The morning sun rose like a mockery.

Soft and golden, as if the world wasn't tilting dangerously beneath my feet. As if last night hadn't torn open something inside me I didn't know how to name.

By the time I was dressed—navy blue pantsuit, hair pulled into a sharp low bun, heels high enough to remind the world I wasn't here to be underestimated—I'd already locked away the girl who'd trembled under Rivan's touch.

That girl wouldn't survive the boardroom.

I would.

When I entered the dining hall, the staff stood straighter. 

I didn't speak. 

Just a nod, a quiet signal that I wasn't in the mood for small talk or pleasantries. My father was already at the table, a half-eaten breakfast in front of him, papers spread like a war map.

He glanced up. "You're on time."

I sat across from him, slicing into a piece of toast I didn't intend to eat. "You said I needed to be ready."

His eyes narrowed faintly, measuring me. "And are you?"

"I'm here."

"Good," he said. "Because the people you'll face today won't care that it's your first time. They'll test you, bait you, underestimate you. That's their mistake. Don't let it become yours."

My gaze didn't waver. "I don't need them to believe in me. I need them to regret underestimating me."

A muscle ticked in his jaw.
Approval.
Quiet and subtle.

"You sound more like your mother than you realize."

I flinched. 

He never spoke of her. 

Not unless he wanted to disarm me.

But I didn't let it show.

The car ride to the Mehra Group's headquarters passed in silence, though I could feel the tension humming in the air like a warning.

We arrived fifteen minutes early. 

Classic Arvind Mehra move—early enough to unsettle everyone else, late enough to signal dominance.

When I stepped into the glass conference room beside him, a ripple of surprise passed through the executives already seated. I saw it—the double takes, the raised brows, the quick glances toward my father for confirmation.

Yes.

I was meant to be here.

And no, I wasn't going anywhere.

Rivan was already seated at the far end of the table.

Of course he was.

His suit was black, sharp, expensive enough to be untraceable. He didn't look at me when I entered, but I felt it—like a shift in the air. Like the moment before a strike.

The meeting began.
Talks of market trends, acquisition forecasts, risk assessments.
 I listened, absorbed, measured. 

Until—
"The Avasthra deal," one of the board members said, turning slightly toward Rivan. "You've reviewed the revised terms?"

Rivan didn't glance at me, but I saw it. 

The flicker. 

The faintest twitch of his jaw. 

"Yes. The firm is over-leveraged. If we want to acquire, we'll need to restructure internally within seventy-two hours."

"And is that... feasible?"

"It's aggressive," he replied smoothly. "But possible. If we move without delay."

I leaned forward, finally speaking. "Unless the firm files a delay tactic in court citing unfair acquisition. Their CFO has a legal background—he'll see this coming."

All heads turned.

Rivan's eyes finally met mine.

And the room fell silent.

He didn't smile. 

Didn't blink.

Then, slowly—"Impressive."

My father looked between us, clearly noting the tension. "Ishita's been studying the case."

Rivan tilted his head slightly, voice deceptively calm. "Clearly."

For the next hour, I held my ground.
Offered insights.
Called out gaps in data projections. 

I wasn't just present—I was effective. And when the meeting ended, I felt it. A shift in the way they looked at me. 

Not as a girl in her father's shadow.

As a threat.

Rivan was the last to leave the room.

 So was I.

As I gathered my notes, he spoke, quiet and deliberate.

"You're not afraid to challenge me."

I didn't look up. 

"You're not above being challenged."

He stepped closer. "You should be careful. Power is a seductive thing."

I closed the folder slowly, finally raising my eyes. "So is danger. But I've never been one to look away from the flame."

A beat.

"You really don't scare easily," he murmured.

"I already told you," I said, brushing past him, "I don't run."

But his voice followed me, low and laced with something unspoken.

"Then I hope you're ready for what's coming."

I didn't reply.

Because truth be told, I wasn't sure I was.

But I also knew something he didn't.

Neither was he.

.

.

.

.

That evening, Meher video called.

"I saw the market news. You crushed the meeting, didn't you?"

"Something like that."

"And he was there?"

"Of course he was."

"You okay?"

I hesitated. "No. And that's what's scaring me. I'm not shaken. I'm... drawn."

Meher's face softened. "Just don't get too close. He's the kind of man who won't just pull you in. He'll remake you."

I looked past the camera to the city lights beyond my window.

"I know," I whispered.

But maybe that's exactly what I wanted.

To be remade.

Not by him—but by the war he brought with him.

And win it.

Even if I burned doing so.

.

.

.

.

The night crept in without warning.

I'd barely touched the food the staff had left in my suite—salmon glazed with citrus, jasmine rice, something delicate with saffron—and instead poured myself a drink I didn't usually reach for. Neat. Strong. Something that tasted like resolve.

Outside, the city glittered like a lover with secrets. Inside, I was unpeeling layers I'd spent years forging in steel.

Rivan's words echoed in the quiet.
"You should be careful. Power is a seductive thing."

But it wasn't the warning that haunted me.
It was the way he'd said it.

Not like a threat.
Like a promise.

The phone buzzed once. A calendar alert. My father's dinner with Senator Deshmukh—canceled. Which meant I had the house to myself for at least two hours. No surprise inspections. No questions. Just silence.

And then—another buzz.
This time, not from the calendar.

A message.
From an unknown number.

11:47 PM
You missed something in the Avasthra brief.
Want to know what?

I didn't reply.

Another buzz.

Don't worry. This isn't a trap.
I'd never play that simple.

I stared at the screen.

Then typed:
I didn't miss anything.
You just didn't expect me to speak.

Seconds passed.
A minute. 

Then—
You're right.
I didn't expect you to speak.
But I liked the sound of it.
Come downstairs.

I stared at the text.

Was I really about to walk into this?

No.

But I was about to walk toward it.

★

He was leaning against the hood of a black Jaguar in the driveway, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms, tie loosened, eyes unreadable under the low lamplight. The air smelled like rain that hadn't arrived yet—charged, thick, electric.

"I don't like games," I said as I approached.

"Everyone likes games," he replied, pushing off the car. "They just pretend not to. Especially when they start losing."

"You think I'm losing?"

"I think you're starting to play."

I crossed my arms. "What do you want, Rivan?"

He took a step closer. 

Not touching, not crowding. 

Just existing too near. "You, Ishita Mehra, are more dangerous than half the people in that boardroom today. Because you don't bluff."

"I don't have to."

His eyes darkened, just a shade. "And that's exactly what makes you a threat."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Just silence stretched thin between us. 

The kind that demanded to be broken.

"I came out here because I thought you had something to show me," I said finally.

"I do." He held out a file. 

Not digital. 

Physical. 

Old-school. 

Confidential. 

"Their internal funding routes. Off-record. You were right about the CFO's background—but you missed the shell company his wife operates."

I opened the file. 

My breath hitched—barely. 

Enough for him to notice.

"You could've told me this in the meeting," I said, flipping through the documents.

"I could've," he murmured. "But I wanted to see if you'd come."

"Why?"

His voice dropped, lethal in its softness.
"Because I need to know if you're a rival... or a weapon."

A chill ran through me.
Not from fear.
From recognition.

Because part of me had been waiting to be sharpened.

"Neither," I said, closing the file. "I'm a storm. Try to wield me, and you'll get struck."

He smiled then. 

The first real one I'd seen.

Not amused.
Not mocking.

Impressed.

"I think we're going to destroy each other."

"Maybe," I said, stepping back.

"But I'll rebuild faster."

.

.

.

.

Back in my room, I locked the door behind me with fingers that trembled just slightly.

Not because of fear.
Because of hunger.

Not for him.

But for the war we'd just begun.

And this time, I wasn't going to survive it.

I was going to own it.

Even if the only thing left of me afterward was ash.