𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒚𝒎𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 35

Armaan's rise to power had been nothing short of meteoric, a ruthless ambition that knew no bounds. He had conquered the business world, his name whispered in hushed tones, with a mixture of fear and awe, wherever he went.

But beneath the façade of cold, calculated success, a burning ember of rage still smoldered in his heart, fueled by the betrayal he had endured. He had buried himself in work, using the pain to stoke the fires of his ambition, but the memories of Ishani haunted him still.

As he stood in his penthouse office, the city of Mumbai stretching out before him like a glittering kingdom, Armaan allowed himself a moment of introspection. His hands, tanned and calloused from years of hard work, clenched into fists as he stared out over the cityscape.

He thought of the night he had discovered the truth about Ishani's betrayal, the pain and anger still fresh in his mind.

"I won't be made a fool of," he muttered to himself, his jaw set with determination.

Yes, Armaan had loved her since she had been nothing more than a bundle in his arms. His heart had been stolen the moment she had opened her eyes, so full of innocence and wonder. They had grown up together, their childhoods filled with laughter and mischief.

He had held her hand when she had fallen, and she had comforted him when the world had seemed too harsh. Their bond had been forged in those early years, a bond that had grown into something beautiful and irreplaceable.

As Armaan stood in his office, his thoughts drifting back to the past, a single tear slid down his cheek. He had been so sure that she was the one, that they would spend the rest of their lives together. He had never dreamed that she would betray him so cruelly.

And yet, despite his pain, his anger, his betrayal, he could not deny that a part of him still loved her. That a part of him still ached for her touch, her smile, her voice.

He swiped at the tear, willing himself to be strong.

With a sigh, Armaan turned away from the window, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his emotions. He moved to his desk, his fingers tracing the edge of a photograph. It was a picture of him and Ishani, taken years ago, on a sunny afternoon. They were smiling, their arms wrapped around each other, the picture of young love.

"I loved you then, and I love you now," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

He placed the photograph back on the desk, turning his attention to the pile of paperwork before him.

As Armaan buried himself in the minutiae of his work, a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Mr. Armaan," said the voice, smooth and professional, "your trip to Toronto has been confirmed."

Armaan looked up, his gaze meeting the earnest eyes of his personal assistant, Mr. Yadav. The man held a folder in his hand, the papers within neatly arranged.

"The details of the trip are all here, sir," Mr. Yadav continued. "Your flight is scheduled for next week."

Armaan nodded, his mind already racing with the possibilities that this trip presented. "Thank you, Yadav. I'll look over the details tonight. In the meantime, start preparing the reports for the meeting with the Canadian delegation."
Mr. Yadav bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it immediately."
With that, the assistant left the office, leaving Armaan alone with his thoughts. He was unaware to the fact that the meeting would be held in Toronto, the city where Ishani and his son now lived.

To Armaan, the idea of a son was as foreign as the mysteries of the universe. His life had been consumed by work, by the pursuit of success and power. He had long ago resigned himself to the fact that he would never have a family of his own.
He had no idea that a little boy, with his dark hair and intelligent eyes, lived in a city far away, a city that he was now about to visit. The irony of it was not lost on him.

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