The world belonged to Aryan Raichand, or at least it felt that way. From his towering office at the top of Raichand Corporations, he could look down upon the sprawling city he had conquered. Deals worth billions crossed his desk, and people across the globe spoke his name with admiration or fear. His control was absolute—over his company, his empire, and the people around him. Yet, in matters of the heart, Aryan remained untouched.
Love had always seemed like a weakness to Aryan, a vulnerability that he couldn't afford. Women in his life had come and gone, each leaving with more money than they arrived with, but none of them had touched him. They were beautiful, elegant, and eager, but none had stirred the fire within him that so many novels and movies promised. Aryan didn't believe in such fantasies. Power was his language, wealth his weapon, and emotions were distractions.
But all of that began to shift one evening in a town far from the glitz and glamour of his city.
Aryan's latest business deal had taken him to a small town that seemed to live decades behind the urban life he knew. It was a quick stop on his way back to the city, a routine negotiation. His private car rolled smoothly over the bumpy road, escorted by a fleet of black SUVs that shadowed him everywhere. Yet, just as they neared the outskirts of the town, fate intervened. The sleek black vehicle came to a halt, the quiet hum of the engine dying.
Aryan, impatient as always, stepped out into the dusty road, his sharp eyes scanning the area. The broken-down vehicle didn't bother him—everything was replaceable. But what did catch his attention was the small, run-down house that stood a short distance away. Its roof sagged, the paint was peeling, and the yard was overgrown with weeds. Yet, despite the shabbiness, Aryan's attention was drawn to a figure standing in the doorway.
Meera.
Even from a distance, her beauty was undeniable. She stood with a quiet grace that seemed out of place in her surroundings. She wore a simple salwar kameez, her long hair tied back, and her eyes cast downward as though avoiding the world entirely. There was something in her posture, a mixture of fragility and strength, that piqued Aryan's interest.
For a moment, Aryan did something he never allowed himself to do: he hesitated. Something about her struck him as different, something more than just the surface beauty he was used to. Before he could stop himself, his feet were moving toward her.
"Do you know where I can get help with the car?" Aryan's voice was calm, controlled, as it always was when dealing with those beneath him.
Meera didn't meet his gaze at first. She seemed nervous, her eyes flitting toward the house behind her. Aryan's brow furrowed, sensing something amiss. He had seen fear in people before—fear of power, fear of wealth—but this was different. Meera wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of something else.
Before she could answer, a harsh voice rang out from the house.
"What are you doing, standing there like an idiot? Get back to work!" A woman, older and much more hardened, stormed out from the house. Aryan watched as the older woman, who he would later learn was Meera's stepmother, lashed out at her. The stepmother's words were cruel, filled with venom. Meera didn't flinch, didn't argue. She simply nodded and turned to go back inside.
Aryan's jaw tightened. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but something about seeing Meera treated like that stirred a protective instinct in him—a side of him he hadn't known existed. Without thinking, Aryan stepped forward.
"Wait."
Meera paused, her eyes wide. Her stepmother glared at Aryan, clearly unaccustomed to being challenged.
"Who are you?" the older woman snapped, her tone sharp. "This is none of your business."
"I'm Aryan Raichand." He said it with a quiet authority, knowing that his name carried weight. People didn't usually question him once they knew who he was. He was used to getting what he wanted. "And I'll make it my business if I see someone being treated unfairly."
The stepmother's eyes flickered with recognition. Aryan could see the shift in her demeanor. His reputation preceded him, even in this backwater town. But still, she put up a front, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to maintain control of the situation.
"She's nothing. Just a useless girl I took in when her father passed," the woman said, her voice dripping with disdain. "You'd be better off not wasting your time here."
But Aryan wasn't deterred. Something about Meera's silence, her submission to this woman's cruelty, ignited a fire within him. For reasons he couldn't quite understand, he wanted to protect her, to take her away from this place and shield her from whatever torment she endured here.
"I'll take her with me," Aryan said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Name your price."
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