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Straightening the soft folds of my white dupatta over my right shoulder, I took a final glance in the mirror. The white anarkali suit flowed gracefully to my ankles, its delicate embroidery catching the faint morning light. I had paired it with small oxidised jhumkas that swayed gently whenever I moved, and I’d left my hair loose, letting the waves frame my face.
Whether or not I liked the people I was about to meet didn’t matter. I had always believed that getting ready was for me, not for anyone else. Looking presentable made me feel in control — and today, I needed that feeling.
A few spritzes of Dior perfume clung to my skin, warm and floral. Satisfied, I stepped out of my room, my heels tapping softly on the polished floor as I descended to the ground level of the mansion.
Dadi and Mami were already here in New York. They’d flown in because they were going to meet a potential groom for me — the man they had personally chosen.
His name was Arnav Rai Mehrotra.
Seven Days Ago…
The showroom’s spotless glass reflected the sleek black silhouette of the car that had caught my attention the moment I walked in.
“How much is this one?” I asked the salesperson, tilting my head toward the black Rolls Royce Phantom parked under a pool of white light.
“Ma’am, it’s only 10.48 crores,” he said smoothly.
I almost laughed. Only. As if he’d just quoted the price of a mid-range handbag.
Rolling my shoulders back, I slipped off my sunglasses and began walking slowly around the car. Every curve of its design spoke of craftsmanship; the shadow-black paint seemed to drink in the light before releasing it in a subtle shimmer. The smell of new leather and polished metal lingered faintly in the air.
I had always had a weakness for Rolls Royce. This one, in particular, felt like the kind of car that demanded to be admired, touched, owned. My fingers itched to trace the line of the hood, just to feel the cool smoothness beneath my skin.
“Bring me the papers,” I told the young salesperson, who immediately nodded and turned to get the documents.
But before he could take a step, another voice cut through the air — deep, calm, and laced with quiet authority.
“Bring the documents to me.”
It wasn’t the interruption that irritated me — it was the assumption in his tone.
Something in me, however, refused to let the moment pass unnoticed. I turned.
And there he was.
The man stood with the easy poise of someone who knew the weight of his presence. He was dressed in a deep blue suit, tailored to perfection, paired with a crisp white shirt and a red silk tie tucked neatly under a waistcoat. A golden Rolex gleamed faintly on his wrist. His black leather shoes caught the light as if they’d just been polished minutes ago.
