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At Twin Towers, 11th floor.
The grand glass doors of DRISHAN Elegance slid open as Ishana Mahajan walked in-flawless, poised, and untouchable. A commanding presence wrapped in a sleek black blazer over an emerald green silk blouse, exuding both authority and effortless style, her stiletto heels struck the marble floor with a sharp precision, echoing in the silence left by employees scurrying out of her path.
The air felt different when she entered-colder, heavier, charged with unspoken authority.
At her side, her PA, Tia, kept pace, her voice even and professional as she listed the day's agenda.
"Madam, the luxury line's final selection is in an hour, the board meeting is scheduled for three, and the media is still waiting for a statement on the collaboration-"
Ishana's voice cut through, smooth yet sharp. "Let them wait. Or better, let them rot. My time isn't theirs to demand."
Tia nodded without hesitation, adjusting the schedule on her tablet.
"Also, the MIG site visit is pushed to tomorrow due to unexpected delays in construction. They need your approval on the new infrastructure modifications."
Ishana's gaze remained forward, her expression unreadable, detached.
"If I have to fix their incompetence myself, then tell them they can look for a new project manager. I don't waste time on inefficiency."
Her words were calm, but their weight was suffocating-a quiet, deadly storm brewing beneath the surface.
As they neared the exclusive design showcase, a familiar group stood inside-Meera Mahajan, Ragini-her maternal aunt, Akshu and their friends with their parents. A collection of high-society elites, once familiar, now just VVIP guests assessing her designs.
Meera, dressed in elegance, turned slightly. The first glimpse of her daughter in two days.
Her heart clenched-she had known Ishana was busy, too buried in work to come home. But seeing her here, standing tall and untouched by absence, made something inside her ache.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, Meera's expression softened. The weight of longing flickered through her eyes.
Ishana, however, remained cold, detached-her nod polite, distant, impersonal. No warmth. No recognition of the unspoken emotions between them.
