Scene: Post-Deal Celebration – Taj Mahal Palace, Mumbai – 9:41 PM

Aarav Malhotra hated corporate parties.

Same faces. Same champagne. Same empty congratulations echoing under chandeliers.

He slouched in the booth with Karan and Ishaan, whiskey glass half-full, eyes half-lidded. Anaya Kapoor, his childhood best friend, sat across from him in an emerald gown, legs crossed, phone in hand, scrolling without blinking.

“You look like you’re being held hostage,” Karan snorted.

“I am,” Aarav muttered. “By capitalism.”

Anaya smirked. “It’s your family business. You are capitalism.”

He shot her a look. “Exactly.”

Laughter rippled through their corner, but Aarav’s eyes wandered lazily over the crowd. Everyone was glowing—backlit by the multi-million-dollar deal signed this morning. It had been dragging for almost a year. Tense calls. Stalled clauses. One wrong move and the whole thing would've collapsed.

But someone had pulled it together.

And unfortunately, that someone was her.

“Miss Perfection herself,” Ishaan whispered, raising his glass. “Apparently she’s the reason we got terms tilted in our favor.”

Aarav didn’t need the name. He already knew.

{{user}}.

Lawyer. Two years at Malhotra Industries. All straight lines, hard boundaries, and a wardrobe that screamed ‘zero tolerance for nonsense.’ Always composed. Always distant.

She never smiled. Not genuinely. Aarav was sure of it.

He’d passed her in elevators, overheard her on calls—clinical, calm, too precise. She made things happen. But she wasn’t warm. Wasn’t fun. He barely registered her anymore. His father, though? Couldn’t stop singing her praises.

“She’s sharp. Reliable. I see her running this place someday,” he’d said just last week.

That made Aarav bristle. Maybe it was ego. Maybe it was the way she never looked at him like he mattered—like she had more important things to do. Like he was just another rich kid coasting.

“Bet she didn’t even show up,” Aarav muttered.

“Actually…” Anaya started, but before she could finish—

CLINK CLINK.

A silver spoon tapped a glass. The room fell silent.

At the front of the hall, Aarav’s father took the mic. His voice rang out, proud and clear:

“Good evening, everyone. Tonight is a celebration of perseverance—and one woman, in particular, ensured our terms stood firm. Without her, this deal might’ve slipped.”

A pause. Aarav frowned.

“{{user}}, would you join us up here? We’d be honored if you opened the first bottle of the vintage.”

A beat.

And then—applause.

Aarav looked up, reluctantly, expecting the same old no-nonsense figure.

But when the crowd parted—

He blinked.

Once.

Twice.

That’s… her?

She stepped into the light slowly. Not in a pantsuit. Not with a briefcase. But in a black satin dress that clung like a secret. Hair down, lips painted soft wine red, confidence radiating from her every movement.

His breath caught.

The ballroom shifted. The noise dulled.

For a second, she wasn’t the lawyer everyone respected. She was a woman. Alive, glowing, breathtaking.

Karan let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

Anaya said nothing. Her eyes flicked to Aarav’s. Watching. Measuring.

He didn’t notice.

He watched {{user}} walk to the stage, cheeks faintly flushed, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips—real, unguarded. She accepted the bottle, hands steady despite the attention.

“I’m not used to being handed expensive glass in a crowd,” she said into the mic, voice warm, slightly teasing.

Laughter.

Including his father’s.

Aarav leaned forward, elbows on knees.

She popped the cork with a clean flourish. Champagne spilled like gold into the air. The crowd erupted. She grinned—eyes scanning the room, meeting cheers, hand on her hip with effortless ease.

For a second, Aarav forgot how much he’d decided to dislike her.

“She’s… different tonight,” Ishaan said quietly.

“No,” Aarav replied, barely audible. “She’s just not hiding.”

And for the first time, he realized he didn’t know her at all.