The Oberoi Charity Gala was the event of the season. The city’s elite gathered in glittering gowns and expensive suits, chandeliers throwing golden light across marble floors. Cameras flashed as luxury cars rolled up, reporters whispering about alliances, deals, and gossip.
Aarav Malhotra stepped inside with calculated composure.
Every head turned.
The whispers started immediately—
“Is that…?”
“Yes, Rajveer Malhotra’s son.”
“He’s back after a decade.”
“Wonder what he wants now…”
Aarav ignored them all, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a predator. He wasn’t here for champagne or small talk. Tonight was reconnaissance—the first step into enemy territory.
His gaze locked on the grand stage, where a banner read: Oberoi Foundation Annual Gala.
The name burned like acid.
Oberoi.
The very family that ruined his father, his childhood, his peace.
“Bhaiya,” Meera whispered at his side, nervous in her simple gown. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come. They’ll all be watching you.”
“They should,” Aarav replied coolly. “It reminds them Malhotras still exist.”
—
Inside the hall, servers moved with trays of wine, laughter mingled with violin music, and artificial smiles sparkled brighter than the jewelry. Aarav was about to turn toward the business circle when he froze.
He saw her.
Across the room, near the floral arrangements, stood a woman in a lavender saree that shimmered softly under the lights. Her long hair framed her face, her smile genuine—different from the plastic grins around her. She leaned down to adjust a child’s bowtie, laughing when he thanked her.
For a brief, dangerous second, Aarav forgot himself.
Then Meera’s whisper shattered it.
“That’s Anaya Oberoi.”
The name slammed into him like ice water. Aarav’s jaw tightened, his knuckles flexed.
Of course. An Oberoi.
And fate, twisted as ever, had drawn his eyes to her.
Before he could look away, Anaya’s gaze met his across the hall. Her smile didn’t falter—if anything, it deepened, curious and warm. She began walking toward him.
“Careful,” Meera murmured, tugging his sleeve. “That’s Karan Oberoi’s sister. Don’t—”
But Anaya was already before him.
“You must be Aarav Malhotra.” Her voice was soft yet confident, carrying no hint of malice. She extended her hand. “Welcome back to India.”
Aarav studied her for a beat too long. The hand of an Oberoi—his enemy. His vow thundered in his mind.
Yet, with a measured smile, he took it. “And you are?”
“Anaya,” she said simply. “Anaya Oberoi.”
The name was meant to sting. And it did. But Aarav’s mask never cracked.
“An Oberoi,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting venom. His lips curved into a smirk. “Of course.”
Anaya tilted her head, amusement flickering in her eyes. “That sounded… loaded.”
“Not at all,” Aarav said smoothly, releasing her hand. “I just didn’t expect kindness from this side of the family.”
Her brows lifted slightly, but instead of offense, she smiled. “Then perhaps you don’t know us as well as you think.”
Before Aarav could respond, a booming voice interrupted.
“Aarav Malhotra.”
Karan Oberoi approached, tall and imposing in his tailored black suit. His smirk was razor-sharp, his handshake deliberately firm. “The prodigal son returns. I must admit, I didn’t expect you to show your face here again.”
The crowd hushed slightly, sensing tension.
Aarav’s reply was smooth as silk, though his eyes burned. “Life has a way of bringing people back, doesn’t it?”
Karan’s smirk widened, but there was steel in his gaze. “Careful. Some places don’t welcome ghosts from the past.”
Meera shifted nervously, but Aarav didn’t flinch. “Then they’ll have to learn to live with them.”
Anaya, standing between them, quickly interjected. “Bhai, tonight is about charity, not business rivalries.” Her tone was firm, surprising even Karan. She turned back to Aarav with a softer smile. “I hope you’ll enjoy the evening.”
Aarav inclined his head politely. “I already am.”
But inside, his vow screamed louder than ever.
The Oberois destroyed us. I will destroy them.
And yet, as Anaya walked away, her laughter trailing like music, he felt something he hadn’t planned for.
Something dangerous.
Something he couldn’t afford.
—
Later that night, when the gala ended, Aarav stood outside, the city lights casting long shadows. He lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly, replaying every moment.
Her smile. Her voice. Her presence.
And then he crushed the thought like the cigarette beneath his shoe.
“She’s an Oberoi,” he muttered. “And Oberois are not meant to be loved. They’re meant to be ruined.”
But in the deepest corner of his heart, the enemy’s daughter had already left a mark.
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