CHAPTER 12! THE MEN ARYAV REGRETTED KNOWING
"And he'd burn half the city down for her."
The sentence lingered quietly inside the warm kitchen, its weight settled comfortably against the polished marble counters.
Aadhira looked toward the staircase upstairs where distant, muffled laughter still echoed faintly through the mansion halls-Ayaan's quieter, rhythmic voice occasionally cutting through Vaani's dramatic, high-pitched yelling like exhausted parental supervision trapped inside a nine-year-old child.
Her expression softened, a tender, protective curve touching her lips.
"Good," she murmured finally, her voice steady. "Someone should."
Shaurya looked at her for one long, analytical second. Then, his posture shifted slightly-the sharp, ruthless elite lawyer disappearing just enough for her older brother to remain visible underneath.
"He already does," Shaurya said quietly.
Upstairs, civilization had already collapsed completely.
Vaani sat cross-legged in the center of Aadhira's bedroom floor, surrounded by plush toys, crayons, sketch papers, and the aftermath of several terrible decisions.
One of Aadhira's expensive, imported silk cushions had somehow become a "mountain fortress," while the delicate fairy lights hanging near the mahogany bookshelf now represented "lethal laser security systems."
Naturally.
Ayaan sat near the edge of the mattress with the exhausted dignity of a high-ranking politician trying to maintain constitutional order in a rapidly collapsing nation.
"You cannot declare war every ten minutes, Vaani," he informed her firmly, his small arms crossed tightly over his school uniform.
"I absolutely can," Vaani replied without looking up, placing a toy plastic dinosaur directly on top of a giant teddy bear's head.
"Because I'm the boss."
" No , you are not , not for me."
"I am."
Ayaan stared at her for three full seconds. "You're deeply annoying."
Aadhira entered the bedroom right at that moment, balancing a silver tray filled with fresh, warm chocolate cupcakes topped with thick, luxurious swirls of dark frosting and extra chocolate chips.
Immediately-
"CUPCAKES!"
Vaani launched herself across the expensive carpet with terrifying, unguided velocity.
Ayaan followed her toward the edge of the bed with significantly more composure, but his small dark eyes were locked entirely on the sugar.
Within minutes, chocolate frosting covered half the immediate perimeter. Vaani had somehow managed to get a smudge of chocolate directly on her own left eyebrow, while Ayaan sat quietly beside Aadhira on the plush mattress.
Aadhira leaned in, gently wiping a streak of dark icing from the corner of his mouth with the soft edge of a tissue.
The moment lasted quietly, wrapped in the soft amber glow of the bedroom lamps.
Ayaan shifted, leaning his small shoulder against her side without even thinking about it, his natural defenses dissolving.
Aadhira's hand automatically moved into his dark hair, her fingers tracing the soft strands in a slow, soothing rhythm.
It was natural.
Effortless.
Like her soul already recognized his.
Eventually, the massive surge of sugar and sheer physical exhaustion defeated even Vaani's infinite energy reserves.
By the time city's heavy sky deepened into a full, midnight blue, both children had fallen fast asleep, tangled together beneath Aadhira's soft cream duvet.
Vaani slept dramatically, sprawled completely across the center of the mattress like a fallen revolutionary after a successful coup.
Ayaan slept curled tight against Aadhira's left side, one small hand still loosely holding the edge of her embroidered sleeve even in the depths of sleep.
Aadhira lay beside them in the quiet darkness, beneath the dim, twinkling glow of the fairy lights overhead.
For the first time in years, the room felt lived in instead of merely expensive.
Meanwhile-several kilometers away-the global headquarters of the Shinghania empire remained violently awake.
Glass.
Steel.
Unyielding power.
The towering corporate monolithic skyscraper cut through the glittering Mumbai skyline like a dark monument built entirely from sheer intimidation and expensive legal immunity. Inside the executive floor, silence moved differently than it did in the rest of the world.
It was sharper. Colder. Men walked with quieter footsteps there.
Because Aryav Rai Shinghania worked on that floor.
And fear, in its ultimate corporate form, paid rent there permanently.
Shaurya stepped out of the private, secure elevator with one hand tucked casually into his trousers pocket and a thick, leather-bound legal file tucked securely beneath his arm.
The remaining late-night employees immediately straightened their postures as he passed their desks.
Not because he was loud or aggressive, but because men connected to Aryav never needed to raise their volume to command a room.
At the far end of the long, marble corridor, the massive black double doors of the primary office stood partially open. Voices drifted faintly from inside, low and sharp.
Shaurya entered without knocking. Because unlike the rest of humanity, he possessed permanent survival privileges within these walls.
Inside the enormous executive office, floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooked the sprawling, glittering expanse of city, currently drowned beneath a rain-soaked darkness.
The room smelled faintly of expensive single-malt whiskey, heavy cedarwood, and a thin trace of cigarette smoke.
Aryav stood directly near the windows. One hand was inside his pocket, while the other held a heavy crystal glass of amber liquid.
Black shirt.
Rolled-up sleeves.
The steel of his watch glinted sharply beneath the low, recessed amber ceiling lights.
Across from him, Vivaan stood beside the massive obsidian conference table, reviewing several financial documents projected across a sprawling digital screen.
The atmosphere inside the office felt significantly less like a traditional workplace and more like a high-level war room preparing for total economic destruction.
Neither man looked surprised when Shaurya crossed the threshold.
Aryav's heavy obsidian gaze shifted toward him once, his voice a low baritone. "You are late."
Shaurya dropped the heavy legal file onto the obsidian table with a dull thud, pulling out a chair. "Your internal finance department has the collective intelligence of decorative living room furniture."
Vivaan looked up from the illuminated digital documents, his face unreadable. "That's still highly generous of you."
Shaurya opened the file immediately, shifting into a cold work mode without a single syllable of transition. "The Singapore acquisition clause has serious exposure issues.
If the opposition's legal team notices subsection fourteen, they'll drag this arbitration out for months in the high court."
Aryav listened in perfect, chilling silence. No interruption.
No ego.
Just an intense, attention to detail.
For the next twenty minutes, the entire room shifted into ruthless, corporate precision. Numbers. Foreign clauses. Hostile takeovers. Risk assessments.
Three men discussing the legal and financial destruction of a billion-dollar opposition like elite surgeons discussing basic anatomy.
Finally, Shaurya shut the final document folder with a clean snap.
"Done," he said simply.
Vivaan nodded once, his fingers already swiping across the screen to secure the encrypted data.
Aryav took a slow, deliberate sip of his whiskey before turning his dark eyes toward Shaurya. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Shaurya replied immediately, turning his head toward Vivaan with dangerous, calculated casualness.
"Coffee."
Vivaan didn't even look up from his phone. "Baad main."( later.)
Shaurya let out a dramatic, long-suffering sigh, leaning back in his leather chair.
"Baad mein coffee thandi ho jaati hai." (Later, the coffee gets cold.)
Vivaan signed another document on his tablet calmly, his tone completely flat and sarcastic.
"Main garam kar leta hoon phir peeta hoon. Garam karne ka bhi toh option hota hai na." (I heat it up and then drink it. The option to reheat exists, doesn't it?)
Shaurya's eyes narrowed into slits behind his glasses. "Baad mein phool murjha jaate hain." (Later, the flowers wither.)
Vivaan finally looked up, his sharp eyes meeting Shaurya's directly across the table, entirely expressionless. "Toh mein unhe phenk ke Naye phool le aata hoon." (Then I throw them away. I bring new ones.)
Aryav closed his eyes briefly, inhaling a slow breath through his nose.
He looked already deeply, profoundly tired.
Shaurya leaned one elbow onto the conference table stubbornly, refusing to drop the bait. "Baad mein maan nahi karta." (Later, one doesn't feel like it.)
Vivaan picked up another operational file, his voice smooth and dangerous.
Shaurya inhaled slowly, opening his mouth. "Baad mein-"
Aryav's voice cut through the expanse of the executive office like a cold steel blade.
Absolute, instant silence dropped over the room.
Both men looked toward him immediately.
Aryav stood near the glass windows now, one hand pressed briefly against his forehead in sheer, unadulterated exasperation while the city lights burned like distant fires behind him through the rain-dark glass.
Then, very quietly-with the absolute, exhausted disappointment of a man completely abandoned by modern civilization-he spoke.
"Seven billion people exist on this planet," Aryav muttered darkly into the silence of the room. "Aur mujhe tum dono mile." (And I ended up with the two of you.)
Shaurya without missing a beat
Vivaan slowly lowered his head
Dead silence settled over the war room for a beat.
Vivaan looked back at Shaurya.
"Chal. Coffee pila lau."
Shaurya adjusted his glasses with quiet victory.
Then, in an aggressively delicate Haryanvi accent:
"Mane chaah pasand hai."
Aryav closed his eyes again.
___________________________________________
At this point, if you're enjoying the story, a follow would make my day. ??
It's hard to stay motivated when there's no support.