Maya
As I approached Utsav, his sharp gaze landed on me, and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my chest. The cool, almost detached way he held himself never ceased to amaze me. There he was, standing, with his usual composed demeanor, like nothing in the world could faze him. But this time, I wasn't going to let that stop me.
"Wait, Mr. Mehrotra?" I called out, my voice carrying across the space as I watched him freeze for a second, then turn. His eyes locked onto mine, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in them-maybe curiosity, or maybe it was just the usual disdain he wore so effortlessly.
"Can I come with you? Can you drop me to my home?" I asked, my voice steady, but the slightest hint of nervousness crept in as I waited for his response.
His eyebrows shot up. "Drop you at home? Miss Shekhawat? But you have your own car and driver, I assume."
I smiled faintly, a playful edge creeping into my voice as I spoke. "Yes, I do, but my driver is on leave today. And I thought, since you're leaving too, why bother driving? You know, with Mumbai traffic and all."
I watched as his expression remained unreadable, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze scanning me with that sharp, calculating look I had come to expect. He wasn't a man who offered his help easily, but somehow, I knew I had struck the right chord.
"Actually, I have to grab a few things from my house for the wedding," I added, deciding to use the situation to my advantage. "If you don't mind, I'd really appreciate it if you could drop me off. It's just a request."
I saw his expression soften for the briefest of moments before he gave me a curt nod, as if conceding, albeit reluctantly. Before I knew it, I was sliding into the passenger seat, and he climbed into the driver's seat without another word. The engine hummed to life, and the convoy of SUVs followed us, their armed men ensuring there was no disruption.
The silence between us was heavy. I wasn't sure if I should speak or not, but the words slipped out before I could stop them.
"By the way, thank you for your help last night with Rudra. I wanted to thank you sooner, but in all the chaos, I didn't get a chance." I kept my fingers busy on my phone, trying to mask the nervousness building in my chest.
His response was quick and sharp, cutting through the tension. "You don't need to, Miss Shekhawat." His tone was cold, almost dismissive.
The words stung more than I cared to admit, but I didn't let it show. His lack of interest, his unbothered nature, it only intrigued me more. There was something about him-something elusive-that made me want to crack the facade he wore so carefully. I could tell he was analyzing me, just as he always did. But what he didn't know was that I was doing the same with him.
Utsav Mehrotra-imposing, intimidating, and so damn unreadable. He thought he was in control, but I had no intentions of letting him remain the enigma he was.
I'd peel away his layers, one by one. He could let me think I was winning. Let him think that. But in reality, it was he who was being played.
We stopped in front of the airport, the soft purr of the engine fading as the car came to a halt. Utsav had come here to receive none other than Natasha Khandelwal-Bollywood's top fashion designer. The woman who had the privilege of designing the Mehrotra family's wedding attire. Apparently, no wedding in the country was considered grand enough unless Natasha had her hands on it.
She was stunning. And that alone made me uncomfortable.
What if she caught Utsav's interest?
No. No! I am Maya Shekhawat.
No one takes what's mine.
And the moment my eyes landed on him-he was mine.
Behind us, the convoy of black SUVs came to a synchronized stop. One by one, men in black suits stepped out, each of them armed, dark sunglasses hiding their eyes, exuding silent authority. It felt excessive. I mean, who would dare harm us in our own country? But then again-these were the Mehrotras. Kings of both Mumbai and Delhi. Untouchable. Powerful. And utterly intimidating.
Utsav stood a few steps away from me, every inch the enigma he always was. One hand rested casually in his pocket while the other tapped his watch again and again, a silent show of irritation. He hated waiting. Time, for him, was currency. Wasting it was a crime he refused to forgive-especially when it came to others. He was a man who valued discipline as much as he valued power.
And then she arrived.
Natasha Khandelwal.
She stepped out with a grace that made heads turn. A cream satin top hugged her frame perfectly, paired with tailored brown trousers that fell just above her YSL heels. An oversized black goggle shielded her eyes from the sun, but even without seeing them, I knew they were mesmerizing. Her makeup was understated yet elegant-light foundation, sculpted cheekbones, and a matte brown lipstick that somehow made her look both polished and effortless.
She was elegance personified.
And my jaw clenched in frustration.
How dare a woman look that breathtaking in front of Utsav-even while I stood right here?
I fought the irrational swirl of jealousy rising inside me. I told myself it didn't matter how she looked. I reminded myself of the truth: Utsav will never look at her the way he looks at me.
Or would he?
My eyes flicked to his face, searching for even the faintest change in his expression.
Nothing.
His features remained unreadable, cold as stone. Completely unbothered. Not a twitch, not a flicker of interest. That stoic mask he wore so well didn't slip-not even for a second.
I exhaled, tension loosening in my shoulders, though my mind still whispered doubts.
He was impossible to read. But maybe, just maybe, the lack of interest in her was an answer in itself.
"Damn papa ki pari," I muttered under my breath, my eyes narrowing as she walked toward us with all her poised perfection.
Bitch.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Mehrotra," Natasha said, her voice soft and sugary-too sweet, like honey that's trying a little too hard. "Aditya told me you're coming personally to pick me up. It's an honor, truly!"
Oh please. I rolled my eyes inwardly. That tone-almond-sweet and dipped in fake grace. Classic Bollywood manipulation. Was she seriously trying to win him over with that?
Utsav offered his hand in a polite greeting. "No problem. The honor is mine, to be given the privilege of escorting you," he said, his voice calm, respectful, and-what the hell-polite.
My eyes widened, lips parting slightly in disbelief. He shook her hand? He actually shook her hand?
That calm tone, that gentleman-like posture.Was I watching the same Utsav who once silenced a room with just a glance?
Get a grip, Maya. You're overthinking. He's always been polite when he wants to be. He's just... doing his job.
Still, the way he carried himself, the smooth charm in his voice-it stung.
And then she turned to me.
"Miss Shekhawat? You too? What a pleasant surprise! We Bollywood girls barely get time to catch up," she said with a dazzling smile that made me want to snap her perfectly aligned teeth.
Mithi chashni. Sweet syrup in the form of a woman.
I forced a smile and leaned in for the fake hug-the usual Bollywood air-kiss-on-cheek nonsense. My arms barely touched her. Professional courtesy, I told myself.
Bollywood wasn't real. It was a curated lie. A world made of masks, makeup, and manipulation. Here, the successful ones weren't the talented-they were the best actors off-screen. The ones who mastered the art of duality. You could despise someone with your entire being, and still have to grin like they were your soul sister.
"Oh, it's a pleasure to meet you too, baby girl. We're meeting after what-almost a year? I missed you too," I said, my voice dripping with faux warmth.
Lie. A bold, barefaced lie.
Who the hell would miss this snake?
We both laughed. That hollow, surface-level laughter that never reached the eyes. It wasn't warm. It wasn't real. Just another performance.
But I saw it-the same cold calculation behind her smile that probably flickered behind mine.
Because in this world, it's not the truth that wins.
It's the better actress.
"We need to go home now."
Utsav's voice cut through our sugar-coated exchange like a blade, snapping the artificial charm between me and Natasha into silence.
"Yeah, of course, Mr. Mehrotra," she replied in her almond-sweet tone, her smile trained and perfect-as if she'd been rehearsing that exact moment her entire life.
I almost rolled my eyes.
This bitch. She was trying to get close to him, and I could feel it. Her voice, too sweet. Her tone, too polished. The way she looked at him-like he was a prize, not a person. I clenched my fists discreetly, fingers curling into my palm. The urge to rip that YSL heel off her perfectly pedicured foot and shove it down her throat was very real.
But no. I'm Maya Shekhawat. I don't act out-I strategize.
Still, as we reached the car, I sensed it. That sly little shift in her direction. She was heading for the passenger seat-my seat.
Excuse me?
Did she seriously think she could just... sit beside him? Like she belonged there?
No. No. No.
Without hesitation, I moved-swift and silent, like a lioness guarding her territory. My fingers found the passenger-side handle just as she was about to reach it. I turned to her with the warmest smile I could fake and delivered the line with sugary grace:
"You should sit in the back. I actually prefer the passenger seat... if you don't mind."
My tone was polite. Soft, even. But make no mistake-it was a warning wrapped in velvet.
She blinked at me, surprised, and then smiled back, equally fake. "Yeah, sure. No problem," she said, her voice steady-but I saw it. That flicker of annoyance in her eyes. That twitch in her jaw. Good.
Meanwhile, Utsav didn't even look up. Not once. As if he didn't notice-or care-that two women were silently sparring for the right to sit next to him.
He simply opened the driver's door, got in with that effortless elegance of his, buckled his seatbelt, and stated flatly, "We're getting late."
That was it. No reaction. No curiosity. No favoritism.
Cold. Indifferent. Unbothered.
I slid into the seat beside him with quiet triumph as Natasha climbed in the back, defeated. The corners of my lips twitched into a small, smug smile. No one can take what's mine. Not even Bollywood's top fashion designer.
She sat in the back, silent, probably swallowing the bile of her failed attempt. As for me, I sat tall, chin high, letting the quiet in the car thrum around us.
I turned to look out the window, pretending not to care that he hadn't even acknowledged my little victory.
Then suddenly-
"Your home is here, Miss Shekhawat."
His voice-calm, composed, and utterly uninterested-snapped me out of my internal monologue. I blinked and looked outside. Damn. We'd arrived at my place. Already?
That felt fast.
Too fast.
My chest tightened a little. Now I have to get out. Now I have to leave him alone in the car with her. The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. What if she tried to close the distance between them the moment I was gone? What if she used this time to manipulate her way into his mind?
Calm down, Maya. You're overthinking. Or maybe not...
I exhaled slowly and reached for the handle, pushing all those frantic thoughts away. I turned to him one last time.
"Thank you for the drive, Mr. Mehrotra."
He gave me a single nod, his eyes never meeting mine. "No need, Miss Shekhawat," he said in that cool, clipped tone of his.
Of course.
Just like that, silence wrapped itself around us again.
I stepped out of the car, heels clicking against the pavement. I didn't look back-not once. But as the convoy pulled away, Utsav's car vanishing down the road, a strange emptiness settled in my chest.
She's in the car with him now.
My nails dug into my palm.
Let her try. Let her flirt. Let her think she's winning.
Because in the end?
No one steals what belongs to Maya Shekhawat.
Not even a woman dressed in perfection.
As soon as I stepped inside my home, chaos greeted me like an old friend.
"Di! Save me from Maharani Mata Rani!" my younger brother Ansh yelled, darting toward me and hiding behind my back like a terrified child-though the mischief in his voice betrayed him. He was nineteen, full of dramatic flair, and absolutely unstoppable when it came to pushing every last one of Mom's buttons.
And sure enough, right behind him, storming through the hallway with a belan raised like a warrior charging into battle, came my mother.
"Maya! Step aside-I'm going to teach this spoiled brat a lesson today!" she shouted, clearly done with his antics.
I couldn't help but burst into laughter, stepping away with mock seriousness. "Sure, sure-no problem, Mom. Who wants to get caught in the middle of an empire's civil war anyway? You two carry on."
Ansh gasped dramatically. "Di! That's not fair!"
His puppy eyes, puffed-out cheeks, and the pout that followed were so over-the-top adorable that I nearly choked on a laugh. But I stayed firm, crossing my arms and watching the madness unfold as Mom chased him around the mansion, swatting at him with the belan while he dodged and weaved like a seasoned athlete.
Ah, home.
Warm, chaotic, unpredictable, and always full of noise.
Welcome back, Maya.
I smiled and made my way toward the living room, where Dad was already settled on the couch, sipping his evening tea with an amused twinkle in his eyes as he watched the spectacle.
My father, Parikshit Shekhawat-the proud owner of Shekhawat Publications-looked both regal and at peace. A man who once commanded boardrooms now leaned slightly on his walking stick, the injury in his foot making him slow but never less commanding. Time had begun to touch him gently-salt and pepper streaks now colored his hair, and a few fine lines had found their place along his once-smooth skin.
But to me, he was still my rock. My constant.
I walked over and wrapped my arms around him from the side, resting my head on his shoulder like I had as a child. "Hi, Dad. I missed you," I said with a soft pout, channeling every bit of daddy's little girl energy I could muster.
He chuckled, his arm wrapping around me warmly. "Maya, you just went to Aditi's wedding yesterday. And you already missed me? Isn't that a bit dramatic even for you?"
I smiled, but my heart tugged at the sight of him.
Yes, he could still laugh, still walk with that stick. But age was catching up. And I hated it. Every new wrinkle, every slow movement was a painful reminder that he wasn't going to be around forever.
"I know," I murmured, snuggling a little closer, "But you know I can't live without you."
His expression softened, all playfulness melting into affection. "Beta... I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere just yet. Your dad's still young enough to annoy everyone for a few more years."
I laughed softly, but my grip on him tightened.
A sigh slipped from my lips as I sat beside him, refusing to move even an inch away. For just a moment, the world outside didn't matter. Not Natasha, not Utsav, not the noise of Bollywood.
Just this.
My home. My family. My people.
And the man who would always be my first hero.
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"Do let me know your thoughts about this chapter in the comments section. If you liked it, please don't forget to vote. Your single vote is enough to give me the courage to keep writing more.
And please, don't judge the characters solely based on the starting chapters. There's so much yet to unfold. Especially Utsav - I know his personality might seem negative at times, but trust me, he's about to go through a powerful journey of transformation.
Let the story breathe a little before forming opinions. Big twists are coming."
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