In the opulent world where wealth and power reign supreme, Atharv Rajvansh stands as an untouchable force, his cold perfection masking a storm of hidden vulnerabilities.
Enter Inaara Sharma, a kind-hearted soul whose old-fashioned charm and quiet s...
Inaara walked briskly through the corridor, her soft sandals tapping rhythmically against the marble floor.
Her breath was slightly uneven, not from exhaustion, but from a rush of urgency.
Today was important.
Very important.
The in charge of the prestigious international design project was supposed to arrive at 10 a.m., and it was now 10:45.
Oh God, please… not today, she whispered under her breath, pressing a nervous hand over her stomach as anxiety twisted inside her.
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Her red saree fluttered gently as she moved, a modest, elegant drape that wrapped around her like a warm comfort.
Paired with a cream blouse delicately embroidered at the sleeves, her attire was nothing extravagant, yet she looked every bit of timeless grace.
The thin gold border shimmered subtly under the soft overhead lights, reflecting the quiet strength she carried within.
A tiny red bindi adorned her forehead, and her only jewellery—a mangalsutra resting against her collarbone and tiny diamond earrings—whispered of her devotion, not of her wealth.
As she reached the front lobby, she spotted Sapna near the entrance, typing something on her phone.
“Sapna,” Inaara huffed, placing a hand on the pillar for support, “Has Isla Barn ma’am arrived?”
Sapna looked up with a smile, “No ma’am. You're lucky. She’ll be here after lunch.”
Inaara closed her eyes, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled deeply.
Relief washed over her like a calming breeze.
“Thank you Kanha jii,” she murmured, her lips curling into a faint smile.
She had been late because of her Mangalbar brata—a ritual she observed religiously every Tuesday.
Even on the busiest days, she insisted on preparing her own meal for the fast.
There was something sacred in cooking it herself, a sense of peace that only came from such rituals.
Now, she gently wiped the light sheen of sweat off her forehead with the edge of her pallu and made her way to her cabin.
Once inside, she sank into the chair with a quiet sigh, her posture softening.
A few seconds passed before she straightened again, slipping into work mode.
