6 ~ Drugged #2
"You shouldn't have brought her here." My tone turned sharp, controlled anger slipping through. "Underage. In my club. You think rules are optional for you?"
Ishika rolled her eyes, leaning back. "Oh please, Kartik. Nothing would've happened if..."
"Something did happen," I interrupted coldly.
Silence fell for a second.
I stepped back from the car, my gaze briefly flickering to her friend. She was still unconscious, her face unnaturally calm as if none of this chaos had touched her.
"Don't pull stunts like this again."
Her jaw tightened. She was trying very hard to hold her ground in front of me, which I noted and found largely irrelevant.
"She's an adult," she said. "She's twenty."
"She's still underage for the club." I cut across her cleanly. No raised voice. No irritation in my tone. Just a fact, delivered the way I delivered everything... finally, without room for negotiation. "Girls like her have no business being in places like this. Roaming at night. Dressed like that."
Something shifted in her expression. A flash of something hot.
"Girls like her?" she repeated.
"Yes." I held her gaze without blinking.
"Naive. Reckless. No discipline. No sense of the world they're walking into."
I paused. "She walked into my club, got herself cornered within two hours, and needed to be carried out of a locked room by a stranger. That is not independence. That is a liability."
She looked like she wanted to say something that would've earned her a very different kind of evening.
She didn't. She just shook her head as if it was not worth arguing.
Smart woman.
I turned and walked away.
Flashback ended.
I exhaled the smoke slowly thinking about it.
Two different persons.
And yet something about her posture, the way she leaned in and the way she spoke. It lingered in my mind.
I shook the thought away.
I sat down at my desk, opening files, attempting to focus but the lines blurred.
My mind drifted again back to that moment when her dupatta shifted slightly and her waist was exposed.
And that mole...
Small and perfectly placed on the side of her waist. It was impossible to ignore.
My fingers tightened around the pen.
I couldn't help but remember the curve of her waist, the way the fabric clung to her form...I exhaled sharply, leaning back in my chair.
"She's trouble."
The words left my lips quietly.
I took another drag of the cigarette, eyes darkening slightly.
And for the first time...I found myself thinking ahead.
About the next meeting and about what she'll do. What she'll say.
A slow, controlled smirk formed.
The next morning.
I was in my office, files spread across the desk, laptop open, calls lined up for the next few hours.
Everything exactly how it should be.
Controlled.
And yet...there was a faint irritation sitting at the back of my mind.
I picked up a file, scanning through numbers, forcing focus.
I came home as the working hours were finished.
But at home as well I was busy in checking my this year's budget for an upcoming textile consignment in my study
Suddenly I noticed a knock and saw my father. I concentrated back on the screen.
"Pandit ji se baat ho gayi hai," he said, walking into my study like he owned the place...which, technically, he did. "Ek hafte baad ka muhurat best hai engagement ke liye."
(I have spoken to Pandit ji, The best time for engagement is after a week.)
I didn't look up immediately. My fingers kept moving over the laptop keys.
"Hmm," I acknowledged.
Dadi's face lit up from the couch. "Bahut badhiya! Kal hi shopping pe chalte hain. Ring bhi toh leni hai."
(Great! Let's go shopping tomorrow. We need to buy a ring too.)
I finally glanced up.
Their excitement was visible.
"Main unlogo ko bhi inform kar deta hoon," father added.
(I will inform them as well.)
And that's when something shifted, a strange, unfamiliar tug in my chest.
Mukti.
Her name crossed my mind and for a moment, everything paused.
She was... different.
No girl had ever made my heartbeat accelerate like that.
Not once, until her.
I shut the thought down immediately and looked back at my screen.
Focus.
The next morning, Ayaan walked into my office.
"College se invite aaya hai," he said, placing the file in front of me. "Chief guest banne ke liye."
(You have an invitation from college, To be the chief guest.)
I scanned it quickly. My schedule was surprisingly clear that day. The name of the college wasn't unfamiliar either. We'd funded them over the years.
"Reply kar do," I said. "I'll go."
(Reply them.)
He nodded and left.
A few minutes later, Dad called asking the same thing, adding that he had been in good terms with Dean so I should attend the event and also the Dean wanted to see me and wanted to discuss something important.
I agreed and ended the call.
The college was predictable.
Formal welcome, polite smiles and handshakes.
The Dean greeted me at the entrance himself.
"Mr. Singhaniya, it's an honor to have you here," he said warmly.
"Pleasure's mine," I replied, matching his tone just enough.
"We've heard a lot about your work," he continued as we walked inside. "Your contributions to education have made a real difference."
"I believe in investing where it matters," I said simply.
He nodded appreciatively. "The students are quite excited to hear you."
I nodded and sat in front of him. The discussion continued around education, events and further development of the University. Everything about it was formal.
Exactly how I preferred it.
After the meeting, I stepped out into the corridor, loosening my cuff slightly as I checked my watch.
I turned the corner and collided with someone.
"I'm so sorry..." she said quickly.
The voice sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
My brows furrowed slightly as I looked at her and froze.
Chahat.
She stood there in a black fitted t-shirt and ripped jeans, strands of her hair falling over her face as she pushed them back hastily.
Her skin pale and smooth was visible through the slits of the denim.
My gaze lingered for half a second longer than it should have.
She saw me and froze completely. Her eyes went wide in recognition.
My expression didn't change but something inside me did.