Chapter 4
Aditya
My eyes sting from exhaustion as I stare at the sales report, the numbers starting to blur together.
I had just wrapped up a kick-ass long meeting with the investors of ApexTech Innovations, only to rush straight here, to my dad’s office at Thakur & Co.
, the import-export business he built from scratch, and which I now oversee.
Juggling responsibilities between both companies is certainly not easy, but it’s something I signed up for, so I have no complaints.
In fact, I love the adrenaline rush that comes with it—it keeps me constantly on my toes.
I’m still lost in the numbers when a knock on the door pulls my attention away from the report.
“Come in,” I say, looking up to see my personal assistant, Naitra, walk in.
In her mid-forties, Naitra exudes confidence and a quiet authority. Her neatly tied dark hair, sharp features, and ever-present rectangular glasses give her a professional look, while her crisp formal shirt and pants make it clear that she’s focused and here to work.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging other women.
But I’ve come across plenty who dress to scream for attention.
Not Naitra. And that’s exactly why I’m comfortable having her here.
I trust her completely. Efficient and always composed, she has been my right hand since I joined Thakur & Co.
She keeps everything running, ensuring nothing slips through the cracks even when I’m occupied with other responsibilities.
“Mr. Thakur,” she says, coming to stand in front of my desk and placing a brown folder before me.
“These are the revised numbers for Thakur & Co.’s latest import and export reports.
I had the finance team double-check the figures, especially the discrepancies in last quarter’s shipments.
There were some inconsistencies in the freight costs, but we’ve reconciled them.
I thought you’d want to review them before we finalise everything. ”
I let out a small sigh, rubbing my temples before reaching for the folder. “Good. The last thing I need is another financial headache.” I flip it open and scan the numbers. “Did we figure out what caused the discrepancies? I don’t want this becoming a recurring issue.”
Naitra nods. “Yes, it was a miscalculation on the logistics team’s end. They overlooked some adjustments in freight charges due to fluctuating fuel prices. I’ve already instructed them to implement a stricter review process going forward.”
I nod, skimming through the pages as I take in the numbers. “Good. Make sure they stick to it. I don’t want careless mistakes messing with our margins again.”
“If you want, I can schedule a meeting with the team to go over the changes.”
I glance back up at her. “Do that. Schedule the meeting for tomorrow. I want a full breakdown of what went wrong and how they’re fixing it.” Leaning back in my chair, I close the folder. “Is that all?”
Naitra gives a curt nod. “Mr. Thakur requested to see you. He said it’s important.” She pauses for a moment before adding, “He’s in his office whenever you’re ready.” Here, she refers to Mr. Thakur as my dad, Ram Thakur.
I nod, exhaling slowly. “I’ll meet him right away.” Even after passing the reins to me, Dad’s presence in the office is constant. And knowing him, if he’s asking for me, it’s definitely not just a casual chat.
Naitra nods and turns to leave.
Standing up, I grab my phone and head to his office, which is right next to mine. Stopping at the door, I take a brief moment before knocking lightly.
“Come in,” Dad’s deep voice calls out, commanding as ever. Even without seeing him, I can already picture him—seated behind his desk, his sharp eyes scanning the documents in front of him, going through everything with an eagle eye.
I push the door open and step inside. As expected, Dad is seated behind his large mahogany desk, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he studies a document.
My gaze scans the room. His office carries the same old-school elegance it always has—dark wood furniture, shelves lined with business journals, and a faint scent of his signature cologne.
He looks up as I walk in, setting the papers aside.
His sharp, deep-set eyes study me with the same intensity like they always have, his bald head only adding to his no-nonsense persona.
Dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up and a navy waistcoat, he looks every bit the businessman who built this company from the ground up.
Gesturing toward the chair in front of him, he says. “Sit, son.”
I take a seat, leaning slightly forward as I rest my arms on the desk.
“What is it, Dad?” I ask, meeting his gaze.
“I heard you approved a one-month paid leave for Mr. Sujit, our finance manager.”
I nod. “Yes. Mr. Sujit had a family emergency, Dad. His wife had to undergo major surgery, and he needed to be there for her. He’s been with the company for years, and I wasn’t going to deny him that.”
“Business doesn’t run on emotions,” Dad says, his voice firm, almost dismissive. “Compassion is good, but not at the cost of efficiency.”
I don’t flinch at his words. I’ve heard this lesson countless times growing up.
Despite being a loving parent, he made it a point to drill this mindset into me, a belief I’ve never fully connected with.
Because, to me, business isn’t just numbers and policies—it’s built on people. And people aren’t machines.
“I understand, Dad,” I say simply, before adding, “But businesses are run by people, and people have lives beyond these office walls. If we don’t support the ones who keep this company running, how can we expect loyalty in return?
Before approving Sujit’s leave, I made sure his team could handle things in his absence.
I spoke to the senior accounts executive and put a system in place to keep everything running smoothly.
If there’s an issue, I’ll deal with it. But turning my back on someone who’s always had ours, just because of some policy, is not my style of working. ”
Dad scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s an idealistic way to look at things, but the real world doesn’t work like that,” he says, his tone sharp.
“Loyalty doesn’t pay the bills—efficiency does.
You think people stay because they feel valued?
No. They stay because the company is strong, stable, and pays them well.
The moment that changes, they’ll walk away, no matter how much support you’ve given them.
” He places his hands firmly on the desk.
“You want to run things your way? Fine. But don’t expect sympathy when that same kindness comes back to bite you. ”
I exhale slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “Noted, Dad,” I say, my tone even. I know better than to argue—this conversation will go in circles, and neither of us will back down. Loosening my tie, I ask, “Is there anything else, or can I get back to work?”
“Nothing else about work,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “But your mother made your favourite pudding. She wants you to drop by.”
I nod, a small smile curving my lips despite the heated conversation I just had with Dad. Ever since I moved into the penthouse, I’ve made it a point to visit them on weekends. Mom, of course, never misses a chance to remind me that no matter how busy I get, seeing me is what makes her happy.
“I’ll stop by,” I say, my tone lighter than before. These back-and-forths with Dad may exhaust me, but Mom’s cooking is always reason enough to visit. And after today, I could definitely use that to lift my spirits.
Dad gives a small nod, satisfied with my answer. “Good. Your mother will be expecting you,” he says, then adds with a rare hint of amusement, “You know how she gets when you don’t show up. She starts wondering if you are beginning to forget her.”
I chuckle because it’s true. Mom has a way of overthinking things when it comes to me. Maybe it’s because I moved out sooner than she would have liked, or maybe it’s just the way she is. “I wouldn’t miss her pudding for anything.”
Dad’s expression softens, just a little. “She made the pudding herself this time—didn’t even let the cook touch it. Said it had to be perfect.” He pauses, then almost absentmindedly adds, “Stubborn woman. She’s always been that way. Guess that’s why I married her.”
I glance at him and grin. My parents had a love marriage—something Dad doesn’t talk about often, but when he does, there’s always a trace of that old warmth in his voice.
Even now, despite his usual no-nonsense demeanour, it’s clear that in his own way, he still admires her just as much as he did back then.
“I’ll be there, don’t worry,” I say as I push back my chair and rise to my feet. “I should get back to work.”
“Go on.”
I turn and head toward the door. As I step out, I make a quick stop at Naitra’s desk. She looks up from her screen and meets my gaze.
“Hold my calls for a while,” I tell her. “I don’t want any disturbances.”
She gives a curt nod. “Understood.”
Without another word, I stride back to my office and close the door behind me.
Letting out a breath, I flop back into my chair, rubbing a hand over my face before turning my attention to the stack of work pending in front of me.
I dive right back in, scanning reports, responding to emails, and making a few necessary calls.
I get so lost in the numbers and details that I don’t realise how much time has passed until a knock on the door pulls me out of my focus. Looking up, I see Naitra standing there.
“I’m heading out for the day, Mr. Thakur. Do you need anything before I go?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. See you tomorrow.”
She nods and quietly closes the door behind her.
I glance at the clock and finally register the time—nine at night.
Exhaling, I decide to wind up for the day.
It’s been long enough. More importantly, I need to go to my parents’ house.
I promised Dad I’d be there, and I need to get going before Mom starts bombarding me with calls.
Gathering my things, I make my way out, exhaustion settling into my shoulders. Sliding into my car, I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.
At the red signal, my eyes drift absentmindedly towards the sidewalk and then freeze.
There she is.
The beautiful woman I promised myself I’d keep at arm’s length, the one I swore I wouldn’t waste a second thinking about—the very one who, despite every warning, has managed to own my mind every damn second.
Hell, I don’t even know her name. I haven’t seen her since that brief run-in at her coffee shop days ago, but she’s everywhere.
It’s like she has this damn magic of slipping into my thoughts when I’m least prepared for it.
Like right now. She’s standing at the curb, a smile on her lips as she hands out cupcakes to a bunch of street kids.
Their small faces light up with joy, as if she’s just handed them the world.
There’s something about her and that smile of hers—it definitely does a number on me.
Warm. Genuine. The kind that makes it impossible to take my eyes off her.
I continue to stare at her as the streetlights cast a soft glow around her, catching in her hair and making her look like an angel.
And just like that, I forget everything else—my work, the long hours, the exhaustion weighing on my muscles.
My right hand moves on its own, resting against my chest—right where the ache begins.
What the hell is this woman doing to me?
I’ve got no answers. No clue how I got my emotions tangled up.
All I’ve come to realize is that this goes far beyond mere attraction.
It’s something else… something I can’t name, and that pisses me off.
Damn it, I don’t do complicated. I don’t do emotions.
And I sure as hell don’t deal in feelings.
But this… whatever the hell it is… won’t let up.
Before I can do anything, maybe get out and walk straight to her, the light shifts to green.
My jaw tightens as I exhale hard, hands gripping the wheel.
Reluctantly, I hit the accelerator, trying once again to shake her from my mind but I fucking can’t.
She’s taken up space inside me where it counts, and that scares the hell out of me more than I care to admit.