Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but instead, she stepped closer—close enough to smell his cologne, close enough that the memory of his arms around her days ago made her pulse quicken.
"You didn't have to do that," she said.
"I know," he answered. "But I wanted to."
They didn't touch this time, but the air between them was so charged it felt like one more word might pull them together.
The elevator doors opened, breaking the spell.
Neither noticed Kanika, standing at the far end of the corridor, watching them with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.