'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
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AUTHOR’S POV :
Somewhere in a darkened room, a man sat slouched in a towering king-sized chair, the dim glow of amber liquid swirling in the glass between his fingers. The whiskey burned down his throat, but not nearly as much as the flames of revenge smoldering in his bloodshot eyes. On the wall opposite him hung a massive portrait—a reminder, a wound, a curse. His grip around the crystal tightened, veins rising against his skin, the fragile glass trembling, threatening to shatter under the weight of his fury when—
A piercing shrill broke the silence.
The sudden ringtone sliced through the air, so sharp it almost echoed against the hollow walls. He flicked his gaze down. The phone’s screen glowed—the only source of light in the otherwise suffocating darkness. Tossing it in his hand, he stared at the caller ID, debating whether to answer. Before he could, the call disconnected.
Unmoved, he placed the phone on the armrest, his jaw still clenched, the storm inside him unbroken. But then, the phone lit up again—persistent, demanding. This time, he answered.
“Hello Sir, am I speaking to the father of Amaira?” The feminine voice from the other end carried both urgency and restraint.
“Yes,” his voice was clipped, sharp. He hesitated for a beat. “Why? Is there any problem?”
“Sir…” the voice faltered just for a moment before steadying again, “she got into a major accident and has just been admitted to City Hospital. The doctor needs you here within the next ten minutes.”
For a moment, the world stilled. The glass in his hand slipped onto the carpet, amber liquid bleeding into the fabric. He didn’t even glance at it. His chest constricted, yet his legs moved before his mind could process.
“I’ll be right there,” he muttered hoarsely, already on his feet, rushing out as if running could turn back time.
_______
Meanwhile, in a place buzzing with lights and festivity, Shivay searched for Nitya, eager to steal a moment with her before the wedding chaos resumed. He was halfway up the staircase when his phone vibrated. Distracted, he answered without checking the screen, his eyes still scanning the hall for her.
“Hello, sir. Is this Shivay Thakur?” a professional voice inquired.
“Yes? Who’s this?” Shivay slowed, his steps halting mid-stair.
