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The sun was just beginning to rise over the city of Hyderabad, casting a golden hue over the towering skyscrapers and ancient landmarks. The city was a blend of the old and the new, where tradition met modernity in every street corner. It was a place of contrasts, much like the man who sat in the topmost office of one of the tallest buildings in the city-Arsalaan Obeid.
Arsalaan was a man of power, feared by many and respected by all. As the CEO of one of India's largest industries, he commanded attention wherever he went. But behind the sharp suits and cold demeanor lay a heart that had been hardened by a past filled with pain and betrayal. He was the epitome of arrogance, with an air of ruthlessness that kept people at arm's length. His trust in love had been shattered long ago, ever since his mother had left his father for the lure of wealth, abandoning her family in pursuit of a life of luxury.
His father, a man of honor and principles, had never recovered from the heartbreak. He spent the rest of his days waiting for her to return, a hope that never materialized. The weight of his grief eventually consumed him, leaving Arsalaan and his younger brother, Zarar, alone in the world. Since then, Arsalaan had sworn off love, believing it to be nothing more than a lie. He focused all his energy on his business and the underground world where he reigned as a mafia lord-a life where emotions had no place.
"Sir, your schedule for the day," his assistant, Faizan, announced as he entered the spacious office. The walls were adorned with modern art, and the large windows offered a panoramic view of the bustling city below. But Arsalaan's focus was on the files spread out before him.
"Go on," Arsalaan responded, his voice deep and commanding.
Faizan began listing the meetings and appointments scheduled for the day, but Arsalaan's mind was elsewhere. He was always thinking a few steps ahead, always planning, always calculating. It was the only way he knew how to survive.
"Is there anything else?" Arsalaan asked, barely looking up from his work.
"Yes, sir," Faizan hesitated for a moment. "There's an invitation. Our ex-employee's daughter is getting married. He requested your presence at the wedding."
Arsalaan paused, his pen hovering over the paper. He rarely attended such events, considering them a waste of time. But something made him consider it this time. Perhaps it was the fact that the man had been loyal during his time at the company, or maybe it was just a break from the monotony.
"I'll go," Arsalaan said curtly, returning to his work.
Later that evening, Arsalaan left his office, his thoughts still preoccupied with business. As he got into his car, he realized that he hadn't asked for the address of the Mehendi ceremony. Annoyed at the oversight, he pulled out his phone and, while driving, hastily tried to dial Faizan's number. But in his rush, he dialed the wrong number.
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