The poolside bar glowed under strings of warm bulbs, the jazz band easing into a slow, smoky number. Ishaan held a tall mocktail—lime and mint catching the light—while Simi and Neha flanked him, laughter rising over the clink of glasses.
Simi: "You're telling me you flipped off an eight-foot water tank on Ravi's terrace and landed like it was nothing?"
Neha: "Send me that raw file. I'll make TOABH cry happy tears."
Ishaan's faint smile curved. "It's just practice."
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder from behind. Ishaan turned, surprise flickering across his face.
Basu Bhai stood there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled, gold chain glinting. His fifty men were nowhere in sight tonight—just the man himself, grinning wide.
Basu Bhai: "Tiger! Didn't expect to see you shining like this."
Ishaan: "You were invited?"
Basu Bhai: "Birthday boy and I go back twenty-five years. He saves me a seat every year." He glanced at Simi and Neha, nodded politely, then focused on Ishaan. "Heard you're modelling now. Masked shoots, big views. Proud of you."
Ishaan: "Word travels fast."
Basu Bhai: "Let me make a few calls—runway, billboards, whatever you want."
Ishaan shook his head once. "I'm booked solid already. Thank you, though."
Basu Bhai's laugh rumbled. "Independent as always. Good."
Mr. Singh approached, drink in hand, eyebrows shooting up when he saw the two together.
Mr. Singh: "Basu? You know my hero?"
Basu Bhai slung an arm around Ishaan's shoulders—casual, possessive. "Know him? This boy's family to me."
Mr. Singh's grin widened. "Small world."
Across the lawn, beneath a palm heavy with lanterns, Vickey Malhotra watched the circle tighten—Mr. Singh, Basu Bhai, Simi, Neha, Raheja earlier, Chadda before that—all orbiting the same tall figure in the cream coat. Vickey's glass tightened in his grip until the stem threatened to snap.
That slum rat, he thought, venom curling. Clinging to powerful people like a leech. Basu Bhai protecting him, Singh fawning, everyone blind.
He remembered the three stinging slaps in the office staircase, the failed attempt to hire Basu Bhai's men to break Ishaan's legs, the humiliation still burning. Tonight was supposed to be his stage—his father and Mr. Singh were old friends. Time to fix the picture.
He waited until Mr. Singh stepped away to greet a new cluster of guests, then slid in smoothly.
Vickey: "Uncle, a quick word?"
Mr. Singh turned, smile polite. "Vickey. Good to see you."
Vickey lowered his voice, leaning close. "That guy you're celebrating—Ishaan? He's bad news. Married into a good family, lives off his wife, clings to anyone with money. Ask around—he's got no shame."
Mr. Singh listened without expression, eyes steady on Vickey's face. When Vickey finished, the older man took a slow sip of his whisky.
Mr. Singh: "Young Malhotra… your father and I have been friends for thirty years. Clearly he forgot to teach you when to keep quiet."
The words were soft, almost kind, but the look that accompanied them carried winter.
Mr. Singh gave Vickey one slow, disgusted sweep from head to toe, then turned his back and walked away without another word.
Vickey stood frozen, cheeks burning hotter than the slap marks Ishaan had left weeks ago. Around him, laughter and music swirled on, untouched.
At the bar, Ishaan raised his mocktail in a small toast to Basu Bhai and Simi, unaware of the storm that had just broken and died ten meters away.
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)