13. Blueprint
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I dipped my brush into blue paint, dragging lazy strokes over the canvas like I had all the time in the world, like my brain wasn’t doing full-time espionage with a side of panic.
The tiny earpiece tucked behind my hair buzzed softly.
Good.
Connection steady.
I kept my face blank, innocent, clueless, borderline stupid bcz who knows if this room had cameras? Maybe Mr. 90’s had hidden surveillance in the air freshener or something. He looked like the type.
So I painted.
Like a good little girl.
But inside?
I was on full red alert.
After a few moments I heard everything footsteps, shuffling chairs, papers sliding.
Then his voice.
“Alright, Charvi, start.”
Ah. So that was her name.
Good. One down.
A woman’s voice floated into my ear, confident and sharp.
“Sir, presenting the Rajgira Collection. Inspired by the grain’s natural texture—”
“Show it,” Yugant cut her off.
Mouse clicks. A projector humming.
Charvi continued, “Look one features a warm earthy palette with granulated fabric texture to mimic the coarse finish—”
“Why warm?” he asked sharply as I kept painting on canvas.
“Because Rajgira shades fall in muted browns and rust tones. We kept the palette grounded.”
“Good. But look three neckline is too safe. Fix it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Approved. Except the neckline.” I painted a fake little swirl on the canvas.
A calm male voice entered. “Sir, Arvind presenting the Pearl Shore series.”
“Proceed.”
“Pastel gradients inspired by morning tides. Hand-beaded pearls—”
“Gradients look lazy,” Yugant said bluntly. “Your transition from shade one to two is abrupt.”
“Sir, we’ll blend the boundaries more smoothly—”
“Alright, fix the gradient on look two.”
“Yes, sir.”
Next came another male voice.
“Sir, Abeer here. Presenting Kansa Metal Fusion.”
The rustle of papers. Someone clicked a pen. Yugant sounded faintly interested.
“Finally. Something risky. Show it.”
“Metallic fabrics, structured shoulders, bronze–silver fusion—”
“Fabric flexibility?” Yugant demanded.
“Tested. Reinforced stitching. No tearing, no stiffness.”
“Hm.” A pause. “Good. Full approval. Don’t touch anything, start the actual work.”
Lucky guy.
He practically got a gold star.
Then a soft, nervous voice: “Sir… Manvi. Presenting Saubhagya Collection.”
“Show.”
“Traditional theme. Heavy gold motifs, dense embroidery—”
“Too dense,” Yugant cut in. “For what audience? Maharani saa’s wedding? Reduce by 30%. Let the fabric breathe.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“So, you all still need revision? Is this what you’ve done in all this time?” Yugant’s voice cracked through the earpiece—cold, and very much done with everyone’s excuses.
A nervous shuffle followed.
Then Charvi’s hesitant voice: “Sir… you rejected four thousand nine hundred ninety-seven designs in the last one month—”
A loud THUD exploded in my ear. I flinched, my brush slipping off the canvas.
He must’ve slammed the table. Hard.
Yugant’s voice came back, low, lethal. “I rejected them because they were garbage. Not because I enjoy wasting my time.”
“Do you people think this is some school-level exhibition?” he continued, tone cutting like polished steel. “This is the Grand Aurum Exhibition—the world’s most competitive design stage. It happens once every five years. And you bring me mediocrity?”
Silence.
Thick enough to choke on.
“My family spent years building the Raizaada legacy into something that cannot be ignored. I won’t let a single one of you tarnish that because you’re getting comfortable.”
“Sir… we’re trying our best—”
“Then your best is not enough.”
He cut him off ruthlessly. Chairs creaked. Someone sucked in a breath.
Yugant continued, voice colder: “This team gets one thing straight today—Aurum doesn’t forgive mistakes. I don’t forgive incompetence. If any design goes out without meeting the Raizaada benchmark, the person responsible will not be able to work anywhere else.”
Another pause.
“No warnings after today. No excuses. No slip-ups. Deliver perfection or step aside.”
Damn.
Even I sat straighter—l and I wasn’t in the damn meeting.
“And one more thing… if anyone even thinks of leaking details again—your career ends the same day I find out.
The brush slipped from my hand and clattered onto the floor.
So that means…
If I steal these designs…
I’ll burn their jobs?
Their careers?
Their years of work?
A rotten, ugly feeling twisted in my chest.
Am I doing good?
Or am I just dragging innocent people into hell for my own selfish mission?
My heart didn’t whisper—it punched me straight in the ribs.
How can you do that, Dhwani? How can you ruin someone else’s life for your own gain?
I suddenly couldn’t breathe.
The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer, the air thick like smoke. My fingers fumbled as I pulled out the earpiece and walked quickly toward the huge window in his cabin.
I pressed a hand against the glass, trying to steady the shaking inside me.
Mumbai stretched out in front of me—loud, alive, unstoppable.
Mumbai…
The city of dreams.
Where people arrive carrying hopes stitched to their ribs, holding their last fragments of faith, praying the world doesn’t crush them.
Where ambition and desperation breathe in the same air… and sometimes one kills the other.
And here I was… deciding whether to break someone’s dream just to survive mine.
I swallowed hard, my voice lost but my thoughts screaming.
“I came from Rajasthan all the way to Mumbai to find my brother,” I reminded myself, my own reflection blurry in the glass. “It’s been two months… two damn months… and I still haven’t found anything.
My fingers tightened.
“Will I even find him?”
“Or am I running behind a shadow I’ll never catch?”
The city glowed back at me, uncaring.
I stood there, caught between guilt and desperation, wondering how much sin one heart could carry before breaking.
“I need my brother… Yes, I need him. Safe. Alive.”
The words rattled inside me like broken glass.
“He saved me years ago… gave me a place to stay… became my shield when the world spat me out. I can’t let him stay in the dark forever. I’ve already wasted enough time. I can’t break anymore.”
My throat burned, but I kept my eyes fixed on the city outside.
“I have to be strong. I know what I’m doing is a sin, but sometimes the world doesn’t give you clean choices. Sometimes you choose the wound that hurts others… or the one that kills you.”
My breath shivered out of me.
“I’m stealing to save the only person who ever saved me. And God help me… I’ll carry the guilt. I’ll carry all of it. But I won’t lose him.”
I hadn’t even realised when my vision blurred, but suddenly my whole face was wet. I wiped my cheeks quickly, only for another tear to slip out, hot and stubborn.
“No, Dhwani… no. Don’t do this. You’ll break.”
I whispered it like a warning, like a plea.
But my chest tightened anyway, and before I could choke it back, a small, cracked sob escaped me. I pressed my lips together hard, forcing them shut, swallowing the next sob like poison.
Not now.
Not here.
Not when everything depended on me holding myself together.
Suddenly the door clicked open behind me.
Footsteps slow, steady, coming straight toward me.
I wiped my face quickly with my sleeve, refusing to turn around. I knew it was him. And for the first time since entering this house, I couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Not when every breath I took here was a lie.
I inhaled deeply, bracing myself. But suddenly his arms slid around my waist.
My breath hitched.
His warmth pressed against my back, his breath brushing the side of my neck—l slow, steady, dangerous.
“Admiring the view?” Yugant murmured, voice soft. Too soft. Soft enough to break me.
I bit my lip hard, forcing the sob back down. My life had been so fucked up from the start but this?
This man?
It was a new kind of cruelty.
A sharp little hiccup escaped me.
He froze.
Then gently, too gently he turned me around by my shoulders.
I kept my eyes down, staring at the carpet, praying he wouldn’t see anything.
“What happened?” he asked, voice dipped in concern. “Did you get hurt somewhere?”
I shook my head quickly.
He lowered himself a little, trying to catch my eyes.
“Dhwani…” his tone softened more, melting at the edges, “why are you trembling? Look at me.”
I still didn’t.
His fingers cupped my jaw not forceful, just guiding.
His brows pinched. “ Why are you… crying, baby?”
Tell him, Dhwani.
Tell him everything.
Tell him you’re Samarth Rathore’s sister.
Maybe—maybe he’ll help you.
Maybe he’ll find your brother.
Maybe you don’t have to carry this alone.
I opened my mouth.
One second.
One heartbeat.
But the truth slammed back into me like a slap. He doesn’t even know you can speak.
He thinks you’re mute. And worse…He thinks your brother slaughtered his family.
A man who believes your brother is a murderer?
He won’t save him.
He won’t save you.
He’ll destroy you both.
I shut my mouth again, jaw trembling.
He just reached up and wiped the tears off my cheeks slowly, like each tear personally offended him.
Then he pulled me in, closer, pressing my head to his chest.
His scent hit me instantly—clean, rich, warm. It wrapped around me like a blanket I didn’t deserve.
Against my will, my eyes closed.
Just a few breaths.
Just a few seconds of peace inside the arms of the very man I was betraying.
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Next time, she’s staying with me. Wherever I go.
She felt too small in my arms, too breakable.
Soft.
Innocent.
Nothing like the world I live in.
I don’t even know if I should keep her this close… or push her far away before my world swallows her whole.
Because a girl like her?
Either I ruin her or I never let anyone else touch her shadow.
And that’s what scares me…
I’m getting attached.
Too fast. Too deep.
To a girl who isn’t mine.
To a girl who should never be mine.
Even if she could be…
I don’t deserve her.
Not after last night.
How the hell do you kiss a stranger…
when your heart beats only for her?
I used to feel guilty thinking I was falling for my ex–best friend’s girlfriend.
That alone made me feel rotten.
But now?
Now I want her.
Fully.
Shamelessly.
And I’m terrified.
Because she deserves a man who keeps his eyes only on her every second, every breath not someone who kissed another woman,
even if it meant nothing.
Someone better.
Cleaner.
Worthier.
Not me.
I felt her body go slack in my arms exhaustion, panic, whatever storm she’d been fighting, finally dragging her under.
Gently, I lowered her onto the couch, adjusting her head so she wouldn’t wake with a cramp.
I slipped off my overcoat and draped it over her small frame.
Her fingers were stained with paint—a whole story written on her skin.
I smiled and turned toward the canvas.
One glance.
Then another.
No.
No, no—what the fuck had she drawn?
I stepped closer, heartbeat punching my ribs.
It was the exact same design Charvi had shown me in the boardroom just minutes ago.
Not similar.
Not inspired.
Identical.
Including the exact revisions I’d ordered.
In 3D
With paint.
What the actual hell.
My heartbeat slammed against my ribs as I leaned in, palms pressing the edge of the table.
No.
This couldn’t be real.
Nobody could replicate that design this perfectly. especially not when it existed only in rough draft and in confidential conversation.
And definitely not with brush strokes.
I dragged a hand through my hair, disbelief punching through me.
Did she really… paint a Raizaada jewellery blueprint?
With acrylics?
How the fuck did she do that?
My eyes shot to her sleeping form on the couch.
Soft face.
Paint-stained fingers.
Wrapped in my coat like something breakable.
She looked fragile.
Almost helpless.
And suddenly…I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed, terrified, or both.
My phone buzzed, snapping me out of the trance. I fished it out of my pocket. Ishaan flashed on the screen.
I exhaled, already praying for something good.
My pulse kicked.
And just like that, the ground didn’t just slip; it vanished under me.
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