"This file contain all information about your family, Ms. Shekhawat."

《—°○•°○•°○•°—》

Author's POV... The private jet cut through the clouds in silence—the kind of silence Nandini had learned to prefer over the hollow noise of the world. Inside, the cabin exuded a cold, calculated luxury; polished mahogany, cream leather, and a staff that moved like ghosts. It was still—a type of breathless stillness that precedes a storm.

From the window, the clouds drifted past like shredded silk as the jet glided through them. The sky was deepening into a bruised gold as the afternoon sun blazed with a final, fierce intensity. Rajasthan was three hours away. Three hours to prepare for a room full of men who would rather deal with the devil than with her.

Nandini sat by the window. Her head laid back, resting against the plush leather headrest. Though her eyes were closed and a file lay open in her lap, her mind was miles away. The memories of her parents—laughing and living together in a happiness that now felt like a lifetime ago—flashed through her mind like the strike of a blade.

Kanan's voice jolted her out of the depths of her thoughts,"We are here."

Nandini opened her eyes slowly, they were stinging, a veil of unshed tears threatening to blur her vision. She hid them instantly behind her dark sunglasses, her expression turning to stone.

Glancing out, she saw the endless, amber stretch of deserts and jagged sand dunes. The dry, scorched landscape was a jarring contrast to the dewy, salt-thick breezes of Vizag.

As the jet descended toward the private airstrip, Nandini closed the file with a decisive thud. She stood, her sleek black saree hissing against the floor like a warning. She straightened her spine, pushing the remnants of her grief into the shadows. In place of the girl mourning her loss, there was now a woman prepared to burn down anyone in her way.

The grieving girl stayed on jet—what stepped off was something far more dangerous.

As the wheels of the jet touched the scorched earth—Nandini Shekhawat, heiress of the Royal Shekhawat's, stepped out ready for war.

Down on the tarmac, a fleet of midnight-black SUVs sat idling, their polished frames gleaming like obsidian under the brutal Rajasthan sun. They looked less like vehicles and more like a phalanx of steel guards.

Standing at the centre of the formation was a figure that commanded the horizon—Viraj Rathore, the CEO of the Rathore Group himself. He didn't look like a man who waited for anyone, yet there he stood, his silhouette sharp against the shimmering heat waves rising from the ground.

Nandini adjusted her shades, her grip tightening around her clutch. As she descended the stairs, the desert wind caught the fabric of her black saree, making the fabric snap like a flag of war behind her. She didn't hurry. She never hurried. Every step she took was a calculated move on a chessboard he didn't even know she was playing on yet.

The silence of the desert was broken only by the low, predatory hum of the SUV engines. As Nandini reached the convoy, Viraj Rathore offered a single, imperceptible nod—a silent acknowledgement of her arrival that carried more weight than any formal greeting. He gestured towards a sleek, obsidian-charcoal sedan idling at the front, its frame gleaming with a cold, regal authority.

As they moved, Viraj maintained a measured pace, trailing exactly five feet behind her. It was a gesture of profound respect.

The sedan pulled away, gliding toward the heart of the Rathore Group & Co. empire. Behind them, the fleet of midnight-black SUVs followed in a tight, disciplined formation—a blur of steel and shadow acting as a protective barrier between Nandini and the world she was about to conquer.

Nandini leaned back into the cool leather, the world outside turning a mute, smoky gray through the heavy tint of the windows. To the crowds outside, the car was just a dark, impenetrable shadow—but inside, the silence was absolute.

The drive towards the Rathore Complex was suffocated with heavy, absolute silence—the silence which comes before a storm arises.

After bearing the absolute silence for total fifty minutes, the cars skidded to the halt across the charcoal pavement, right in front of a Monolith. The glass edifice of Rathore Group & Co. caught the dying light of sun.

A line of men in obsidian silk suits, stepped forward to open the door of the sedan. Nandini stepped out looking regal. Her eyes scanning her surroundings like a hawk waiting for its prey. With a single tilt of her head to the guards, she stepped into the building. Behind her, Viraj trailed with a measured and respectful pace.

The lavish hallway, crowded with the ocean of employees, parted like a silent tide as Nandini swept through the lobby. The only sound was the rhythmic, authoritative click of her heels echoing against the marble floors. Behind her, Viraj remained a silent shadow, his presence a shield that kept the whispering gallery of staff at bay.

They reached the private elevator—a sleek cage of brushed steel and mirrored glass. Viraj stepped forward, his hand steady as he pressed the button for the 51st floor. The top floor. The summit of his empire, and the site of her upcoming battle.

As the doors slid shut with a muted hiss, the rest of the world vanished.

Nandini stood at the centre of the elevator, her reflection staring back at her from the mirrored walls. She looked every bit of the Shekhawat heiress—cold, untouchable, and lethal. Beside her, the digital display glowed with amber numbers, climbing higher and higher. 4:45 PM.

The floor indicator blurred as they ascended, the slight pressure in her ears a reminder of the height they were reaching. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes before she would walk into a room full of men who expected a mounring girl and found a conqueror instead.

The silence inside the elevator wasn't like the silence of the jet or the car. This was pressurized. It was the weight of gravity and legacy combined.

Viraj caught her gaze in the reflection. He didn't speak, but the stoic set of his jaw told her everything: He was ready if she was.

The elevator gave a soft, melodic chime as it neared the summit. The doors began to slide open, revealing a foyer of dark wood and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the entire golden expanse of Rajasthan.

The double doors of the boardroom were massive slabs of dark, polished mahogany. They didn't just open; they were retreated by two guards, revealing a room that felt like more like a courtroom than a corporate office.

Twelve men sat around a table made of a single piece of black granite. They were the vultures—board members, and legal advisers who had spent the last few weeks convinced that the Shekhawat Empire was finally up for grabs.

As Nandini stepped into the room, the temperature seemed to drop. The low murmur of their conversation died instantly.

Nandini didn't just stand at the head of the table' she dominated it. The men in the room looked at her and saw a philanthropist—the soft-hearted woman behind Sanjeevani who spent her weekends at orphanages.

They had forgotten who her father was. They had forgotten the blood that truly ran through the Shekhawat veins.

"Ms. Shekhawat," the man at the right, Mr. Khanna, stammered. "Surely, a woman of your.... charitable nature.. understands that business requires a firm, masculine hand. Sanjeevani needs your focus. Leave the heavy lifting of the legacy to us."

A small, chilling smile played on Nandini's lips. She slowly reached up and removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes that were as cold and sharp as shards of obsidian.

"Sanjeevani is for the innocent, Mr. Khanna," she said, her voice dripping to a low, predatory hum. "It is where I give life. But this room?" She gestured to the heavy mahogany walls and the trembling men. "This room is where I inherit the other half of my father's empire. The half that deals in shadows, not charity."

She dropped the file she had been carrying onto the granite table. The thud echoed like a gunshot.

"The 'heavy lifting' you were doing, isn't worth the ink it's written with. This file contains the updated trust—and the evidence of the kickbacks three of you have been taking."

She tapped the file kept on the table,"In here isn't just your financial fraud. It's the location of your offshore accounts, your private residences, and the names of every person you've ever paid off. I'm a Shekhawat. The demon hunting for your souls at night."

She tilted her head, a predatory glint in her eyes,"The Legacy belongs to me. This meeting wasn't about your pathetic paperwork." Her voice dropping to a smooth, dangerous silk,"It's about your resignations. And they will be on my desk by 5:15 PM."

She moved to take the seat in her father's chair, the rustling of her saree was the only sound in the charged silence. She leaned back—making it as officially hers.

A man tries to stand up, his face turning a sickly shade of grey,"You can-not ask—" Before he could speak further, Viraj took a single step forward from the shadows, making the man sink back into his chair.

Nandini looked at her wrist, timepiece with a bored expression,"Come on. Don't test my patience. Ten minutes left."

After ten minutes, The resignations of board members were at her desk, resting in front of her eyes. She smiled at them—cold, calculated. "Nice work."

Viraj brought out a file and a pen,"Sign here." With a flick of her wrist, She signed the papers, making her the official Heiress of Shekhawat.

As She prepared to leave the boardroom, Viraj caught her wrist,"Meet me in my cabin. After ten minutes." Nandini looked up at him, her dark honey brown gaze caught his amber one. She gave a curt nod before moving outside.

After ten minutes, Nandini stood before the towering double doors of Viraj's private sanctuary. A raspy voice answered from inside,"Come in." When she entered, the scent of sandalwood, aged leather, and expensive espresso hit her—a scent that was uniquely him.

The cabin was a masterpiece of minimalist luxury. One entire wall was made of floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a dizzying view of the Rajasthan skyline, now twinkling like a carpet of fallen stars under the night sky. The other walls were lined with dark, built-in bookshelves holding leather-bound volumes that looked centuries old.

At the centre sat his desk—a massive, singular slab of polished black marble that looked like it had been carved from the heart of a mountain. There was no clutter, only a silver fountain pen and the black folder that held the secrets of her bloodline. The lighting was recessed and dim, casting long, sharp shadows that made the room feel like a confessional.

Nandini entered to see Viraj seated behind his massive marble desk. He held a black folder, his expression unreadable. As she approached, He stood, his height dominating the space before he moved around the desk to stand in front of her,"Here."

He held out the folder, his voice a low, grounding rasp,"This file contains every information about your family, Ms. Shekhawat. Just as you asked." He tapped the leather of the folder in her hand,"Every detail is in here—of everyone who has been in contact with the Shekhawats since your grandfather's time."

Nandini held the file enough tight that her knuckles turned white. She didn't say anything. She couldn't. Her fingers touching the front of the folder, trembling slightly, tracing the leather sides. She looked up straight at him,"Thank you, Viraj."

Viraj nodded,"Always."

As she stepped out from his cabin, he followed her, maintaining a respectful distance. Kanan, who went to check on other systems during the meeting, was standing there. She offered a single nod to Viraj, sensing the heavy silence.

She moved towards Nandini,"We have to leave. Trisha Maasi, pichle twenty minutes mein sau(100) baar phone kar chuki hain." Her voice laced with unwavering warmth only a friend can offer,"Hum agar abhi chalenge toh, kal subah tkk hi pahunch paayenge. Get some rest."

Viraj himself drove the car to the airspace where private jet was waiting. The sun, setting over the Rajasthan horizon was now a bruised purple with orange flames. The car ride was silent.

Before Nandini could step up the stairs of the private jet, Viraj topped her,"Nandini," He lead her slightly far from the eyes of the guards,"Once you had opened the file, Be ready for whatever you see in there."

He paused a fraction—as if contemplating whether to speak further or not, his voice steady, flowing out,"Just remember. Whenever you need me, I'm one phone call away, Honey. Okay?" His expression was unreadable though the slight softening of the glow of his amber eyes gave away everything.

Nandini, looked up at him. Her mind was elsewhere enough to register the words but not the depth behind them.

With a small tilt of her head, she stepped back and moved towards the jet waiting for her. It was 5:50 PM. And it would take maximum 4-5 hours to hit the border of Visakhapatnam, Andhra Pradesh and to feel the dewy, cold breezes of Vizag's ocean—a sharp contrast to the dry and dusty winds of Rajasthan.

🥀✨️

Meanwhile somewhere in Delhi....

Dhruv's POV

I was in study, lots of files and paperwork clutters across my desk. But I? I was deep lost in those dark honey brown eyes of the same girl, I had met on that pavement, crying her heart out. I had told her,"Tumhari aankhon mein aansu ache nahi lagte.."

My breath hitched in my throat as I looked up at the portrait—a sketch I had made and framed it on the large wall facing my desk—of that small pair of dark honey brown eyes. Her eyes, as if made of pure dark honey, seems to cut pass through my soul up to this day.

"Ek na ek din, tum milogi mujhe phirse.. aur uske baad tumhe kabhi bhi apni nazaro se dur nahi hone dunga... ye Dhruv Singh Chauhan ka waada hai."

To be continued...

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Hope you guys enjoyed 😉

Do votes and comments!

Drop your honest reviews.

Regards..

Your author..