Chapter 6
The soft morning light trickled through the sheer curtains of Shruti’s suite, casting warm amber glow across the dark hardwood floor.
Shruti sat cross-legged on the plush window seat, a warm mug of green tea cradled between her palms. Her gaze drifted out towards the vast expanse of the blue ocean, where gentle waves lapped against the rocky shoreline below.
On the lawn, the grass looked pristine again, as if the dramatic, laughter-filled tumble from yesterday afternoon had never even happened.
Yet, every time Shruti closed her eyes, she could still feel the lingering phantom weight of Akhil’s hands around her waist, the deep rumble of his laughter vibrating through his chest, and the intense, burning heat of his dark eyes staring down into hers.
She let out a slow, shaky breath and leaned her head back against the glass pane.
"Get a grip, Shruti," she whispered softly to herself. "He was just saving you from falling onto the rocks. That's what he does. He protects people."
Seeking a distraction from her racing thoughts, Shruti set her mug aside and opened the bottom drawer of her leather luggage trunk. She pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal, the diary she had kept during her college years, almost eight years ago.
She turned the yellowed pages casually, her lips curving into a nostalgic smile as she read through handwritten entries about university exams, journalism lectures, and late-night study sessions with Myra.
But as her fingers turned to a specific page dated eight years back, her smile softened into something far more bittersweet.
It was an entry from the night she turned nineteen.
Shruti remembered that night vividly. She had participated in a major national college journalism competition, spending three whole months researching and writing a feature story.
She had been utterly convinced she would win.
Instead, due to political favoritism among the judges, her entry had been completely disqualified without a fair reading.
She had been crushed. Heartbroken and embarrassed, nineteen-year-old Shruti had locked herself in the gazebo at her family's garden, refusing to speak to anyone, crying quietly in the dark.
Raghav had tried to comfort her with silly jokes, but it hadn't worked.
And then, Akhil had walked into the gazebo.
At twenty-seven, Akhil was already a rising star in the corporate world, sharp, ambitious, and intimidatingly handsome.
He had walked into the dark gazebo holding a giant box of dark Swiss chocolates and two cans of cold soda.
He hadn't offered empty, hollow pity. Instead, he had sat down on the wooden bench beside her, opened the chocolates, and handed her one.
'"You know why they disqualified you, Shorty?"' twenty-seven-year-old Akhil had said in his calm, deep voice.
'"Because my writing wasn't good enough,"' nineteen-year-old Shruti had sobbed, wiping her tear-stained cheeks.
'"No,"' Akhil had stated firmly, his dark eyes fixed on hers with an intense seriousness that made her heart stop. '"They disqualified you because your truth was too big for their little minds to handle. You write with raw courage, Shruti. Never let a room full of cowards tell you your worth."'
He had stayed with her in that dark gazebo for two full hours, listening to her rant about journalism, encouraging her dreams, and making her laugh until her stomach hurt.
That was the night Shruti Malhotra had fallen hopelessly, deeply in love with Akhil Raheja.
It wasn't because he was wealthy or powerful or unbelievably handsome. It was because beneath his formidable exterior, he saw her. He respected her mind, protected her spirit, and believed in her when no one else did.
Shruti gently closed her old college journal, running her fingers over the worn leather cover.
"Eight years," she murmured quietly to the empty room. "Eight years, and nothing has changed."
She had spent nearly a decade trying to convince herself that her love for Akhil was just an immature teenage crush, a silly phase she would eventually outgrow.
She had dated other men, traveled across continents, and thrown herself into her career.
But being under his roof, seeing the fierce, unyielding protectiveness in his eyes every time he looked at her...
the old feelings were rushing back with terrifying, unstoppable force.
***
By five o'clock in the afternoon, the quiet atmosphere of the Raheja Mansion began to shift into a buzz of elegant activity.
Because Shruti was unable to leave the fortified estate safely due to the ongoing threat from Reyansh Khanna, Akhil had decided to host an exclusive, high-level corporate dinner at the mansion instead of at a public luxury venue.
The dinner was organized to celebrate a major investment milestone for the new Lake Como resort venture and was attended by select board members, influential business partners, and close family friends.
In her suite, Shruti stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the delicate golden strap of her dress.
Since her luggage mostly contained practical travel clothes, her best friend Myra had personally curated and delivered a stunning designer outfit for the evening through Akhil’s security protocol.
Shruti was wearing a fitted, wine-red silk sheath dress that fell gracefully to her knees.
The rich color complimented her warm golden skin tone perfectly.
The dress featured an elegant cowl neckline and a subtle side slit, balancing sophistication with a touch of modern charm.
Her dark hair was styled in soft, cascading waves over her shoulders, and minimal gold jewelry completed her look.
A soft knock echoed at her bedroom door.
"Come in!" Shruti called out, turning around.
The door opened, and Vihaan Arora, Akhil’s playful twenty-six-year-old cousin, stepped into the room. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with an unbuttoned velvet bow tie dangling around his neck.
Vihaan stopped dead in his tracks, letting out a low, dramatic whistle.
"Well, well, well," Vihaan grinned, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "Look at you, Shruti! If my cousin Akhil sees you in that dress, he’s going to double the estate security just to keep every single man in Mumbai away from you!"
Shruti rolled her eyes playfully, though a blush crept onto her cheeks. "Shut up, Vihaan! You look ridiculously formal yourself. Did Akhil force you to wear that velvet bow tie?"
"He threatened to cut my marketing department budget if I showed up in sneakers," Vihaan complained dramatically, walking into the room and grabbing an cashew from a dish on her desk.
"By the way, your brother Raghav and your parents have just arrived downstairs.
The guests are assembling in the main formal lounge. "
"Is... is Akhil downstairs?" Shruti asked, trying to sound casual as she adjusted her golden earring.
"Oh, yeah," Vihaan smirked knowingly. "Akhil is downstairs in full billionaire king mode, tailored charcoal tuxedo, scotch glass in hand, charming the investors. And, of course, his biggest fan is already glued to his arm."
Shruti paused, her hand hovering near her ear. She turned her head to look at Vihaan. "His biggest fan? What do you mean?"
Vihaan made a subtle gagging motion with his hand. "Sonia Kapoor arrived twenty minutes early. She's been practically hovering over Akhil like a glamorous shadow ever since she stepped through the front gates."
Shruti felt a sudden, sharp knot tighten in her stomach.
Sonia Kapoor.
Sonia was a high-society heiress, a former fashion model, and the daughter of a prominent industrialist. She was famously glamorous, dangerously sharp, and spent half her life on luxury yachts in Europe.
She had been openly pursuing Akhil Raheja for over two years, frequently appearing beside him at charity galas and high-profile business launches.
The tabloid magazines repeatedly labeled Sonia as the most likely woman to finally tame Mumbai's most eligible bachelor.
"Right. Sonia," Shruti said quietly, turning back to the mirror, her knuckles turning slightly white as she gripped her clutch purse.
"Don't worry," Vihaan chuckled, oblivious to her internal turmoil.
"Akhil usually tolerates her for business reasons because her father holds major hotel permits in Europe.
But between you and me... the way Sonia flirts with him makes even 'me' uncomfortable.
Come on, let's head downstairs before Raghav eats all the appetizers. "
***
The main formal lounge of the Raheja Mansion was a masterpiece of luxury.
Glass doors opened out onto an illuminated marble terrace overlooking the dark, rolling ocean waves.
High-profile guests dressed in tuxedoes and haute couture gowns mingled gracefully while drinking vintage champagne.
A classical string quartet played soft, elegant music in the background.
When Shruti stepped down the floating glass staircase alongside Vihaan, her parents, Devendra and Kavya, immediately walked over to greet her.
"Shruti, beta! You look so lovely!" Kavya smiled, kissing her daughter's cheek warmth. "Are you feeling comfortable here? Is the staff taking good care of you?"
"I'm doing great, Mom," Shruti smiled, hugging her mother tightly. "Joseph and Chef Ramesh are treating me like royalty. Honestly, it's way too much luxury for me!"
"It's about time you got used to luxury," her father Devendra said with a rare, approving smile, patting her shoulder.
Raghav walked over holding a fruit mocktail, giving his sister a quick, affectionate shoulder squeeze. "Glad to see you looking relaxed, Shorty. Reyansh Khanna’s legal troubles are mounting fast. Akhil’s team filed three major corporate injunctions against him this morning."
"That's great news," Shruti said, though her dark eyes were already secretly scanning the crowded room.
And then, she saw him.