"Let me get this straight," Danish's voice is sharp, his disbelief barely masked. "You want me to pretend to be in love with you?" Kiara tilts her head, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "No, Malhotra. I want you to pretend you never stopped." For as long as Kiara Oberoi could remember, life had been a race she was never allowed to lose. And standing in her way at every turn? Danish Malhotra. Her biggest rival. Her greatest weakness. The boy who knew exactly how to ruin her. They spent their years locked in battle-academic rankings, debate championships, internships, and scholarships-neither willing to give the other an inch. They fought in front of the whole world. They fought when no one was watching. And somewhere in between all those fights, between the sharp words and long stares- they fell. It started with a project that forced them together. Forced them to see past the rivalry, past the competition, past the carefully built walls. Forced them to face the fact that they understood each other in ways no one else ever had. They fought for years-until one night, she gave him everything. And the next day? She destroyed him. "I could never love someone who doesn't even know his own origins." And then, she left. No warnings. No explanations. Just silence. Now, she's back. Same fire. Same hunger. Same boy she left behind-only now, he's colder, crueler, untouchable. And this time, they aren't just academic rivals. They're business enemies. And she needs him to fake date her. She isn't leaving without him this time. She says it's to win a war. He knows it's to win him back. But some fires never die- And this time, they might burn for real.

𝐀 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧'𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡? 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐩. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧. 𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠?

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 - 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

"See a future with him, pretend to move on... but when it's time to become a bride, it'll be for me. You can hate me all you want, but my name will be in your fate." The monitor backstage buzzed with Swaraj Malhotra's voice, slick with self-satisfaction. "Dhananjay Singhania ke paas na toh bahu hai, na hi bahumat." I almost pitied them. Almost. "Sir?" my aide whispered. "We're live in two." I smiled, not the charming kind they use for posters, the other one . the kind that didn't reach my eyes. The kind that meant someone was about to regret underestimating me. The one that makes my team nervous. Because they know when I smile like that, it means I'm about to ruin someone's perfectly planned day. I walked up to the stage, every step measured. The anthem played. Composure is a crown, and I wear mine well. The Chief Justice handed me the Constitution, his expression solemn. "Repeat after me." as he gestured me forward, the Constitution opened before him. I raised my right hand. "Main Dhananjay Singhania..." My voice echoed back through the hall, too calm, too rehearsed. I could already imagine Swaraj watching this on his fancy LED, smug and proud of his own line. "Main Dhananjay Singhania, shapat leta hoon ki main apne pad ke kartavya..." The words droned on, heavy and holy. Every syllable was a performance loyalty, integrity, service. Funny. Everyone in this room had sold those words long ago. And then I saw her. Front row. White saree. Minimal makeup. Hair tied loose. Sitting right in front , her father's daughter, my rival's pride. I forgot the cameras. The promises. The Politics. "Bahumat toh mil gayi..." I said into the microphone, pausing deliberately. The Chief Justice froze. The crowd murmured. My security chief mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "sir please don't-" Too late. "Ab bas bahu ki kami thi." In one sentence, I did two things - proposed to my rival's daughter and declared a war.