Location: Mumbai, India
The blinds were half drawn, soft sunlight slicing the polished marble floor into slanted lines. Rudra leaned back in his leather chair, a glass of neat whiskey in hand-untouched. His eyes were fixed on the file open in front of him. Pages crisp, printed with everything you could possibly know about Ivikaa Viren Ambani.
"Born into the Ambani family, Delhi. LM International School till 12th. Paris after that..." he murmured, flipping slowly through each page like he was reading a novel he already knew the ending to.
Top of her class. Opened Iva Fashion House by twenty-three. Crowned in editorials, untouched by scandal. Her dad-a cabinet-level Education Minister. Her mother-an American beauty who gave up everything for love. No wonder Ivikaa stood out like an enigma; half fire, half frost.
"Avocado toast. Black coffee. Gym at 5. Piano before bed," he read aloud, chuckling. "Diet freak with a sharp tongue and sharper jawline."
He reached the last page-her weaknesses. Family. Business. Maya, her shadow. Her brothers, her pride. The mother she never talks about. The youngest brother, the ghost that shaped her silence.
He closed the file, leaned forward, and let a slow smile crawl across his face.
"Poke her designs... or her people. That's how you move Ivikaa Ambani."
He picked up his phone and called logistics.
"Swap the maroon silk. Replace it with the substandard one. I want it out on the next international shipment. Make sure it lands in Paris with a perfect invoice."
"But sir, what if she-"
"She will notice. That's the point," Rudra cut him off, his voice low and lethal. "Let her come back roaring. That's when you tame her."
He ended the call and leaned back once more.
Well played, Rudra. You have her attention now. There's no running now, soon-to-be Mrs. Agnivanshi.
Location: Paris, France
Ivikaa sat curled on the sofa in her Paris office, sketching on her tablet, surrounded by swatches of luxurious fabric spread out like a war map. A month had passed since the joint venture with the Agnivanshis, and she was back in her domain-Iva Fashion House. Her rhythm was back. Her eyes were sharp, her mind quicker.
Just then, one of her staff members entered, holding up a dress.
"Final approval, ma'am."
Ivikaa took the dress in her hands. The moment her fingers brushed the fabric, her brows furrowed. Something was off. Her experienced fingertips moved slowly, sensing each thread.
It wasn't just wrong-it was cheap.
She brought her nail to the fabric and dragged it down. A scratch mark appeared almost instantly. Her lips thinned. The next second, the dress was torn in half with a single pull.
The assistant flinched, eyes glossy with panic.
"I-I'm sorry, ma'am, I-"
"Leave. It's not your fault," Ivikaa said, voice cold but calm. She didn't repeat herself. The girl was gone before her next breath.
"MAYA!" she shouted, already knowing who she needed.
The cabin door opened in a heartbeat. Maya rushed in, heart thudding. She knew this tone. Iva was calm when she was mildly irritated-but this? This was storm-level.
"What happened?" Maya asked, eyes darting to the torn dress and scattered swatches.
"When did the consignment arrive from India?"
"Three days back."
"Did you check the fabric?"
"I thought-"
"You thought?" Iva snapped, snatching the ruined fabric from the floor and thrusting it at her. "Pick it up."
Maya took it, hesitating.
"That's what we ordered before leaving India," she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Bring me the maroon silk sample," Iva ordered.
Maya moved with mechanical precision. She knew exactly where it was. She never needed to look for things-Iva's world was filed in her head.
Box. Third drawer. Top right.
She brought the original sample.
"Run your nail over it," Iva said.
Maya did-and then paused. The texture was different. This one didn't scratch easily. It was smoother. Richer. Real.
"That's not..."
"...what we ordered," Iva finished for her. "Someone messed it up."
Maya's face darkened. "I'm on it. I shouldn't have trusted India."
"It's not about India," Iva said sharply. "It's about someone. Devaki Agnivanshi herself oversaw the vendor list. No one dares to mess under her name unless..."
"...unless an Agnivanshi themselves is involved," Maya finished. Her brows arched.
Iva's face tightened. "Rudra. It's him. I didn't return a few calls, and this is his tantrum?"
"Petty for a businessman," Maya said with a smirk. "Well. It's not me-it's you Iva," Maya smiled wickedly. "He couldn't handle being ignored."
"Royal highness didn't like that the queen ghosted him," Maya teased.
"I guess I should return the favor in person." Iva's voice was razor-edged. "Maya, prep the jet."
Maya blinked. "Wait-what exactly are you planning?"
"He messed with my work. My reputation. If I hadn't caught this fabric issue today, I'd have been a joke at the next event. Seven years, Maya. Seven years of building this empire brick by brick-and now some love-struck royal puppy wants to sabotage it for attention?"
Iva stood up, the storm in her eyes brewing.
"Well, now he has my attention."
Maya, half amused and half terrified, asked, "So what now?"
"Tell Alex to clear the schedule. I want a full report on the consignment, vendor contact logs, and courier trail before we land. I want names. I want calls made. I want India to know what's coming-not for a visit, but for a lesson."
"And I thought I lost my Iva in Mumbai," Maya said, laughing under her breath.
"Trust me," Iva said, flipping her hair back with a grin, "I was just recharging."
She walked to the door, heels clicking like war drums. "This time, we'll do it my way. And this time-I play the villain."
"You mean you play you?" Maya asked, brow raised, lips curling into a smirk.
Iva didn't blink. "Book The Taj."
Maya arched an eyebrow. "So... not staying at the Agnivanshi Palace this time?"
She was provoking her. Deliberately.
Iva turned slowly, her heels making a deliberate click on the floor as she stared at Maya, her voice low and smooth.
"Always with a purpose."
She picked up her phone, already texting Alex the next move. Maya watched her with a mix of admiration and mild fear-the kind you feel standing too close to a bonfire.
Maya entered the studio with a mischievous smile and a bouquet of fresh lilies cradled in her arms.
"Seems like your Romeo finally hired someone competent enough to dig up your favorite flower," she said, handing them over with a smirk.
Iva took the bouquet and inhaled. Aah. Fresh. White lilies, perfectly arranged. She pulled out the small card tucked between the stems.
"A flower always deserves a flower."
A faint, amused smile played on her lips. "That's so sweet of him," she murmured, almost absently.
Maya stared at her, scandalized. "You do realize he swapped your premium silk with trash last week, right? And now he's trying to distract you with petals and poetry?"
Iva was already back at her sketches, flipping pages. "Maya, darling, if I declared war over every man who tried to play smart with me, half the industry would be in exile."
Maya sighed. "Why are you still working? Are we not leaving for Mumbai? You asked Alex to clear your schedule."
"I am not going," Iva said simply, without even lifting her head.
That stopped Maya cold. "What?"
"I said you're going."
"You what?!"
Iva finally looked up, casual as ever. "Yes. I'm flying to L.A. I've been invited to design for Camille. Hollywood doesn't wait, and monsoon will hit India soon and I hate-"
"Rain," Maya completed, slumping into the nearest chair. "You would ditch a brewing scandal for champagne and sun."
Iva gave a slow, indulgent nod. "I don't move because people want me to, Maya. I move when I want to."
Maya shook her head with a grin. "You know, that's what I admire most about you. You don't chase. You build gravity. Let them orbit."
"Exactly. Now," Iva said, flipping a page. "You'll handle things in Mumbai. Coordinate with Devaki Chachi, ensure fabric quality meets our contract-and oh, bring something for Rudra."
Maya raised a brow. "A dagger?"
"No," Iva said with a smirk. "A gift. From me. With love."
Maya's mouth fell open slightly. "You're joking."
Iva didn't blink. "I'm dead serious. Let's give him a bottle perfume from Paris. And for Raha, something from our new Paris edit along with my favorite perfume. She has taste, that one."
Maya groaned. "Remind me to never get on your bad side. Your love is... strategic."
"It's couture, darling. Tailored to fit."
After Maya left, grumbling under her breath about becoming the unofficial ambassador to House Agnivanshi, Iva leaned back against the studio sofa, twirling the note between her fingers.
Without much thought, she picked up her phone, opened the chat with Rudra Agnivanshi-a thread with only a few formal messages-and typed:
"Thank you for the flowers. Beautiful pick."
She stared at it for a moment. No emojis. No exclamation mark. Just enough warmth to intrigue, just enough cold to keep him guessing.
She hit send.
Then placed the phone face down, her laptop chimed. New email.
"Aah, Alex," she murmured, clicking it open. Always fast. Always sharp. That's why I keep him around.
It was the full deck for the Hollywood event-detailed, immaculate, exactly how she liked it. She smiled. Finally, someone who works with the speed of thought. She typed back quickly and was about to close her laptop when-ping-another email.
From: Alex
Subject: Re: Thanks Flute?
Message: Thanks, Flute? Did you mean to send that to me? Or should I start answering to new names now?
Iva blinked, confused. She clicked her "Sent" folder.
There it was.
To: Alex
Subject: -
Message: Perfect as always. Merci, Flute.
Her eyes widened for a second, then narrowed in irritation.
"Oh hell no," she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair. "I thanked Veer? In writing?"
She rolled her eyes so hard they nearly fell out.
Bloody subconscious. Always betraying her in moments of peace.
She quickly typed back to Alex:
Reply: Ignore the glitch. Technical error.
Her phone chimed again.
She thought it was another email from Alex correcting her French this time, but instead... it was a calendar reminder.
She opened it lazily-then froze.
The screen read:
"Mum's Death Anniversary + Kiaan's Birthday - 7 Days Left."
For a second, she didn't move.
Then, slowly, the air seemed to thin around her.
She forgot.
The ground slipped beneath her-mentally, emotionally. She had been juggling meetings, fixing ruined fabric, battling royalty, and playing psychological chess games-so much so that she had forgotten the most important day in her life.
Her eyes welled up, but no tears fell.
Not yet. That wasn't how she functioned.
She pressed the screen, as if touching the words would make them more real.
Kiaan's tiny laugh echoed in her mind. Her mother's gentle lullabies in a foreign accent.
Her voice barely a whisper-"I'm sorry, Mum... Kiaan..."
Maya entered the cabin quietly, holding a fresh dress-ivory silk with soft detailing, the kind Iva always wore when she wanted to look grounded but strong.
"Chale?" she asked gently. Her Hindi slipping through, as it always did when her emotions ran ahead of her polished exterior.
[Shall we go?]
She had seen the phone screen earlier. That reminder.
Of course she had-it was Maya who had set it, who had made sure it rang a week before. She knew Iva would cancel the world, reschedule the Prime Minister if she had to, but she would never miss this day. Not the anniversary. Not Kiaan.
Iva said nothing. She just nodded, eyes blank, and took the dress from Maya's hand.
Wordless, heavy, present-but distant.
She turned and walked into the washroom. Not to change.
To breathe. To fall apart-quietly, quickly, and alone.
Maya looked around. The desk was a battlefield of fabric swatches and open notebooks. She closed the laptop softly. She gathered Iva's essentials into her tote. The rhythm was familiar now. When Iva slipped into silent mode, it meant her emotions were roaring inside. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't scream-she would move. Autopilot. Muscle memory. Motion as survival.
And Maya?
She would be the landing strip for Iva's storm.
Without question. Without condition.
"Let's go, Iva," she whispered, even though the door was closed.
Not for Rudra.
Not for business.
This time, Iva was going to India for the only currency she truly valued.
Family.
In heaven.
Location: Private Jet, En Route to India
The hum of the jet was low, but inside, the energy was anything but calm.
Ivikaa sat by the window, hunched over her laptop, fingers tapping with ruthless precision. Her brows were drawn, her lips pursed-the portrait of a woman not just working, but punishing herself through it. Files were open, drafts corrected, and numbers recalculated. She hadn't said a word since takeoff.
Maya, sitting across with a coffee in one hand and concern in her eyes, watched her closely. She knew this silence wasn't peace. It was self-loathing disguised as productivity. And if she didn't intervene now, Ivikaa's rage would soon be delivered with a designer ribbon to the Agnivanshis' doorstep. That couldn't happen-not when the stakes were so high.
"So... Iva," Maya said, tilting her head, her voice deceptively casual. "You didn't list my monthly mistakes this time? It's already the 1st, and I haven't had my usual humiliation ritual yet."
Ivikaa didn't look up. "Not mistake. Mistakes," she said coldly, scrolling through a document.
Maya raised her eyebrows. "Oh, go on, do enlighten me."
Ivikaa clicked something sharply on her screen. "One-while signing the venture, the Agnivanshis conveniently omitted the financial report from 2020-21. A critical year. The one year that shows they almost bled out. Rudra deliberately kept it out."
"And yet," Maya added, "I caught it in my initial research. So?"
"So your research was flawless. You should've raised a red flag louder. But no," Ivikaa replied, voice clipped, "you let me believe I was working with full transparency."
Maya bit her tongue and nodded. "Fair."
Ivikaa continued, eyes still on the screen. "Two-in the MoU, they promised access to five containers of royal jewellery and archival clothing. We've only seen three. Two are still playing hide and seek."
Maya sighed dramatically. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted a man with good hair and vague intentions."
Ivikaa finally looked up, eyes sharp as glass. "He's a perfect businessman, not a saint."
Maya narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. "So he's a perfect businessman... but what about him as a man?"
Ivikaa blinked once. "What?"
"You know what I mean," Maya said, grinning. "That man is totally into you. He created chaos in his own company just to get your attention. Who even does that?"
Ivikaa scoffed. "A manipulative control freak?"
"Hmm," Maya tapped her chin dramatically. "Or a man who's wildly attracted to a woman way out of his league, who also happens to threaten his ego and ignite his brain cells."
Ivikaa gave her a long look.
"And don't even get me started on that slow smile, the princely charm, and that ridiculous jawline," Maya continued. "I mean, if I weren't loyal to you, I'd be in love."
Ivikaa rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched-just a little. "This is why I never take you seriously."
"And yet, here I am-trapped in a jet with a fashion icon who's furious because a handsome royal gave her flowers and fake fabric."
She builds empires while love fades?
✧ ✦ ✧
Author's Note:
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