The Heartbreaker | (Slow Updates)

1. The Hell Is Deceiving

Rivaah Verma was miles away from the world of elites. Her days usually consisted of her nine-to-five job, movies with friends, dinner with her family, and limited time spent in solitude during her routine travel. She had woken up that morning expecting nothing different than usual. Not that she's not open to changes, she hadn't just expected that change to bring with itself a storm so powerful it was going to uproot her entire life from its precedented normalcy.

That storm, you asked? It came with a name.

Kabir Raichand.

A miracle, they called him. A boon to the business world. He inherited family business at the ripe age of twenty-four after graduating from Harvard at the top of his class. The youngest CEO of the country, the most sought-after bachelor. But with divine looks and such incredibly successful career comes endless opportunity and options. Opportunities that he snatched, options that he explored.

Much to Rivaah's dismay, one of those options ended up being her best friend, an option explored indeed, but an option discarded as well.

So, there she stood, driven by impulse, breathless and a tad bit scared after having emptied a glass of orange juice on the man that broke her poor best friend's heart. Maybe what she did was thoughtless. You don't walk into one of the city's fanciest establishments, intrude into an obviously important meeting and hurl orange juice on the man's face that is supposedly feared across the country. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

Her hand trembled as he expanded to his full height, dressed in a finest Armani, the man put together to the minute details of his existence. Despite being drenched in a glassful of sticky, sweet liquid, he appeared to be calm, unfazed. His movements so graceful, his gaze so swift, no hurried glances, no panicked reflexes, everything about the man seemed to be slow and measured, leading unfastened, almost sensual, as if even time takes its time with him, for he deserves absolute dedication of one's gaze, their attention, their patience.

The dark onyx eyes, usually framed behind thick glasses, unfurled in her direction, taking in her fiery amber ones. He departed a quick once-over down her body and appreciated what he saw. Such a waste. Only if he hadn't met the woman in such unforeseen circumstances, only if she hadn't made the mistake of offending him in room full of people.

Kabir Raichand loathes people.

He merely tolerates them.

You don't want to get on his bad side when you were never on his good one.

People are a mess. They feel too much, think too much, try too hard, give up too late. They are difficult to control and control is something he's inherently obsessed with. He steers away from people unless he requires their assistance; sometimes in business, sometimes in bed. He prefers keeping them away, so when they don't stay away, and when they make the mistake of catching his attention the wrong way, they should be prepared for the worse.

Rivaah wasn't prepared for the worse. She wasn't even prepared for her own actions that had unfolded in the last few minutes. She had a terrible last night, her long-time crush had brought a girl over, and she was growing a bad temper this morning when she spotted that woman sharing the same elevator as her, sporting a big red hickey on her neck. Men, so fucking disgusting. Then came her best friend barreling towards her, blabbering about being disposed of and ghosted after a night of passion with a man at the club. That man, the abomination to love itself, yet loved passionately by lust, infamously called as The Heartbreaker, the prominently massive figure standing in front of her, looking like he was carved by the God's hands, his every inch meticulous and perfect. He incorporated beauty as his own. Like the very word was invented to solely describe him. Exquisite to the last detail.