The morning sunlight filtered softly through the lace curtains, casting a warm glow across Riya's bedroom. It was a rare moment of peace—a quiet start to what would undoubtedly be another hectic day. She sat by the bay window, sipping her tea, letting the tranquil view of her garden calm her nerves. Her house—a two-story, modern villa nestled in a quiet suburb of Mumbai—was a sanctuary for her and her parents.
She had bought the house two years ago, a tangible symbol of her success and the stability she could now provide for her family. Every corner of it bore her meticulous touch—the light cream walls, the tasteful art, the sprawling balcony overlooking a garden her mother tended to lovingly. It was her proudest achievement, not because of its luxury, but because it gave her parents a peaceful retirement after all the sacrifices they had made for her.
Her father, Appa, spent his mornings reading the newspaper and his evenings watching cricket. Her mother, Amma, had taken to gardening and cooking with the joy of someone who finally had time to breathe after years of hard work. This house was their haven, a space where their years of struggle seemed like a distant memory.
Riya smiled to herself as she finished her tea and set the cup down. She had an entire routine now—a life shaped by structure and precision.
Her mornings always began with meditation, a habit she had picked up during her lowest times when anxiety had threatened to take over her life. Then, she would shower, pick out a power suit from her extensive wardrobe, and head downstairs for breakfast with her parents. It was always a peaceful moment, something grounding before she stepped into the whirlwind of her day.
Today was no different. After showering and dressing, she descended the sleek wooden staircase, her heels clicking softly against the floor. The smell of fresh dosa wafted from the kitchen, and she found Amma setting the table, while Appa sat with the day's paper, already engrossed in the headlines.
"Good morning," she greeted them with a smile, sitting down at her usual spot.
Amma turned to her, placing a plate of crispy dosas in front of her with a warm smile. "Good morning, kanna. You have a long day ahead?"
"Always," Riya replied, chuckling softly. She reached for the chutney, her mind already ticking through the schedule of meetings and emails awaiting her. "I have a new client today. Big one. Hotel Valhalla."
Appa glanced up from his newspaper, intrigued. "Valhalla? That's where all the big shots go, right?"
Riya nodded, swallowing a bite. "Yeah, they're pretty exclusive. Their accounts need serious restructuring, so they've come to us. It's going to be a challenge, but we've handled worse."
Riya worked as a Senior Financial Consultant at "Elite Financial Solutions", a firm that dealt with high-profile clients, managing everything from tax audits to restructuring financial strategies. Riya's expertise lay in global accounting standards, auditing, and financial management. Her clients ranged from multinational corporations to underground tycoons with more complex portfolios—businesses where clean numbers sometimes hid darker transactions.
The firm, while reputable on the surface, had its share of questionable clientele. She had learned to navigate murky financial waters, keeping herself distanced from the grey areas. It wasn't uncommon for a billionaire's empire to have hidden depths, and her job was to ensure that whatever appeared in the books was polished, pristine, and well-managed. Today, she was heading to meet Valhalla, a luxury hotel catering to Mumbai's elite, to manage their financial issues discreetly.
Amma looked at her with concern, her maternal instincts picking up on Riya's exhaustion. "Don't work too hard, kanna. Take care of yourself too."
"I will, Amma," Riya said, smiling reassuringly as she finished her breakfast. "I've got it all under control."
After a few more pleasantries, Riya stood up, kissed her parents on the cheek, and left the house, feeling a sense of calm as she stepped into the familiar rhythm of her day.
---
Later that afternoon, Riya found herself standing in front of Hotel Valhalla, the towering glass building gleaming despite the gloomy clouds gathering overhead. The hotel was indeed a hotspot for Mumbai's elite, a sanctuary for billionaires, celebrities, and anyone who could afford the price tag. Its grandeur was intimidating, but she was used to spaces like these. She had built her career navigating such environments.
As she entered the lobby, she was met with the sight of marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and a staff dressed in crisp uniforms, moving with silent efficiency. But there was a tension in the air—employees seemed tense —something was really off. They had mentioned a minor crisis, but as she walked toward the elevator, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than that.
A sudden rumble of thunder outside made her pause. Heavy rain began to lash the windows, turning the bustling streets outside into a blur of gray. Riya mentally added the storm to her growing list of concerns.
---
An hour later, the meeting was over, and Riya's suspicions were confirmed. The crisis at Valhalla wasn't minor. There were financial discrepancies, rumors of internal sabotage, and their entire accounting system was a mess. They had come to Elite because they needed someone discreet who could clean up the mess without alerting investors.
She left the hotel feeling the weight of the problem settling heavily on her shoulders. Her phone buzzed with messages from her team, all waiting for her input on how to handle the situation. Valhalla shouldn't be dealt carelessly. She needed bit of a time to study.
Just as she stepped outside, the rain intensified. Her brows creased as rain pounded against the pavement, turning the streets into rushing rivers of water. The strong wind blew the last thread of her patience. Riya cursed under her breath as she hurried toward her car. She was already drenched by the time she reached it, and as if the universe hadn't thrown enough at her today, her car refused to start.
Great. Just great.
Riya sat back, running a hand through her wet hair as frustration bubbled up inside her. Nothing was going right. The crisis at Valhalla, her car breaking down, the suffocating pressure of her family to get married. She had spent years clawing her way up the corporate ladder, only to now find herself standing at the edge of a marriage she didn't want, with a man she barely knew.
A man she might be selling herself to, all in the name of family honor and societal pressure.
It felt like everything was spiraling out of control.
Suddenly, Riya couldn't sit still. She flung the car door open and stepped out into the pouring rain, ignoring the fact that her shoes were now submerged in water. It wasn't Valhalla, it wasn't the car, it was marriage. She needed to walk, to clear her head. As she strode down the street, the rain pelted her mercilessly, soaking her to the bone. But it felt… liberating. The cold water washing over her skin, the bustling noise of the city fading into the background, all gave her a strange sense of clarity.
She had worked so hard to achieve her dreams, and now, she was standing on the precipice of giving it all away. Was marrying Dev Kapoor the answer? How did she even entangle with that walking stone? Could she really tie her future to a man she had no emotional connection with?
Lost in thought, Riya barely noticed the figure approaching her from the side direction. It wasn't until the rain stopped pouring over her that she looked up, confused.
There he was. Dev Kapoor, standing in front of her. His silent eyes emanated warmth, and for the first time, she noticed something different about him. His usual cold, aloof demeanor was softened by the way he looked at her, his brows relaxed as if he wasn't here as the imposing billionaire but just a man who happened to be in the right place at the right time.
The expensive cologne radiating from him distracted her for a moment, mixing with the rain-soaked air. He stood there, perfectly composed in his tailored suit, his long pointy nose, and thick black hair dripping with raindrops, yet somehow still impeccably put together. Everything about him screamed wealth and privilege, yet here he was, holding an umbrella over her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Dev's lips curled into a small, playful smirk. "Like what you see?"
Riya blinked, snapping out of her reverie, she snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Is your spirit animal Rahul?"
The warmth in Dev's eyes flickered for a moment, replaced by confusion. "Who's Rahul?"
She suppressed a laugh, her expression turning teasing. "You know, from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai and Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham? Every cliché Bollywood hero holds an umbrella for his heroine in the rain."
Dev's face remained impassive, though his grip on the umbrella tightened slightly. "I don't watch Bollywood movies."
Riya's eyes widened in mock disbelief. "Oh my God, don't tell me you've never seen any Bollywood movies!"
Dev cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. "I'm not… interested."
Riya chuckled, shaking her head. She found his cluelessness oddly charming. "Well, you're missing out."
Dev's gaze softened again, his voice quiet but filled with curiosity. "Why are you walking in the rain, Riya?"
For a moment, she didn't respond. Instead, she took in his presence—the way he stood so confidently, yet there was something vulnerable in his gaze. She found herself studying him, not just for his looks but for the man underneath the pristine surface. Maybe marrying him wasn't such a terrible idea
Riya quickly averted her gaze. Without responding, she began to walk again, her heels splashing through the rain-soaked street. Dev, undeterred, followed her, holding the umbrella carefully over her head as they moved.
The silence between them stretched on for a few moments before she remembered his question. "My car broke down," she said, her voice softer now, almost lost in the noise of the rain.
Dev tilted his head, "Come with me" his voice stern and determined but also soothing, like liquid sunsets
Riya paused at his offer, the simple words lingering in her mind.