The Juhu villa glowed like a diamond under floodlights—white fairy strings draped over palm trunks, golden lanterns floating in the infinity pool, a live jazz band spilling soft saxophone notes into the sea breeze. Fifteen cars lined the curved driveway: two white Rolls-Royces, three gleaming Mercedes S-Classes, a vintage Aston Martin, even a matte-black Lamborghini that looked freshly flown in from Dubai. Ishaan eased the Bullet to the far end, killed the engine, and swung off. He removed his helmet, shook out his silk-black hair until the natural blue undertone caught the lights, and walked toward the entrance like he owned the night.
He wore the cream linen-silk coat open over a sky-blue shirt that clung to every line of his torso, sleeves rolled once to reveal veined forearms. Brown tailored pants broke perfectly over dark-brown Italian loafers . The green-dial Seiko flashed on his left wrist whenever he moved. At 6'3", slim but carved from marble, ponytail swaying like a black flame, he looked less like a guest and more like the cover of a luxury magazine someone had brought to life.
Simi stood at the marble entrance in a shimmering silver Lahenga, greeting arrivals. The moment her eyes landed on Ishaan, her smile froze, then widened into something dangerously bright.
Simi (voice dropping half an octave): "Ishaan…, warn a girl next time. You're not allowed to look this illegal."
She crossed the porch in three quick steps, completely forgetting the line of guests behind her. Without thinking, her hand slipped into his—fingers interlacing like it was the most natural thing in the world—and pulled him inside.
Simi: "Come, Dad's dying to see you."
Mr. Singh stood near the bar, deep in conversation with a silver-haired man in a navy bandhgala. The moment he spotted Ishaan, his face split into a grin that could power the villa.
Mr. Singh: "Hey hero! Finally!"
He enveloped Ishaan in a bear hug, thumping his back hard enough to rattle lesser men.
Mr. Singh: "You saved my life that day, beta. Today you save my party by showing up looking like a damn film star."
Simi still hadn't let go of Ishaan's hand. She tugged him forward.
Simi: "meet the man who refuses to take credit. Ishaan, this is Mr. Chadda—owner of Legacy Construction."
Mr. Chadda turned, sharp eyes sizing Ishaan up in one practiced sweep, then smiling warmly.
Mr. Chadda: "So you're the husband. Pleasure."
Ishaan folded his hands in respectful namaste.
Ishaan: "Sir, thank you—for everything. Ari's position, the bonus, the cabin. You've changed our lives."
Mr. Chadda waved it off, sipping his single malt.
"Your wife earned every rupee. I only opened the door because Singh insisted—but she's already closing deals faster than my old project heads. Smart girl. Good addition."
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering.
"And don't worry—she'll never hear it came from a phone call. My lips are sealed."
Ishaan's shoulders relaxed a fraction.
"Thank you, sir. Truly."
A soft laugh floated from behind.
Neha—dressed in emerald green, hair in loose waves—appeared at Ishaan's elbow, eyes sparkling.
Neha: "Well, well. Take off the mask and the man's a weapon."
She circled him once, openly admiring.
Neha: "TOABH is losing money every day you hide that face. Remove the mask, Ishaan. One unmasked campaign and you're looking at crore-level contracts. Better brands, better contacts, red-carpet invites. Think about it."
Ishaan gave a small, polite smile.
Ishaan: "Mystery pays the bills right now. But I'll keep shooting masked. Thank you."
Before Neha could push further, a tall man in a charcoal suit joined them—mid-forties, salt-and-pepper beard, Rolex glinting.
Neha: "Sir, meet our masked superstar in the flesh. Ishaan, Mr. Raheja—owner of TOABH."
Raheja's handshake was firm, appreciative.
Mr. Raheja: "Finally. I've seen the raw files—those shots are gold. And tonight you walk in looking like this? Son, we need you. Mask or no mask, more campaigns. Name your dates."
Ishaan inclined his head.
Ishaan: "Whenever you need me, sir. Happy to deliver."
Raheja clapped his shoulder, already pulling out a business card.
Mr. Raheja: "We'll talk numbers next week. Enjoy the party—you've earned it."
Simi finally released Ishaan's hand—reluctantly—and looped her arm through his instead, steering him toward the poolside bar.
Simi (whispering): "You broke the internet you know. Drinks?"
Ishaan's faint smile curved.
Ishaan: "One mocktail. Long night ahead."
Across the lawn, fairy lights twinkled. Jazz notes floated. Deals were being made in hushed tones, futures rewritten between sips of whisky.
From: Aurthor Nikhil T.
Subject: Please check out my new novel, Asura: The Hunter
Hello,
I've recently published my new novel, titled Asura: The Hunter.
I would appreciate it if you could give it a read.
Thank you very much for your time and consideration.
Best regards,
Nikhil T. (Author)