Chapter Two The Glass Orbit
The seventy-second floor of the Kalresh-Dhen Group headquarters was a world insulated from the frenetic energy of the city below.
Up here, the carpets were thick enough to swallow the sound of footsteps, the air was perpetually cooled to a crisp twenty-one degrees, and the walls were lined with abstract expressionist canvases that cost more than most employees would earn in a lifetime.
It was the executive level. The inner sanctum.
Anshira Kaul had no official business being on the seventy-second floor.
Yet, for the third time that month, she found herself stepping out of the high-speed elevator, a stack of heavily annotated corporate social responsibility reports pressed to her chest like a shield.
She adjusted the lapels of her modest beige blazer, her heart drumming a frantic, fluttering rhythm against her ribs.
She walked slowly, her eyes darting toward the frosted glass doors at the far end of the corridor—the undisputed domain of Rovanth Kalresh-Dhen.
Anshira wasn't scheming, nor was she calculating in her movements. If anyone had asked her what she was doing, she would have blushed furiously and mumbled something about delivering files to the senior communications director, whose office just so happened to be on the same floor. And she was delivering files. But the route she took, the slight lingering near the water cooler, the way her eyes naturally gravitated toward the mahogany double doors of the CEO’s suite—that was all orchestrated by a heart too steeped in fairy tales.
Just a glance, she thought, holding her breath as she passed his office. Just to see if he's there.
As if the universe were indulging her, the mahogany doors swung open.
Rovanth emerged, flanked by two senior vice presidents.
He was mid-sentence, his voice a low, commanding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards.
He wore a midnight-blue suit today, impeccably tailored, his dark hair swept back with careless precision.
He didn't look up. He didn't notice the young communications intern frozen near the frosted glass, holding her breath.
He simply strode past, a king moving through his court, projecting that same stoic, terrifying authority she remembered from her first day.
Anshira exhaled a long, shaky breath once he rounded the corner, a soft, involuntary smile touching her lips.
To her, he was not the ruthless heir of a corporate dynasty.
He was the brooding prince of a story she had read a hundred times over.
She imagined the burden he carried, the isolation of his position, and she, in her naive, starry-eyed innocence, believed that all it would take was for him to truly look at her for the invisible walls around him to crumble.
She didn't grasp the vast, insurmountable ocean of wealth, class, and power that separated them.
That innocence was her most endearing charm, but in the halls of KDG, it was also a dangerous blind spot.
Down on the seventeenth floor, however, Anshira’s head was rarely in the clouds. When she wasn't orchestrating small, harmless reasons to be in Rovanth’s orbit, she threw herself into her work with genuine, unbridled dedication.
“I've cross-referenced the community outreach numbers from the Odisha steel plant,” Anshira said later that afternoon, dropping a meticulously organized binder onto the desk of her supervisor.
“If we highlight the vocational training programs in the next press release, it shifts the narrative away from the recent land disputes and focuses on long-term regional development.”
Her supervisor, a usually stern woman named Pallavi, blinked in surprise, flipping through the neatly tabbed pages. “You put this together since yesterday?”
“Yes, ma'am. I thought it might be helpful ahead of the quarterly review.”
Pallavi looked up, a rare smile breaking her professional facade. “It is, Anshira. Very helpful. Your diligence is… refreshing.”
Word of her talent and sincerity began to spread.
In a corporate environment built on cutthroat ambition and backstabbing, Anshira was an anomaly.
She was genuinely kind. She remembered birthdays, she brewed extra coffee for the late-night shifts, and she never took credit for another person’s work.
Slowly, she built a quiet but solid reputation.
Colleagues began to view her as reliable, a good-hearted presence in an otherwise cynical machine.
But even as her professional life flourished, her personal life remained tethered to the quiet, middle-class roots she had left behind.
Two months later, the relentless pace of Delhi gave way to the familiar, comforting humidity of Pune. Anshira sat on the balcony of her parents’ modest apartment, the smell of roasted cumin and monsoon rain hanging in the air.
She had relocated to Delhi for the KDG job, an overwhelming transition that her parents had supported with nervous pride. Whenever the corporate pressure threatened to swallow her whole, she boarded a weekend flight back to Pune to ground herself.
Her mother, Sunita, stepped out onto the balcony, carrying two steaming ceramic mugs of cardamom tea. She handed one to Anshira, taking a seat in the woven cane chair opposite her.
“You look tired, Anu,” Sunita noted, her keen eyes scanning her daughter's face. “There are shadows under your eyes. Are they working you to the bone up in that glass tower?”
“It’s just the quarterly reports, Ma,” Anshira smiled, bringing the hot mug to her face and letting the steam warm her skin. “I’m learning so much. The company is incredible.”
Sunita blew gently on her tea. “The company, or the CEO?”
Anshira nearly choked on her sip. She coughed, her cheeks instantly flooding with heat. “Ma! What are you talking about?”
“You think I don't listen when you talk?” Sunita raised a knowing eyebrow.
“For the past six months, every time you call, you manage to slip his name into the conversation.
'Mr. Kalresh-Dhen announced this,' or 'Mr. Kalresh-Dhen was on my floor today.
' You're a smart girl, Anshira, but you have the subtlety of a brass band.”
Anshira looked down at her lap, picking at a loose thread on her jeans. “It's not like that. He’s just… he’s an impressive person. It’s inspiring to work under someone like that.”
“Inspiration is one thing. Infatuation is another,” her mother said gently. She set her tea down on the small metal table between them and leaned forward, her tone shifting from teasing to a quiet, maternal gravity.
“Anu, look at me.”
Anshira reluctantly lifted her eyes.
“I know you,” Sunita continued softly. “I know the books you read, the movies you watch. You look at the world through a lens of romance. And there is nothing wrong with having a soft heart. But men like Rovanth Kalresh-Dhen… they are not characters in your novels.”
“I know that,” Anshira murmured defensively.
“Do you?” Sunita sighed. “People with that kind of wealth, that kind of power—they live in a different reality. They are like beautiful, priceless sculptures in a museum. They are lovely to admire from a distance. You can look at them, you can appreciate the craftsmanship, but you must never convince yourself that you can take them home. Because if you try to cross the velvet rope, you will be the one who gets arrested, not the sculpture.”
“I’m not trying to take him home, Ma,” Anshira said, a little too quickly. “I just admire him. It’s harmless.”
“I hope so,” her mother replied, reaching out to pat Anshira’s knee. “Just guard your heart, beta. The world you're working in doesn't believe in fairy tales.”
Anshira nodded, taking another sip of her tea.
She heard the words, she understood the logic behind them, but deep in the hazy, golden fog of her first real crush, she simply didn't let them sink in.
How could her mother understand the way the air shifted when he entered a room?
How could she explain the quiet hope that fluttered in her chest every time they happened to share an elevator?
The sculpture metaphor was clever, Anshira thought as she looked out over the Pune skyline, but sculptures were made of stone. Rovanth was flesh and blood. And as long as he was, she would let herself dream just a little bit longer.
Nearly a year passed in this delicate rhythm.
Anshira settled comfortably into her role, receiving a promotion to a junior communications executive.
Her desk was moved closer to the windows, her responsibilities expanded, and her innocent, unspoken infatuation with Rovanth remained a quiet, comforting constant in her daily life.
Until the reality of Ananya arrived.
It wasn't a sudden explosion, but rather a slow, creeping realization that permeated the office gossip until it was an undeniable fact. Ananya Singhania was a senior legal counsel for KDG Capital, operating out of the fierce, unyielding domain of Meenakshi Kalresh-Dhen.
Anshira first saw her during a cross-departmental briefing in the main boardroom.
Ananya was, in a word, flawless. She possessed an elite, effortless polish that could not be bought, only inherited.
Her posture was impeccable, her silk blouses draped perfectly, and she spoke with the calm, measured authority of someone who had never been told 'no' in her entire life.
She came from a family of prominent corporate lawyers—a social circle that ran parallel to the Kalresh-Dhens, if not quite at their towering altitude.
More importantly, it became widely known that she was in a serious relationship with Rovanth.