A Bargain Made with Frosting

Breakfast and Burden

The sterile hum of the automated curtains filled Shivay Singh Oberoi's opulent bedroom as the first sliver of dawn light dared to peek through the city's haze. Shivay's room was a monument to minimalist luxury. Crisp white walls adorned with a single, abstract expressionist painting in muted tones provided a stark backdrop to the king-sized bed draped in Egyptian cotton sheets. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the sprawling city that he, in a way, mirrored - imposing, powerful, and utterly devoid of warmth.

A soft chime emanated from the bedside table, a gentle nudge from his meticulously programmed smart home system. Shivay's eyes snapped open, devoid of the grogginess that plagued most mortals. Sleep was a luxury he rarely afforded himself, a necessary evil to maintain peak performance. He rose with the practiced efficiency of a man who thrived on routine.

His walk-in closet, a room in itself, held a meticulously curated collection of bespoke suits and designer accessories. Every item was chosen not for whimsy, but for the message it conveyed - power, control, and an unshakeable confidence bordering on arrogance.

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The rest of the house mirrored the master bedroom's austere elegance. Three floors, each with five sprawling rooms, housed a staff that catered to his every whim. There was a library stocked with first editions, a temperature-controlled wine cellar, and a state-of-the-art security system that rivaled Fort Knox. The third floor was a playground for the wealthy - a personal gaming area with the latest consoles, a gym equipped with enough equipment to shame a professional athlete, a shimmering swimming pool that beckoned under the morning sun, and a private cinema that could rival any multiplex.

Yet, all this extravagance felt cold and sterile to Shivay. A life built on cold logic and calculated risks had brought him unimaginable wealth. Shivay Singh Oberoi was a name synonymous with power, a man who commanded respect with a mere flick of his wrist. But somewhere along the way, the pursuit of success had hollowed him out, leaving behind a shell of a man who had forgotten how to smile, a man who believed happiness was a mere byproduct of a well-balanced portfolio.

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He showered, the icy water a temporary balm to the simmering disquiet within. As he dressed in a charcoal grey suit, paired with a crisp white shirt and a tie the color of deep burgundy, his reflection in the mirror held no warmth. His blue eyes, usually sharp with an almost predatory glint, were clouded with a weariness that bespoke sleepless nights and a soul burdened by an invisible weight.

He descended the grand staircase, the air hung heavy with a tension he knew all too well. The dining hall, opulent and vast, awaited him. Inside, a family he barely tolerated sat gathered - a web of obligation woven by his grandparents' love.

At the head of the table sat his grandmother, Kalyani Oberoi, her gentle eyes a constant source of solace. There was his father, Shakti Singh Oberoi, and Pinky, his stepmother, were distant figures, their presence more obligation than affection and constant reminder of a fractured past. Across from them sat Tej Singh Oberoi, his uncle, with his wife Jhanvi.

His cousins, Om and Rudra, were the only bright spots in this strained tableau. Om, at 28, shared a quiet understanding with Shivay, while Rudra, the youngest at 23, brought a welcome burst of youthful energy. Completing the family portrait were his step-siblings - Rohit, his eternal rival since the day he entered his life, and Priyanka, a woman caught between them at 25.

Despite the animosity simmering beneath the surface, Shivay remained for his grandmother and cousins. Their love was the only anchor that tethered him to this gilded cage. He forced a smile, a mask worn for far too long, and took his seat, ready to face yet another day in the loveless world of the Oberoi family.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the tension that permeated the grand dining hall. Shivay knew these family gatherings rarely heralded good news. Business disputes, social scandals - the Oberoi breakfast table had seen it all. Today, he wondered, what drama awaited him?

Before he could break the silence, Kalyani cleared her throat, her voice laced with a tremor that tugged at his heartstrings.

"Shivay," Kalyani said, her voice taking on a stronger tone, "I know you've built your own empire from the ground up. A remarkable feat, I might add. But what about the Oberoi legacy? It needs your guidance."

A flicker of surprise crossed Shivay's face. The Oberoi Corporation, once a titan of industry, had been struggling lately. He'd purposely distanced himself from it, focusing on building his own company without the constraints of family expectations.

Pinky, his stepmother, bristled at the suggestion. Rohit, her son, had always been groomed for the role of CEO. The idea of Shivay taking the reins did not sit well with her.

"Maa ji," Pinky interjected, her voice sharp, "why burden Shivay when Rohit is perfectly capable of leading the company?"

Kalyani's gaze met Pinky's, a silent battle of wills playing out across the table. "I'm simply reminding him of a promise he made to his grandfather on his deathbed," she replied, her voice firm.

Shivay sighed inwardly. "Granny," he began, his voice heavy with reluctance, "you know leading the Oberoi Empire comes with a condition - marriage. And for that, I have no interest. Love and marriage are concepts I have no faith in."

"Love may not be your strong suit, Shivay," she said, "but duty and loyalty are. I recently received some troubling news, and I want to see you leading the Oberoi Empire before I..." her voice trailed off, a tremor of emotion threatening to overwhelm her.

Shivay knew exactly what she was implying. The Oberoi matriarch, the backbone of the family, wasn't invincible. A knot of guilt tightened in his stomach. His family, for all their flaws, were his anchor. Emotional blackmail, perhaps, but undeniably effective.

He released a heavy breath. "Alright, Granny," he finally said, "I'll consider it. But I can't make any promises."

With that, he rose abruptly, the weight of the conversation settling on his shoulders. He needed to escape the suffocating atmosphere and the storm of emotions he couldn't quite articulate. Stepping out of the opulent dining hall, he headed straight for his office, the weight of the family business and a marriage pressing down on him.

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