Meanwhile, in a high-rise building across the street, Shaurya tapped his fingers against the glass window, his sharp eyes following the figure exiting the Malhotra Tower with quiet command.
"She's in," said a voice behind him, calm and mechanical.
Shaurya didn't turn around. His gaze was locked on the woman who had just flipped the corporate power dynamic like a seasoned strategist. The woman whose last name had been etched into the final note his father ever wrote.
"How much longer are you going to observe?" the voice asked again.
Shaurya finally turned, his expression unreadable. "I'll make my move soon. I've waited years. I want to see how she plays the game… before I crush it."
The man behind him raised an eyebrow. "But what if she's not like her father?"
Shaurya's jaw tightened. "Then I'll find out. But I won't stop until I know the truth."
----
Back inside Malhotra Tower, chaos reigned in the boardroom.
"Aarya Verma just declared war," Mr. Vyas muttered, flipping through the legal file again. "With the ROC's acknowledgment, we're looking at a direct challenge to our governance."
Karan leaned back in his chair, visibly shaken but forcing a calm demeanor. Kartik looked pale, his phone vibrating non-stop with alerts and incoming calls.
"She's bluffing. There's no way she got that level of legal traction without someone powerful backing her," Kartik whispered.
Karan's voice was low but icy. "Someone's helping her. Find out who. I want every file, every contact, every damn signature she used."
He turned toward his assistant. "Get the legal team. Now."
Kartik glanced toward the door. "She walked in with nothing but a folder, Karan. But it felt like she was holding a bomb."
"She was," Karan muttered. "And she just lit the fuse."
----
That night, in Verma Estate, Aarya stood by the floor-length window, a glass of water in hand. The city lights blinked below like restless stars. Behind her, Janhavi was pacing.
"You really dropped a grenade in there," Janhavi said, eyes wide with adrenaline. "I thought Vyas was going to choke."
Aarya smirked faintly. "He almost did."
"But you need to be careful, Arya. Karan won't take this quietly. He'll dig, twist, bribe—whatever it takes. You just walked into a lion's den and stabbed the lion."
"I didn't stab him," Aarya said softly. "I just reminded him that I've got claws too."
Janhavi shook her head, both in awe and worry. "Still... you'll need more than one win to survive this."
"I know," Aarya said. She picked up her phone and opened a secure contact. A single message popped up from an encrypted number: "You've started the storm. Need allies?"
Aarya didn't reply yet. Her mind raced ahead, already planning her next step.
----
Across the city, Shaurya sat in his dimly lit office, old files scattered across his desk like ghosts. His father's face stared back from a yellowed newspaper clipping. Headlines from that time screamed accusations. Embezzlement. Misconduct. Fraud. His father's suicide note was clipped to the final page:
"Because of Rajat Verma, I lost everything."
Shaurya ran his fingers along the edge of the paper. Next to it, he placed a recent photo of Aarya. Her eyes in the picture were fierce. Determined.
"She's not her father," he muttered. "But the blood is the same."
His phone buzzed.
Message from an unknown contact: "She made her move. The board's shaking. Time to enter."
Shaurya replied without hesitation: "Set the meeting. I want to see her. Face to face."
----
Aarya's Office
Janhavi burst through the door, her expression somewhere between confusion and disbelief. "A man showed up downstairs asking for a meeting. Said his name is Shaurya Singh."
Aarya's brows furrowed. "Who?"
"He didn't leave a card. Just said you'd want to meet him... said you both have unfinished history."
Aarya stilled.
Shaurya Singh. The name scratched at the back of her memory. Distant. Dormant. Until now.
"Send him in," she said after a pause.
Janhavi blinked. "Seriously? Just like that?"
"Yes," Aarya said, her voice calm but cautious. "Let's see which shadow wants to step into the light."
----
Moments later, the double doors to Aarya Verma's office opened.
Shaurya stepped in—tall, poised, dressed in a crisp black suit that hugged his broad frame like a second skin. His stride was slow, deliberate, calculated. He moved like a man who was used to power, and even more used to taking it from others.
The soft clink of his watch echoed as he adjusted his cuff. The moment he entered, the air shifted. Denser. Sharper. Like the pressure before a thunderstorm.
He wasn't just a visitor.
He was a storm she hadn't anticipated.
Aarya glanced up from her desk, expression unreadable, her fingers still poised over a leather-bound file. Their eyes met—and held.
A flicker.
Just a second.
But it was enough.
Shaurya had spent years imagining this woman. This heiress. This daughter of the man who'd signed his father's death sentence. In his head, she had always worn arrogance like perfume. He had pictured her with the same cold disdain as her father, the same entitled smile.
But the woman before him wasn't quite that.
She didn't rise from her seat. She didn't falter either. She simply leaned back ever so slightly in her chair, the light from the blinds carving soft shadows across her face—one of effortless power.
"Mr. Singh," she said, her voice calm but sharp, like glass wrapped in silk. "You have my attention."
Shaurya stopped a few feet from her desk. His smile was faint, unreadable—but inside, something he hadn't expected stirred.
Because up close, Aarya Verma wasn't just composed. She was magnetic.
The curve of her jaw, the fierce steadiness in her gaze, the controlled fire in her posture—none of it matched the image he had built for years. She wasn't a memory come to life. She was something far more dangerous.
Living. Breathing. And real.
"Good," he said finally, his voice low. Smooth. Measured. "Because I've waited a long time to meet you, Ms. Verma."
"You've waited a long time," Aarya repeated, her tone flat. "That's an odd introduction for a man I don't remember."
Shaurya didn't flinch. He leaned forward, planting one hand on the edge of her desk. "Not surprising. You were too busy living in your ivory tower while the rest of us were trying to survive the ruins your father left behind."
Aarya's eyes narrowed slightly. "So this is personal."
"Isn't it always?" Shaurya said with a faint, grim smile.
The air crackled—charged with unsaid words, unhealed wounds, and something neither of them could define just yet. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You think I'm like him. My father."
Shaurya's jaw flexed. "I think you carry his blood. And blood always leaves stains."
Aarya stood slowly. Her movements were graceful, but there was steel in them. She came around the desk and stopped just in front of him. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "Let me guess—you've held onto a grudge for years, waited for your moment to strike, and now that I'm standing here... I'm not what you expected."
Shaurya didn't respond right away. Because she was right.