Chandrika sat in her opulent lounge, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the armrest of her chair. The news of Vikram's decision had spread through the household like wildfire, and with it, a surge of resentment festered within her.
He's destroyed everything, she thought coldly, her gaze fixed on the ornate chandelier above. One foolish, impulsive act—and years of strategy undone.
The Malhotra empire had been her target, a fortress she was poised to conquer through Aryan's marriage to Meera. Vikram, with his misplaced priorities and overprotective instincts, had dismantled the alliance in a single stroke.
The door creaked open, and Aryan stepped in, his sharp suit and confident stride radiating assurance. He caught sight of his mother's tense figure and smirked faintly, his calmness a sharp contrast to her simmering frustration.
"Mom," he began, his tone smooth and measured, "why are you so worked up?"
Chandrika shot him a withering look. "Worked up? Vikram has ruined everything. That engagement was our key to securing the Malhotra empire. Now it's gone—all because of his foolish emotions."
Aryan chuckled lightly, moving to her side. "This isn't over, Mom. I'll handle everything. In a few days, Meera will be mine, and the Malhotras will have no choice but to bow to us."
Chandrika's eyes softened as she took in her son's confidence. Slowly, a smile spread across her lips, and she stood to embrace him. "I'm proud of you, Aryan," she murmured. "You're my greatest strength. I trust you to make this right."
Aryan's smirk widened as he returned the hug, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "I won't let you down, Mom. This is just the beginning."
Shourya leaned back in his chair, the sharp rays of the afternoon sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. The morning had been consumed by meetings, and now, he was finally taking a moment to breathe.
Across the desk, Gagan, his trusted aide, approached with a concerned expression, holding his tablet.
"Sir," Gagan began hesitantly,
"There's been some media attention today. Should I handle it?"
Shourya met his gaze with calm resolve. "No need. There's nothing to hide. Let them talk."
Gagan nodded, leaving the room with a quiet understanding of Shourya's unwavering confidence.
Moments later, Shourya's phone buzzed on the desk. The name Vedha lit up the screen. He picked it up and saw a single word:
Sorry.
A crease formed on his brow as he typed back, Why sorry?
Her response came quickly—a link to an article. Shourya opened it and scanned the headline:
"After Shourya Verma's Breakup with Meera Malhotra, He's Seen with Another Woman at Radha Krishna Temple."
The photo attached showed Shourya and Vedha near the temple's sanctum, captured during the moment they were preparing garlands of tulsi for Lord Krishna.
The media had spun the event into something more sensational, and Shourya knew the attention would only grow.
Shourya called her immediately.
"Vedha," he said softly, "you don't need to apologize. This isn't your fault."
"But the media—" she began, her voice filled with guilt.
"We're husband and wife, Vedha," he interrupted, his tone steady. "That's the truth, and there's no reason to hide it from the world."
Her silence spoke of the emotions she couldn't put into words, but he understood.
As the call ended, Shourya placed his phone down, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the challenges ahead. The media frenzy was just one storm in a sea of responsibilities.
His gaze shifted to the Verma Industries emblem on the wall—a legacy his parents had built with their hard work and vision.
This company wasn't just a business; it was his family's lifeline, their name, their pride. Every decision he made, every step forward, was a balance between protecting that legacy and forging his own path.