Chapter 2
“Justin… talk,” I repeated, swirling the amber liquid in the glass as if it could somehow untangle the chaos in my head.
“Sir, it’s about the Russian deal,” Justin began hesitantly. “There’s a rumor circulating that we’ve cut corners during the renovation. It’s causing a bit of a stir online.”
I slammed the glass down on the counter, the echo reverberating through the silence. “Rumor? Or fact?”
“Rumor,” Justin quickly clarified. “But the timing couldn’t be worse with the upcoming international conference. We’ve got to address it before it gains more traction, or we’ll lose ‘The Palace Project.’”
“Deny it. Deploy a team. Fix everything if even one tile is off,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.
“Yes, sir. Also… your father’s worried about the fire incident.”
“I’ll handle it. Remind him to take his meds and stick to yoga.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And schedule a meeting with the legal team first thing in the morning. I want every detail about this project on my desk before we begin.”
“Understood, sir. Have a good night,” he replied before the line clicked off.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. This wasn’t just about the deal.
It was everything—this constant pressure, to control every moving piece in an empire that felt like it could crumble if I looked away for even a second.
And then there was Sasha, my nosy cousin who also happens to be my PR manager and a constant source of my headaches.
She’d been calling nonstop, texting even more, each message more insistent than the last. Something about updating my public image, aligning with some new trend, or God knows what. Barely a second passed before my phone buzzed again. A message lit up the screen:
We need to discuss the PR strategy for the fire incident ASAP. Call me.
I groaned inwardly. Sasha and her relentless obsession with branding—it was a never-ending loop of debates, spreadsheets, and hypothetical PR disasters.
My headaches didn’t stand a chance.
Dealing with her meant diving into another battle over optics and damage control, the last thing I wanted tonight.
Of course, she couldn’t just leave me alone. This incredibly impatient woman decided to video call me. At one in the damn morning. Perfect timing, as always.
“It’s 1 am, Sasha,” I grumbled, trying—and failing—to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“I missed you, too, Hothead.” Taking a slow, deliberate sip of her coffee, she narrowed her piercing gaze at me through the screen. “Now tell me, why do you look absolutely batshit?”
“Don’t you have a life other than pestering me with rhetorical nonsense in the middle of the night?” I shot back, running a hand through my disheveled hair.
There she was—perched in her ridiculous, town-sized corner office, likely in a designer suit worth more than my driver’s annual salary. And that pen she was twirling between her fingers? Probably encrusted with enough gold and diamonds to fund a small country.
And no, none of this luxury was on my tab.
Sasha could easily be crowned the richest young woman in the world without touching a single cent from me.
She’d never cashed even one check from my company, despite her insistence on handling all my PR.
She was, technically, a self-appointed, unpaid “employee” whose sole mission in life seemed to be ensuring that no article, interview, or social media post dared to mention even a hypothetical gray hair on my head.
“You need to fire your mirror. It’s lying to you.”
“And you need a hobby that doesn’t involve harassing me at midnight. What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait till morning?” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Why do you look like there’s a moth trapped in your pants?”
“What do you want, Sasha?”
“Still getting those headaches?” she pressed, her face softened for a second. “Please tell me it’s not some stunningly beautiful woman wreaking havoc on your life again.”
“None of your business.” My jaw tensed.
“Good… the world can handle a super grumpy heir of the Oberoi Empire, but not a heartbroken one.”
“Is this some hidden fantasy of yours? Just making up annoyingly dramatic scenarios.”
“We’ve been pushing back millions of interviews, rescheduling endless meetups, and your adoring fans, who’d practically kiss your shoes just to keep their bottom lines safe, are getting restless.”
“Remind me again—how am I supposed to fire you?” I grumbled, glaring at the screen. “Can I sue you for the ‘mental trauma’ caused by your unwanted, torturous late-night blabber? Or maybe for spreading rumors that I have an ‘untreatable genital disease’?”
Sasha’s laugh echoed through the video call. “I can’t afford to have any girls around you. All the blood in your body seems to stop reaching your brain once you start feeling things.”
“Stop killing me and let me get some damn sleep.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Never,” I quipped, rubbing my temple as the headache grew worse.
“Don’t complain when people start knocking down your gates in Beaufort with cameras flashing,” she grinned, “You’re needed back, Mr. Manav Oberoi. Just get your act together and return.”
I snapped the laptop shut.
Finally, peace—until my phone started ringing again. If I toss this phone into the ocean, will anyone miss it?
“What… now?” I groaned, answering without even bothering to open my eyes.
“Hey Manav, it’s Roy… How are you, buddy?”
I sighed, finally sitting up and rubbing my temples. “Hey… man… How’ve you been?”
“All good, bro… listen, the prosthetic software needs some tweaks, and I have to be with the team for a few more days,” Roy’s voice crackled, the connection bad.
“Hello… Roy?” I tried, but the line broke up.
“Oh, and Manav…” His voice returned, clearer this time. “Kiara is at the house.”
I froze for a second. Kiara…?
“Could you take care of her until I'm back?”
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Sure… Don’t worry. Just focus on your work, and congratulations on the big launch, buddy.”
“Thanks, brother…” he said, his voice fading before the call disconnected abruptly.
He was probably in some underground lab in an undisclosed location, designing breakthrough software for prosthetics while the world’s superpowers fought to get a piece of it.
Knowing Roy, his “big launch” was probably revolutionary.
Roy and I go way back to our college days, during the few months he spent at our university for a training program.
At first, he was just another acquaintance—someone you nod at in the hallway.
But it didn’t take long for us to become friends.
Later, Meeta and Kartik joined the mix, and the four of us created memories that still make me laugh.
Over the years, we’ve stayed in touch—sometimes for work, other times for no reason at all. Roy met Dad when our company collaborated with him.
Six months ago, when I told him I’d be in Beaufort for a business deal, Roy practically hijacked me from the airport. He set up the guest cottage as my penthouse and made it clear in no uncertain terms. “You are not leaving my property until your work is finished here.”
He’s never talked much about his family…
and I’ve never pressed. Occasionally, though, he’s mentioned his sister, Kiara Randhawa—an international best-selling author.
Beyond those brief mentions, I didn’t know much about her until now.
Today, I found her wandering around the kitchen like a lost, hungry cow in search of some food.
There’s something different about her. It’s not just her beauty, though that’s undeniable.
It’s the way she smiles, like she’s carrying secrets she doesn’t want the world to see.
Those deep brown eyes, big and glassy, surrounded by impossibly thick lashes, hold a mystery that pulls you in.
There’s a vulnerability in those eyes, but at the same time, a quiet, unbreakable strength.
And then there’s the way she looks at me. It’s as if she can barely tolerate being in the same room.
What the hell did I do? And why—why does it even bother me?
It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. I swore off complications a long time ago.
Life’s hard enough without adding… this.
Whatever this is, I don’t need it. I need to stop offering food to wandering cows and humans, no matter how captivating their wide, questioning eyes might be.
Right. No more distractions. Stick to the plan: work, sleep, repeat. Keep it simple.
And then, of course—the phone. The damn phone. It never stops ringing.
I groaned, grabbing it off the counter. “Yes?” I answered, too drained even to bother checking the caller ID.
“Hey, Handsome!” Meeta’s voice came through, brimming with her usual, unstoppable excitement.
“Why are you calling me at midnight?” I asked, sitting up straighter.
“I can call you whenever I want,” she replied without missing a beat.
“Aren’t you on your honeymoon? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, busy—eating your husband’s head off or something?” I already regretted picking up.
“No surprise, he’s your best friend. Just like you—always glued to the laptop, working day and night. Honestly, he should’ve just married his office… or maybe his phone.”
“Oh, and you would’ve let him?” I began pouring water into a glass.
“Hey! Mr. Manav Oberoi, I didn’t marry your best friend just so you could team up against me every time!”
“Remind me again why you married him, then? I warned you, remember?”
“As if I had a choice… mmmm baby…! I’m on the call with Mr. Hothead,” she giggled, clearly distracted by Kartik’s antics in the background.
“Meeta… why don’t you two finish whatever that is, and I’ll call you later?” I sighed.
“Somebody missing some action?” Kartik’s voice broke in. I could picture his grin perfectly.
“Hi, Kartik…” I replied, rolling my eyes. “By the way, can you please put your laptop away for a few days? I can’t keep answering calls every time your wife complains about you going into ‘non-husband mode.’”
“Hahaha… she’ll call you anyway, man… So, how are you?”
“All good… How are you both?” I replied.
“We’re blissfully happy—married… and very much in love. Let’s just say we’re keeping busy—barely sleeping, missing breakfasts…”
“When are you coming back? I need to be here a little longer than planned…”
“Man, I don’t get it… You usually handle properties like a cup of coffee. How many more months do you need to finalize this one in Beaufort? And why is it that you, the CEO of the Oberoi Group—have to be the one dealing with this alone?”
“It’s… important to me,” I replied, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension. “And listen… Rocky Mehra is on the move…”
“I’ll handle that piece of shit,” Kartik interjected firmly. “Bro,” his voice turned serious, “You trust me to run a multibillion-dollar company, but not this beautifully old building?”
“Listen, I gotta go. Don’t let Meeta hit something on your head again.”
“Manav, for the last six months, I've been asking you—what’s so special about this house that it’s taking you forever to even step inside, let alone sell it?”
“It was… Mom’s.” My voice was quieter now, the sound of waves crashing softly in the distance, providing an odd sense of comfort. “She spent her final weeks there.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Shit… I'm coming there next week, and we'll figure it out together, okay?”
“No need,” I replied quickly, “Just get back to India when you’re free. The empire needs its COO back soon. And tell Meeta to stop reading so many romance novels. They are fiction, not real.”
“Don’t worry, that ship has already sailed,” Kartik laughed. “By the way… met any girl over there?”
“Why. Do. I. Need. A. Girl?” I muttered, half-considering if technology had advanced enough for me to punch him through the phone.
“Seriously? I thought you’d know,” Kartik laughed.
“I don’t know what kind of magic your very talented wife has cast on you, but if you don’t stop, I might have to hit your nose again. And trust me, she won’t find you as charming without it,” I said, massaging my temple to keep the growing frustration at bay.
“You know what? Let’s get you hooked, buddy! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Remember back in college? The girls couldn’t stop talking about you… The magician in the bedroom!” He was clearly drunk.
“There were no girls, no stories, and no titles,” I replied firmly, the throbbing in my head intensifying. “Just focus on your honeymoon and leave my personal life out of it… Please.”
“Not gonna happen,” he and Meeta giggled like co-conspirators in the background.
“Good night, Kartik,” I said, cutting off the call before his drunken rambling could spiral further.
Kartik and I practically grew up together. We graduated together, and when I returned to India to help Dad manage the business, he stepped into the COO role.
Over the last three years, he’s proven himself—sharp, loyal, and instrumental in turning the company around. His support and friendship have always been constant, no matter how chaotic life got.
And then there’s Meeta. Kartik met her during our London days, and from the moment they locked eyes, they’ve been in a real-life version of Tom and Jerry.
Watching them bicker like two kids over a popsicle one minute and swooning the next, has become an exhausting yet oddly entertaining part of my life.