The Secret Wife of the CEO

Prologue of My Upcoming Story

The sun had barely set over the city of Bengaluru when the news hit every channel. Every television screen flashed the same urgent and unsettling headline:

"BREAKING NEWS: Parents of MP Dhruva Jamadagni Missing En Route to Udupi."

"Hayavadana Jamadagni, retired Supreme Court judge, and his wife Kamala Jamadagni have gone missing on their way to Udupi," the news anchors repeated in anxious tones. "The couple was last seen leaving their home in Bengaluru early yesterday evening. They were expected to arrive by early morning to attend a family function, but have not been heard from since. Authorities are urging anyone with information to come forward."The images of Hayavadana and Kamala flickered on the screen — his stoic face, marked by years of service and wisdom, her kind eyes, known throughout the community for her charity work. Beneath their pictures were flashing emergency numbers, a plea for help from the public.

Somewhere deep in the mountains of Uttarakhand, Dhruva Jamadagni sat in a small lodge, staring at his phone in disbelief. His parents were missing. His mother and father — his pillars of strength — had disappeared, and there was nothing he could do. A fresh wave of frustration swept through him, but it was mixed with helplessness.

He was stranded.

What had started as a peaceful pilgrimage to Badrinath and Kedarnath had turned into a nightmare. A massive landslide had cut off the highway, trapping him and hundreds of other pilgrims in the high reaches of the Himalayas. For a couple of days now, Dhruva had been working with the rescue teams, organizing relief efforts, helping the injured, and coordinating supplies. But now, his mind was elsewhere — back on the roads of Karnataka, searching for his parents.

His phone buzzed again with updates — relatives, police officers, friends all calling him. He made frantic calls to authorities in Udupi, speaking to every possible contact in the hopes of finding out what had happened. But every answer was the same. There were no leads. No sightings. The car had simply vanished from the road, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent highway.

Dhruva paced the small space, his eyes occasionally glancing at the mountains outside the window. The landslide had left them stranded, the roads impassable, and even helicopters struggled to navigate the bad weather. The frustration was unbearable — he needed to be in Bengaluru, coordinating the search, mobilizing resources. But here, his hands were tied.He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the immediate crisis in front of him. People still needed help, victims of the landslide who were counting on help from people like him. "Jana Seva is Janardhan Seva" — serving the people is serving the divine. His motto had been drilled into him since childhood, and it had guided him through every challenge. It would guide him now. 

But as he continued to issue orders and assist in the rescue, the weight of his parents' disappearance sat heavily in his chest, a gnawing pain that refused to go away. His heart ached with fear, but he forced himself to stay composed. He had to. He glanced at his phone again, hoping for some miracle, some sign that they had been found. But the screen remained stubbornly blank, offering no relief. For now, all he could do was wait — and keep going.

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