One word for Maya Shekhawat?
Chaotic Storm.
That's what she is. A force of nature that refuses to be tamed. First, she had the audacity to sneak into my private space and steal a photograph of my mother. Then, she followed me to the warehouse-a place no outsider should even know exists. And now? She's onstage, dancing to Param Sundari at the bachelor party, surrounded by her girl squad in shimmering attire, deliberately defying every rule Aditya laid down.
He'd clearly instructed-no women allowed at the bachelor night. Yet here she is, centre stage, drenched in spotlight, twirling to her own tune not for fun-but for war. Every sway of her hips, every teasing glance, was a challenge. But not to Aditya. No. Her gaze, unwavering and bold, was locked onto me.
She wants to tempt me, seduce me, rattle me. She thinks her beauty, her sinuous moves, that spark of defiance in her eyes can melt a man like me.
She doesn't know Utsav Mehrotra.
Years of discipline run through my veins. Years of silence, pain, and ruthless control. I do not crumble for a few sultry movements. I do not react to provocation. But damn, she makes it difficult not to notice her.
Gasps rippled across the hall the moment she and her girl gang stormed the stage. No one saw it coming. Not even Aditya, the man who sees ten steps ahead in a chess game of life. He stood there, in the centre of the hall, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. A man on the verge of explosion-but unable to do anything because this party was public. And Maya? She knew exactly what she was doing.
Well played, Maya Shekhawat. You didn't just crash a party. You crashed his ego.
The dance ended, thunderous applause echoed through the hall, some men whistled, others congratulated Aditya, mistaking this rebellious act for Aditi's surprise. They had no clue this was Maya's orchestration. She was the puppeteer behind every beat, every move, every rebellious smile.
As the girls stepped down from the stage, panting but proud, painted like queens with layers of makeup and mischief, I watched chaos unfold like a beautifully written tragedy. Maya was the ringmaster, and she knew how to steal the show.
I noticed Aditya struggling to maintain his composure. I taught him to be calculated, collected. But for Aditi, his obsession makes him reckless. Yes, obsession-not love. Love nurtures. Obsession consumes. And Aditya? He wants to possess Aditi entirely-mind, body, and soul. That intensity is dangerous.
Though I couldn't hear their words, their body language told the tale. Maya-standing tall, unyielding, challenging him silently. Aditya-trying to hold back the storm inside with smug smiles and a cold stare.
After a few tense minutes, Aditya took Aditi's hand and led her toward his business circle, perhaps hoping to salvage the evening with introductions. Ishanvi, the model-esque rebel of their squad, walked confidently toward Aarav, who stood in a corner laughing with a few men, blissfully unaware of the emotional battlefield that had just played out.
Maya and Shravni stayed behind, their eyes scanning the room. That's when the air shifted.
Kabir walked in.
My shadow. My most loyal man. My one-man army.
The moment he stepped into the hall, silence fell like a curtain. The weight of his presence, the commanding way he carried the AK-47 strapped across his back-he didn't just walk in, he owned the space. Every head turned. No one dared whisper.
Except Maya. Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly in pure, undiluted curiosity.
There it is. That spark again. That insatiable thirst to know more, to dig deeper, to uncover what others fear.
Typical Maya Shekhawat.
And yet... I couldn't look away either.
Kabir took his place beside me, offering nothing more than a short bow-a silent gesture of loyalty and respect. His face, as always, was unreadable. Stoic. Controlled. The kind of stillness that unnerved even the boldest of men.
And then they approached-Maya Shekhawat and Shravni.
Two storms walking straight into the eye of another.
Maya stopped directly in front of me, her chin tilted up in subtle defiance, eyes locked onto mine as if daring me to blink first. Shravni, on the other hand, fixed her burning gaze on Kabir, her expression sharp enough to slice steel. If looks could kill, Kabir would've been six feet under. But he didn't even flinch.
Women.
"Thank you, Mr. Mehrotra," Maya began, her voice steady-too steady. But I could sense it. The thundering beat of her heart. The slight tension in her throat. She was trying too hard to appear composed.
"For helping with Shravni's kidnapping incident," she added.
I didn't respond.
"And," she continued, exhaling softly, "apologies for her childish behavior. She faked it. I take full responsibility."
Only then did I lift my eyes to meet hers. There it was-guilt mixed with boldness, a storm trapped in silk.
"No problem, Miss Shekhawat," I replied calmly, after a brief pause.
"But next time, perhaps verify your pranks before rushing to me. I'd assume a group of women so inspired by you would know better."
Her mouth fell open slightly in disbelief. I saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes.
Utsav Mehrotra-known for saying less than ten words in any conversation-had just mocked her. With sarcasm. With restraint. With calculated intent.
I didn't wait for a retort. I turned and walked away with Kabir, leaving her stunned in our wake as if she hadn't even existed.
As we walked, I caught sight of Ishanvi flinging a wine glass toward Aarav. The poor bastard looked utterly baffled, ducking just in time to avoid a soaked tuxedo. I rolled my eyes.
So it begins.
The chaos of the wedding.
Her girl squad-just like her-chaotic, reckless, and mindless.
But Maya?
Maya wasn't a glam doll wrapped in sequins and superficiality. She wasn't just another pretty face fluttering behind mascara and borrowed confidence.
She was fire.
Untamed. Defiant. Dangerous.
A wildfire that didn't think twice before diving into flames-like she had during the kidnapping incident. Like she did when she said she wanted to date me.
Who the hell says that to me?
Aarav and Ishanvi now looked like two toddlers fighting over a candy bar, their bickering loud and dramatic. Meanwhile, Aditya stood next to Aditi, one arm firmly behind her back in a stance of quiet possession. Not affection-possession.
And Maya?
She was still watching me.
So was Shravni.
Both of them frozen, unreadable, as Kabir and I passed by. Kabir, apparently, had attracted his own stalker.
Pathetic.
Just as I was about to make my exit, a waitress stumbled into me-her tray tilting, and in an instant, cold juice spilled down my chest.
Gasps erupted around us like firecrackers.
Kabir even blinked-startled, for once.
The waitress looked like she might faint. Her hands trembled as she fumbled for tissues. "I-I'm so sorry, sir. I'll clean it. I didn't mean to-"
I raised my hand in silent dismissal.
No yelling. No chaos.
Just control.
She bowed her head quickly and scurried away as if escaping death.
I let out a quiet sigh.
Perfect.
Another reason to leave this mindless party.
Without glancing back at the chaos behind me, I strode straight to my room. I needed to change. I needed space. I needed silence. Because the longer I stayed here, the more her presence itched under my skin like a splinter I couldn't remove.
Maya Shekhawat was a storm.
And I had walked right into its eye.
As soon as I stepped into my room, I shut the door behind me and began to unbutton my shirt. The noise outside-the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses-faded instantly. My walls were soundproof, by design. Privacy was not a luxury for men like me-it was a necessity. No one could hear what happened in this room. And if someone did, I had more than enough ways to make them regret it.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Reyansh.
I picked it up and tapped the speaker icon, letting his voice echo into the silence.
"Sir, everything is done according to plan," he reported in his usual calm tone.
I continued removing my cufflinks and walked toward the wardrobe, replying simply, "Good. No mistakes."
He hesitated. "Yes, sir. No mistakes... but are you sure about this?"
My jaw tightened. My eyes narrowed as I pulled a white shirt from the closet. The moment of calm cracked. That tone-doubt-wasn't something I tolerated.
"No questions asked," I said coldly.
"I-I'm sorry, sir-" he began, but I'd already disconnected the call.
I didn't have time for explanations, especially not for doubt. If you served under me, you obeyed. It was that simple.
Just as I was about to put the shirt on, something caught my eye.
A red mark.
I paused, staring at the shirt's pocket area. A distinct imprint. Lipstick. Crimson red.
I clenched the shirt in my fist so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The fabric strained beneath my grip.
"Maya Shekhawat," I muttered through gritted teeth.
Of course. Who else?
Red lipstick. Her signature. Brazen. Reckless. This wasn't a mistake. This was deliberate. A challenge.
She had the audacity to leave her mark-on my clothes.
Unacceptable.
If this was her way of teasing, she clearly had no idea what game she was stepping into. Or perhaps she did-and still dared to poke the devil.
She wanted my attention?
Now she had it.
I threw the shirt into the dustbin with controlled fury and picked out another. Crisp, clean, untouched. She wouldn't win this way. Not yet.
Not ever.
As I combed my hair, the door burst open. I didn't flinch.
Aadi stormed in, breath uneven, eyes burning. "Bhai, who told Dad I'm getting married?"
I stared at him, watching the panic ripple across his usually confident face.
"How do you know he knows?" I asked coolly, adjusting my cuff.
"My assistant-Rohit-called me," he said through clenched teeth. "Dad booked a flight for India this morning. And in the next hour, my wedding rituals are set to begin."
I frowned, processing the timing. Coincidence? Unlikely.
"Perhaps he's just coming for business," I offered, sitting on the edge of my bed, sipping the whiskey I had poured moments ago.
Aadi let out a humorless laugh. "No, Bhai. Whether it's business or not, the moment he steps foot in India, he'll know I'm marrying. And then-God help me."
He dropped down beside me, rubbing his temples in frustration. His voice cracked under the weight of years.
"You know what he's like. I can't even imagine what he'll do when he finds out I'm marrying a girl of my own choice, not one he selected for his precious business alliances."
There was silence for a beat.
"For him, I'm nothing but a pawn-used, discarded, moved around for convenience. That's all I've ever been."
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him.
"And for that," he added, "I hate him. I hate him with every breath in my body."
I watched him. Not just my cousin-he was like my younger brother. The hatred in his voice wasn't new. It had been buried for years. Today, it was finally surfacing.
"I'll give you two choices, Aadi," I said, voice low, measured. "First-call off the wedding now, if you want to avoid his wrath. Or two-stand your ground. Fight for it. Like a man who refuses to give up on love."
I raised my glass to my lips and took a slow sip. "The choice is yours."
Aadi stared at me, shocked. Maybe he expected me to be more involved, to give him an answer wrapped in comfort or advice. But comfort breeds weakness. And I didn't raise him to be weak.
"How are you so calm about this?" he asked, voice rising with disbelief. "You know what he's capable of!"
I leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, resting my glass lazily in my palm. "Yes, I know. But I'm his nephew, Aadi. You're his son. You know him better than I do."
He looked away, jaw tightening, clearly frustrated. "Exactly. I know what he can do. I've seen it. That man... he doesn't negotiate. He dominates."
"And I don't care," I said flatly. "You think I became his favorite by accident? No. I earned it. Not by obeying him-but by daring him."
Aadi looked at me, silent.
"I never let him control me," I continued. "I confronted him head-on. I gave him open challenges. That's why he respects me."
My words weren't meant to soothe-they were meant to sting. Sometimes, people needed pain to awaken their strength.
He needed it now.
After a long silence, Aadi finally spoke.
"Marriage is happening tonight," he said, voice firm, resolved. "No matter what."
A slow smirk curved on my lips.
"Good decision."
For the first time, I saw fire in his eyes.
He wasn't the same boy from yesterday-the one who hesitated, who feared, who kept his rebellion hidden in shadows.
No.
This version of Aadi was evolving. Becoming bold. Becoming dangerous.
Becoming like me.
And somewhere, deep inside, I was proud-even if I would never say it aloud.
Let the war begin.
Uncle would be in for a surprise.
Because this time, his puppet had cut the strings.
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