I stared at my notepad, my pen frozen. How could a man who treated women like playthings suddenly sound like a feminist crusader? He was not only a good businessman, but also a damn good actor.
Once the presentation ended, the room blurred into a hum of networking. Abhiraj didn't go to the other investors. He sat right next to me, grabbed a water bottle, and drained the whole thing in one go, his Adam’s apple bobbing rhythmically.
"I heard you’re an interior designer?" he asked out of blue, slamming the bottle down with a definitive thud.
"Yes..." I whispered, looking down at my notes, then around the conference room as everyone was busy talking about Abhiraj’s new project. Everyone seemed quite impressed by him.
"Can you design my new workplace? The main headquarters?"
My head snapped up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. "You’re a millionaire. You can afford a designer from Milan. Why me?" I gave him the same look I once reserved for high school bullies.
"Because I like freshers," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "You’re young. You have ideas that haven't been beaten out of you by corporate greed yet. Plus, if you design my office, every businessman in Rajasthan will see your work. It’s a launchpad, Kavya."
I looked at my notes again. He was playing a game. He wanted my father-in-law’s investment, and I was the bait. I glanced around the table, twelve partners, only four of whom were women. He was selling a dream to buy the room. He was pretending to be a good person which of course he was not.
"If you think I’m doing this for show, you’re wrong," he said, catching my skeptical look. "I actually believe women deserve more than four walls and a stove. They deserve a stage. And I want to build it. I genuinely want women to grow and claim the space that has always been theirs whether it’s in art, in business, or in leadership. I want them to stand tall, unapologetic, and unstoppable. Because when women rise, the world rises with them."
I raised an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "That’s rich, coming from you. You talk about empowerment, but you’ve spent half your life making sure people feel powerless beneath your thumb."
Abhiraj leaned back, his grin maddeningly calm. "Touché. But maybe I’m tired of being the villain in everyone’s story. Maybe I’m looking for a redemption arc."
"Or maybe you just want my father-in-law’s bank account," I shot back, crossing my arms.
He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "You’re sharp, Kavya. I like that. But I don’t need his money. I need his daughter-in-law’s fire."
I scoffed. "You could hire ten designers better than me."
"Better? Maybe. But not braver. You’re looking at me like you’re ready to stab me through the throat with that cheap ballpoint pen. That’s the kind of energy I want in my office."
I rolled my eyes. "You’re ridiculous."
"And you’re stubborn," he countered smoothly. "Which makes this fun."
The air between us felt heavy, a strange mix of cold fury and something dangerously warm. He leaned closer, his scent was sandalwood and expensive cigars, clouding my judgment. "So, what do you say? Will you design my masterpiece, or will you keep glaring at me until I spontaneously combust?"
I couldn't help it. A short, bitter laugh escaped me. "You? Combust? Please. You’re too full of yourself to ever burn out."
He smirked, then suddenly tilted his head, his expression turning mock-serious. "Actually, I did almost combust once."
I frowned, caught off guard. "What?"
"Yeah," he said, deadpan. "Third year of university. I ate three bowls of extra-spicy rajma-chawal before a final exam. I nearly leveled the library. My old classmates still call it 'The Great Gas Crisis of 2015.'"
I blinked. The mental image of this high-and-mighty tycoon suffering from a legume-induced explosion was too much. A laugh burst out of me, it was unplanned, loud, and genuine. "You are absolutely insane."
"Insanely charming," he corrected, wagging his eyebrows like a cartoon villain. "See? I made you laugh. That’s a 'Phase One' victory."
I shook my head, still giggling despite my best efforts to stay angry. "You’re impossible."
"And yet," he said, his voice softening as he leaned back with a satisfied grin, "you’re still sitting here talking to me, Mrs. Chauhan."
__________
Chapter 23
KAVYA
For seven and a half months, my marriage had been nothing more than a ghost story. My husband, a high-ranking officer, had vanished into the line of duty, leaving me with nothing but the ringing silence of an empty house. Rumors had trickled back to me that he had been stationed in Rajasthan for a few days for his duty but he hadn’t come home. He hadn’t even called.