CHAPTER 1
ADITI
The cab rattles as it turns onto a wide, tree-lined avenue—one of the rare stretches in Mumbai that looks peaceful. Almost serene. Almost. I sit up straighter, tugging at the hem of my blazer as it creases at the elbows.
I came to Mumbai a week ago. My brothers did agree on not interfering in my career, but they strictly told me that I have to stay at Aarav’s penthouse, go anywhere with a bodyguard, carry pepper spray, and call them at least twice a day.
Everything else is still fine, but the bodyguard part?
Hell no. I had to tell my very kind and supportive bhabhis, since both my brothers seem to listen only to their wives and sometimes their mothers—but there was a huge probability that Badi Maa and Maa would agree with those idiots.
My fingers are clenched around my phone, knuckles pale. I am nervous as hell.
“I am nervous as hell,” I say out loud, like admitting it makes it easier to carry. “But I know I’m going to nail this shit. I can do it, right?”
Kajal’s laughter bursts through the speaker. “Yes, you can, Aditi. It’s you. You can do anything.”
God, I love this woman. There’s something about Kajal’s voice that always steadies me.
Maybe it’s because she’s known me since I was fifteen and too scared to wear eyeliner.
Or maybe it’s because she’s the only person outside my family who knows everything—the good, the embarrassing, and the dreams I don’t say out loud.
I wish she was here, but she had to take the internship in Delhi. I huff.
“I needed to hear that,” I mumble.
“You’ve got this. Now go be the badass intern they didn’t know they needed.”
The cab rolls to a stop. I glance up to see the glass facade of Varuna Enterprises gleaming like it’s about to judge me.
It might as well. The sole reason why I chose to apply here was to understand how the hell this company that no one knew existed is now one of the biggest ones, with its expansion now global.
“I’ll call you later,” I say.
“Go kill it,” Kajal chirps before the line disconnects.
I slip my phone into my tote and take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Okay. You can do this.
The security guard at the entrance gives me a bored once-over as I tell him I’m here for the marketing department internship.
He hands me a visitor pass and waves me through like he has already had enough.
Understandable. My heels click across polished marble as I head straight to the reception desk.
“Hi, I’m Aditi Mal—” I pause. “Just Aditi. I’m an intern starting today with the marketing team.” While using my surname doesn’t mean everyone will make connections to my family, it gets easy because my face is obviously plastered on the Internet, even if I hate it.
The receptionist, a woman with a perfect low bun and a no-nonsense air, checks her screen. “Fifth floor. You can take the elevator to your right.”
I nod my thanks and press the elevator button. The doors open with a smooth ding, and I step in. Alone. Which is weird because I thought offices were always packed. But yay.
The fifth floor opens to a sleek, modern workspace. Frosted glass cubicles line the edges, while the center is more open and collaborative. I don’t get long to observe because a cheerful voice calls out, “You must be Aditi!”
I turn to find a woman; she looks almost my age, her eyes warm behind rectangular glasses.
“I’m Radha, from marketing. I’m the team’s executive coordinator, and I’ve been told to keep an eye on you.
” She rolls her eyes, “not that I believe in keeping an eye, by the way.” She extends her hand, which I take. “We can be friends though.” She winks.
I grin. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”
She gives me a quick tour—the coffee machine, the casual breakout area, and the panic room where everyone vents under the pretense of creative meetings. Her humor makes me relax a little. Then she drops me off at my desk—a clean, cozy corner with a window view. Lucky me.
"Mrs. Hetal will brief you. She's your direct supervisor," Radha explains.
No time wasted. Within five minutes, I’m seated across from Mrs. Hetal—a poised woman in a pastel saree with a voice that could calm a cyclone.
"We have a pitch to present today to the higher management," she begins. “I know it’s your first day, but I’d like you to review the deck and give us any feedback you have. Don’t be afraid to edit. Fresh eyes help.”
“Wait, really?” I blink. I thought I would have to make coffee, print papers, and all for the initial days; this is wonderful.
She smiles. “Really.”
I take the folder back to my desk, still in mild shock. No ease into the work, huh? Just headfirst into the strategy presentation review. Love that for me.
I settle in and start reading. The plan’s structure is solid, but some slides feel redundant.
I trim a few, reorganize others, and clarify the wording on a product pitch section that’s vague.
I leave a few comments too—just in case my edits feel too bold.
Halfway through, I realize I’m actually having fun.
I take the final version back to Hetal’s desk, slightly nervous.
She scrolls through the slides, nodding slowly. “Good work,” she comments. “Really clean. You’ve got a strong grasp of structure.”
“Thank you,” I reply, warmth blooming in my chest.
Okay, I like her.
In my head, I do a tiny celebratory dance.
Kind boss? Check. Doesn’t micromanage or act like an overlord? Check. I might actually survive here.
She glances at the time. “The meeting is right after lunch. Come directly to the conference room, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I return to my desk, Radha peeks over the partition. “Want to join me for lunch?”
My stomach grumbles like a traitor. “I’d love to,” I say.
We head down to the cafeteria—surprisingly modern, filled with employees, and with the scent of masala and espresso lingering in the air. I grab a paneer wrap and some iced tea. Radha gets salad.
“It’s giving first-day-of-school energy,” I say.
Radha laughs. “Welcome to corporate kindergarten.”
We settle at a table. She’s easy to talk to—funny, smart, and brutally honest.
“You are so lucky,” she says, sarcasm dripping in her voice. “You are meeting the CEO on your first day itself.”
My eyes widen. “Mr. Abhimaan?”
“Yeah.”
She leans in. “He's stuck-up. Terrifying. No one speaks unless spoken to. Some say he doesn’t blink. Ever. Try not shitting your pants, okay?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like a robot.”
She grins. “A very rich, very grumpy robot.”
“If given the chance,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows, “I could totally fix him.”
Radha snorts into her water. “Girl, save yourself. That man is a lost cause.”
We eat, we laugh, and for a while, I forget the nerves. After lunch, Radha nudges me. “Come on. We have to set up the room. The meeting’s in an hour.”
As we head toward the conference hall, I clutch my notes tighter.
I’ve worked hard for this. I’m here on my own terms.
And whatever happens next—presentation, grumpy robot CEO, or world war—I’ll face it with spine and sarcasm. Bring it on, life.