The illegitimate daughter of a powerful businessman, she was sent to live with her six half-brothers after her father's sudden death.
The boys were born from privilege, pride, and perfectly manicured bloodlines. No one welcomed her. No one cared.
De...
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Veeransh Rai Singh stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his all-black kurta. It was an unusual shade for a festive function—deep charcoal silk, sharp tailoring, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.
"Black," he said, smirking at his reflection. "Fate knows how to match soulmates. Even if the soulmate wants to strangle me."
He ran a hand through his perfectly tousled hair and picked up his signature watch. His mood? Dangerously smug.
The main hall of the sangeet sparkled—warm golden lights, floral archways, a stage dressed in pastel marigold elegance. Guests mingled with cocktails, dancers prepared in the corner.
Veeransh entered—cool, brooding, with a look that made heads turn.
A few business associates intercepted him.
"Mr. Singh, what a surprise to see you at a family function. I thought you skipped these."
Veeransh smirked. "Only when the stakes aren't personal."
As they chuckled awkwardly, Veeransh's eyes scanned the hall for one specific threat—Kartik, dressed in hideous royal blue, laughing too loudly near the dance stage.
From across the hall, Kabeer entered with the energy of a bouncer who just found out the guy he kicked out is back in the VIP area. Dressed in steel grey and already annoyed.
Their eyes met.
No greeting. No smile.
Just... understanding.
Two enemies. One mission.
Kabeer blinked once—short, sharp—the signal.
He moved toward the drinks counter.
Veeransh followed from the corner of his eye as Kabeer picked up a glass, poured a perfectly normal mocktail... and then, casually, dropped a tiny silvery packet into it.
A substance so deadly to dignity, it could turn the most arrogant man into a sobbing puddle in the nearest restroom.
Kabeer tipped the waiter with a smirk. "The man in blue. Make sure he drinks every drop. He's dehydrated. Look at his hair gel. It's screaming for water."
The waiter nodded, pocketing the cash like a soldier ready to serve his nation.
Across the room, Samrat joined the two, hands folded as they watched the waiter's every step like it was a live bomb diffusal mission.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Their eyes dropped to his shoes.
Then—
A dainty, manicured hand snatched the glass off the tray with the elegance of a drama queen entering her villain era.
