It was the month of August in Ahmedabad. Monsoon clouds hung heavy in the sky, casting a grey shadow over the city. Rain poured without mercy, flooding the streets and slowing everything to a crawl. Horns blared, people rushed for shelter, and the city moved under the weight of water and frustration.
But inside Hotel Narayana—one of Ahmedabad's most luxurious seven-star hotels—the world felt entirely different. The chaos outside faded into a soft background hum. Fine cutlery clinked gently against porcelain plates, the rich aroma of gourmet food filled the air, and warm laughter floated across elegant, candle-lit tables. For the guests inside, the rain was nothing more than a beautiful backdrop.
On the 15th floor, in a private suite with tall glass windows and gentle lighting, a woman sat alone. The storm outside didn't touch her—but a storm had already taken root inside her.
Her name was Anjali Mehta.
She stood 175 cm tall, her presence sharp and commanding. Slim, graceful, and effortlessly elegant, she turned heads without trying. Her long black hair framed an oval face, calm and composed. But it was her eyes—deep, steady, and unreadable—that truly stood out. They didn't show pain or fear. They showed control.
At just 24, Anjali was India's youngest self-made billionaire. A tech visionary and the founder of AM Corporation, she had launched her first startup at 18. In just six years, she had built an empire—leading tens of thousands of employees and revolutionizing the tech space. Her name was known in every boardroom. Her success was unmatched.
But tonight, business was the last thing on her mind.
She was here for two reasons.
The first: her boyfriend of two years, Rohan Mehra, had cheated on her. And while that would break most hearts, Anjali wasn't most people. What bothered her wasn't the betrayal—it was the fact that she had lowered her guard. People often called her the "scandalous CEO," known not only for her brilliance but also for her ever-changing boyfriends. Love had never been her priority. But Rohan had felt different. For the first time, she had let someone stay longer than usual. Maybe she had started to believe he was the one.
She had been wrong.
And the second reason? It wasn't just about love. Rohan had crossed a line no one ever dared to.
He had stolen confidential blueprints—AM Corporation's next big innovation—and sold them to JK Corporation, their fiercest rival.
That wasn't personal. That was business.
Tonight, Anjali hadn't come to plot revenge. She hadn't come to cry either.
She came to drink. To breathe. To let it all out—the frustration, the disappointment, and the dull sting of letting someone in.
Because tomorrow, she would return stronger.
Just as Anjali was about to pour herself another glass of wine, a knock echoed through the quiet suite.
She placed the bottle down and walked over to the door, heels clicking softly against the marble floor. When she opened it, a hotel waiter stood before her, holding a tray with another bottle of wine and a selection of light snacks.
But it wasn't the wine or the food that caught her attention.
It was him.
The waiter was striking. Tall—easily around 180 cm—with broad shoulders and a well-built frame. His skin was fair, his jawline sharp, and his dark hair neatly styled. He looked nothing like the usual hotel staff—more like someone out of a fashion magazine. His uniform was perfectly pressed, and he carried himself with quiet confidence.
For the first time that night, Anjali's tired eyes lit up, a hint of curiosity replacing the weight they had been carrying.
"Room service, ma'am," he said with a polite smile, his voice deep but gentle.
She stepped aside to let him in, watching him move across the room with smooth ease as he set the tray down on the table.
"Didn't order this," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"It's complimentary from the hotel," he replied, meeting her gaze without hesitation. "We were told the guest here might appreciate something extra tonight."
Anjali gave a short, amused smile. Maybe the staff had overheard the tone of her earlier calls—or maybe they just knew how to read the kind of silence that filled a room like this.
"Well," she said, picking up the glass of wine. "You guessed right. But... I want something else from you."
He paused, his expression unreadable. "And what would that be, ma'am?"
She took a sip of the wine, then walked closer, her sharp eyes flickering to the name tag pinned neatly on his shirt.
"Ajay," she said, testing his name on her tongue before continuing, her tone calm, direct, and without shame. "One night. Just tonight. No strings. I'll pay you one lakh rupees."
There was no seduction in her voice. No desperation. It was just an offer. Clean. Blunt. Like a business deal.
Ajay looked at her—really looked. The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was full of unspoken thoughts, questions, and calculations.
After a moment, he said quietly, "That's not something I usually do."
She nodded slowly. "Neither do I."
Then, she turned away and walked back to the table, leaving the choice with him.
The rain outside continued to fall, but inside that room, time had slowed to a single, weighted moment.