Present Day — Mumbai
The glittering lights of Mumbai's skyscrapers poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top-floor office at Agarwal Group—one of Asia's top three industrial export and manufacturing conglomerates, whose headquarters had been relocated to Mumbai just two years ago.
Before the breathtaking view of a city that never slept stood a man in his mid-thirties, motionless and imposing. His broad back was clad in a custom-tailored designer shirt, every inch of him exuding authority and control.
Yet the reflection in the glass revealed something far colder—sharp, emotionless eyes hardened by years of buried rage.
Long fingers tapped lightly against a crystal glass of expensive brandy. The faint clink of ice against glass echoed softly, yet unnervingly loud in the oppressive silence of the office.
Then—
A subtle vibration on the desk pulled his attention away from the city beyond the glass.
Long legs moved with unhurried confidence toward the desk. He set the brandy glass down gently and lifted his luxury phone to his ear.
"Speak."
His voice was calm—icy—but carried an unmistakable finality.
(It's done, Mr. Chairman.)
The voice on the other end sounded casual, yet beneath it lay a seriousness that drew a faint, satisfied smirk to the man's lips.
"Good. Make sure there's no evidence."
(Of course. You can rest assured.)
The call ended abruptly.
Dark eyes gleamed with clear satisfaction. The report came from his most trusted secretary—the one he had sent to deal with his latest business rival who had dared to challenge him.
Success. Power. Wealth.
He now possessed far more than he had ever dreamed of.
Yet there was one thing money could never buy back—
A heart that had been shattered.
A faith in love that had been mercilessly trampled into darkness.
He took a seat in the leather chair behind the massive mahogany desk. Documents and the latest computer model lay neatly arranged—but beside them stood a small framed photograph.
A woman in a crimson red sari, smiling radiantly.
Eyes bright as stars.
Ammavadi Chauhan.
Her name still carved deep into his memory every time it surfaced, no matter how hard he tried to bury it beneath the ruins of his heart.
A bitter ache tightened in his chest as Shiva lifted the frame, his thumb brushing gently over the glass that separated him from the woman he once loved.
Yet his gaze only grew colder.
Love…
He scoffed silently.
The most beautiful lie in the world.
And when the memories of two years ago resurfaced, the pain struck as sharply as if it had happened just yesterday.
---
Two Years Earlier
The Golden Lotus Restaurant — Jaipur
Soft piano music drifted through the luxurious restaurant, blending seamlessly with the romantic ambiance filled with fresh flowers and exquisite cuisine. It was a place meant for lovers—confessions, promises, beginnings.
But not for them.
At thirty-three, Shiva entered with composed steps. A rising industrial export tycoon, already among the nation's elite—yet his heart felt unbearably heavy.
Just hours earlier, Ammavadi had texted him, asking to meet.
He had read her message again and again—the tone distant, formal, painfully cold.
(Shiva… please meet me at The Golden Lotus this evening. There's something important I need to talk about.)
She was already waiting at a corner table.
The pastel blue sari she wore complemented her fair skin perfectly. She was as beautiful as ever—but her light brown eyes avoided his, filled with indifference.
"Have you been waiting long?" he asked gently, tenderness and pain flickering in his dark eyes.
"No… I just arrived," she replied softly, lips pressed together as she glanced at him before lowering her gaze to her fingers.
Time crawled. Silence wrapped around them like a suffocating fog.
Finally, Ammavadi took a deep breath and looked straight at him, her eyes trembling.
"Shiva…"
Her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
"We can't go on like this. I think… we should end our relationship."
The words struck like a hammer to his chest.
He had prepared himself—but the pain still crushed him.
He gave a hollow, bitter smile.
He wasn't surprised.
Not after what he had seen with his own eyes.
"Why, Ammavadi?"
His voice dropped low as his fists clenched, veins standing out as he fought to restrain the storm inside him.
"I… I don't want to lie to you anymore," she said shakily.
"I've met someone else. Someone I want to build my life with. I'm sorry, Shiva… but I choose him."
A cold chuckle escaped him.
"So that's it."
He reached into his suit pocket and placed something on the table.
Photographs.
Ammavadi with Rafi Sheikh—a real estate tycoon and rising political star from Mumbai. Their intimacy in those images spoke louder than words.
Her face drained of color.
"Rafi Sheikh… doing business in Mumbai. Your dream city," Shiva mocked quietly.
"He's about to enter politics too, isn't he? A future far brighter than that of a mere export businessman like me."
"Shiva… it's not like that—"
"Not like that?"
His sharp gaze cut into her.
"So what is it? He can give you what I can't? Stability? Power? You know how fast my company is growing. Or is it still not enough for you?"
Tears welled in her eyes as she shook her head.
"It's not just money or power… Rafi has ambition. Connections. He can make my dreams come true."
"Dreams?"
He laughed bitterly.
"The dream of becoming a politician's wife? And what about our three years together, Ammavadi? Did they mean nothing to you?"
Three years ago, at the Gangaur Festival in Udaipur—
He had never imagined his stone-cold heart would be shaken by a woman in a fiery red sari carrying a sacred pot in the procession.
That smile had brought sunlight into his empty life.
That day, he learned her name.
Ammavadi Chauhan.
The goddess of his heart.
And that… was the beginning of everything.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, Shiva," she cried.
But to him, those words were cheap—incapable of healing his pain.
He stood to his full height, looking at her one last time. Love, loyalty, trust—everything he had given her—vanished in an instant.
"I loved you with everything I had," he said hoarsely, a single tear slipping free before he wiped it away.
"And you repaid that love with betrayal."
"I will make you understand what it means to betray me," he vowed coldly.
"And you will pay for what you've done."
He turned and walked away—leaving her sobbing behind.
But it was already too late.
---
Present Day
The memories faded.
Shiva set the photo frame back on the desk.
The calm in his eyes vanished, replaced by flames of vengeance that had burned for two long years.
No.
This pain would not be meaningless.
Ammavadi must pay.
She might be happy now—with the man she chose.
But her beloved younger sister—
Ambika Chauhan—
would bear the price of his suffering.
A chilling smile curved his lips, as if a devil had risen from the ashes of his broken heart.
He pressed the intercom button slowly.
"Arman. Come to my office. Now."
Moments later, the door opened silently. A tall, sharp-eyed man in a black suit stepped in, bowing slightly—his handsome face wearing a playful grin.
"Yes, Mr. Chairman."
"I want everything on the Chauhan family," Shiva said evenly.
"Especially their youngest daughter."
"Ambika Chauhan."
Arman's smile widened.
"Understood. Give me thirty minutes. Everything will be on your desk."
"Good."
His eyes gleamed dangerously.
"Find out everything—her routine, her friends, her weaknesses… everything she loves and cherishes."
The smile on Shiva's face turned merciless.
"Ammavadi…
The thing you love the most—
I will destroy it."