A Bargain Made with Frosting

A Twist in the Dough

Days blurred into a whirlwind of flour-dusted mornings, caffeine-fueled afternoons at the cafe, and the occasional grumpy customer at the convenience store in the evenings. Annika stuck to her routine, a semblance of normalcy amidst the impending storm of the arranged meeting. However, beneath the surface, her mind buzzed with a meticulously crafted plan. It was audacious, a touch rebellious, but guaranteed to be effective.

She envisioned the scene: a posh restaurant, her best (but slightly outdated) dress adorning her, a strategically timed ten-minute late arrival to throw him off, and across the table, a stiff, silver-spoon-fed Oberoi heir fuming over her tardiness. The moment his lips parted, her arsenal would be unleashed – a barrage of opinions diametrically opposed to his, a relentless critique of his likely dull hobbies, and a generous sprinkling of sarcasm for good measure. He'd be scrambling for the exit before the appetizers even arrived. Perfect.

Meanwhile, at the Oberoi mansion, Shivay was trapped in his own personal hell. Pinky's meticulous plan had resulted in a parade of young women who seemed to be clones of each other – same hairstyle, same mannerisms. Every evening brought a new face, a meticulously made-up doll in an expensive designer dress or not-so-expensive designer knock-off, plastered with a fake smile and an even faker attitude. Conversation revolved around vapid topics, each woman trying to impress him with either their wealth or their carefully crafted sob story. Shivay saw no genuine warmth, no spark in any of them. He felt like a character in a twisted reality show, forced to choose his future wife from a pool of manufactured perfection.

One particularly tedious evening, Shivay grimaced as he took a lukewarm sip of tea. The socialite across from him prattled on about her charity gala, her voice a monotonous drone. He was rapidly approaching his limit. With a firm but polite voice, Shivay interrupted, "It seems we might not be the best fit. Perhaps we should call it a night."

The woman bristled, clearly offended. Shivay, unfazed, glanced at his watch: 7:25.  "Well," he thought, "25 minutes wasted on a self-absorbed chatter."  He sighed, a heavy breath that spoke volumes about his dwindling patience. One more meeting at 7:30, then blessed freedom.

Ten minutes ticked by, each tick echoing the growing impatience in the room. Shivay had cleared his schedule especially for this meeting, and the girl's audacity to be late was grating on his nerves.

Annika, fashionably late by ten minutes, entered the hotel lobby looking comfortably casual, a stark contrast to the usual evening attire. After inquiring about Mr. Oberoi at the reception, she headed towards his table. Just as Shivay, finally appeased by his patient's answer, rose to leave, a voice cut through the air. "Mr. Oberoi, apologies for the delay. Traffic was a nightmare," Annika explained, taking a seat.

Their eyes met, and a jolt of recognition passed between them. "Grumpy customer!" she exclaimed. The surprise was evident, replaced by a slightly annoyed, "Clumsy employee!" from Shivay.

"What are you doing here?" Annika shot first.

"Isn't it obvious?" Shivay countered, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I am the Mr. Oberoi you were supposed to meet."

"You're Mr. Oberoi?" surprise colored Annika's voice.

"Indeed," he confirmed, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He added, "So, clumsy employee decided to play the damsel in distress for a rich guy, huh?"

Annika bristled. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Oberoi. Who would want to marry someone so grumpy and arrogant? Besides," she added, "if I'd seen your photo beforehand, I wouldn't have even bothered coming."

Shivay's smirk faltered. Every woman he'd met had been eager for his hand in marriage, so this blunt rejection was a shock.

"Marriage isn't exactly my dream either," Annika continued. "I only came because of a promise, with the sole intention of scaring you off. And frankly," she rose to her feet, "I have better things to do than waste any more time. I'm not marrying you."

Leaving a speechless Shivay behind, Annika exited the hotel, leaving him to grapple with his unexpected and rather stinging rejection.

The air hung heavy, thicker than the lukewarm tea Shivay had abandoned. He glared at the vacated chair, Annika's blunt rejection thrumming in his ears. Rejected. Shivay Oberoi, the man Mumbai's elite women clamored for, had been cast aside. A scoff escaped his lips, a flimsy shield against the unfamiliar vulnerability that gnawed at him.

Part of him, the prideful tyrant, wanted to rage. How dare she dismiss him? Didn't she understand the golden ticket she'd tossed away? But a quieter voice, one he rarely acknowledged, hummed with intrigue. This Annika, a whirlwind of contradictions, had waltzed in, challenged his ego, and sashayed right back out.

Determined not to lose, not to her, a mischievous smirk played on Shivay's lips. He couldn't wait to see the color drain from her face when she learned his next move.

The next day, Annika, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in Shivay's mind, hummed a celebratory tune. The oven beeped, announcing the success of her plan – freedom from a loveless marriage. She proudly presented the pastry, a reward for her triumph, and danced a jig around the kitchen.

Mrs. Patel, entering just then, was met with this joyous spectacle. "Did your meeting go as planned, dear?" she inquired.

Annika, still basking in her success, gave a cheerful nod. Before she could elaborate, Mrs. Patel's phone buzzed. As she answered, her expression went through a series of bewildering changes - shock, delight, and finally, tears welled in her eyes.

Confused, Annika watched Mrs. Patel hang up. "What happened, Aunty?" she asked, concern etching lines on her forehead.

Mrs. Patel, overcome with emotion, pulled Annika into a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you, Annika!" she declared, her voice thick with tears. Releasing Annika, she continued, eyes wide with disbelief, "What magic did you work on that Oberoi heir? He's proposing marriage within a week!"

Annika's jaw dropped. How could this be? She'd explicitly stated her disinterest, and yet, here he was, planning a wedding? Confusion and a flicker of anger warred within her. This man, this embodiment of arrogance, needed to be confronted. This unexpected twist in the tale demanded her attention.

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