The 42nd floor of the Zenith Tower didn't just offer a view of Mumbai; it offered a view of power.
In the sleek, minimalist corridors of Sengupta & Associates, the air-conditioning was set to a crisp 18°C, but the atmosphere inside the main boardroom was reaching a boiling point.
Arjun Sengupta stood at the head of the glass table, his charcoal suit tailored to perfection, looking like a man who owned the horizon.
The heavy oak doors swung open, cutting through his monologue.
Ankita Choudhary entered like a tropical storm—sharp, unpredictable, and carrying a leather portfolio that looked like it had seen more site visits than Arjun's pristine Italian shoes.
The Face-Off
Ankita didn't wait for an invitation. She dropped her bag on the table, the thud echoing against the soundproof walls.
Ankita: "Arjun, stop this nonsense right now. Maine suna tumne Skyline Project ke terrace gardens kaat diye? Tumhari himmat kaise hui mere designs ko touch karne ki?"
Arjun didn't flinch. He slowly clicked his laser pointer off and turned to face her, a patronizing tilt to his head. "Ankita, relax. Blueprints hain, koi holy script nahi. I was just trimming the fat. Tumhari greenery ki wajah se building ka load-bearing structure compromise ho raha tha. Logic seekho, garden baad mein banana."
Ankita leaned over the table, her shadow falling across his meticulously planned CAD renders. "Logic? Tumhe logic aur boredom ke beech ka farq nahi pata. You want to build another glass coffin in the middle of Worli.
My gardens provide natural cooling. Sheher ko oxygen chahiye, Arjun, tumhara oversized ego nahi."
Arjun stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous silkiness that usually intimidated his interns—but Ankita wasn't just an intern. She was his nemesis.
Arjun:"In this industry, Ankita, oxygen doesn't pay the bills. Square footage does. Tumhare 'forest dreams' client ko bankrupt kar denge. I saved the project three crores this morning. You should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Ankita let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Main tumhe thank karungi? Jis din tum ek design bina mere purane ideas churaaye bana loge, uss din sochoongi. You're a glorified builder, Arjun. Not an architect."
The room went silent.
The junior architects held their breath, looking anywhere but at the two titans.
Arjun's jaw tightened, a vein pulsing at his temple—the only sign that she had drawn blood."Careful, Ankita," he whispered, his eyes dark with a mix of fury and something unreadable. "Iss office mein mera naam darwaaze par likha hai. Agar maine chaha, toh kal tak tumhara career ek purani building ki tarah demolish ho jayega."
Ankita didn't back down. She matched his gaze, her chin lifted in defiance.
"Then do it. Par yaad rakhna, Arjun... malbe se hi nayi buniyaad banti hai. I'm not going anywhere."
Ankita leaves Arjun's desk and headed towards hers.
ARJUN SENGUPTA
Twenty-seven years of pure, architecturally-perfected chaos,
Arjun was the man every woman in the firm dreamed of and every HR manager feared.
While his blueprints were flawless, his reputation was a scandalous mosaic of office rumors and "midnight site visits" that had nothing to do with construction. With a smirk that could melt the most rigid professional resolve and a past littered with twelve broken hearts—ranging from high-society socialites to his infamous high school biology teacher—he treated the corporate world like his personal playground.
He was the office's most effective "Chaos Agent," a man who lived for the thrill of the chase, completely unaware that his ultimate challenge was sitting just two desks away, sharpening her claws for a promotion that would turn his playground into a battlefield.
ANKITA CHOUDHARY
At twenty-six, Ankita wasn't just climbing the corporate ladder; she was setting it on fire so no one could follow her.
Known as the office's "Ice Queen" with a gaze that could drop the room's temperature by ten degrees, she operated on a diet of black coffee and pure, unadulterated ambition.
To her, feelings were architectural flaws and distraction was a sin. While Arjun was busy collecting phone numbers, Ankita was busy collecting accolades, turning her desk into a fortress of blueprints and iron-clad discipline. She was the storm that didn't scream—she simmered—waiting for the promotion that would finally give her the power to transform the firm into her own clinical empire and put a leash on the office's favorite playboy.
Arjun's playboy reputation was the only thing Ankita hated more than the fact that he was the only man capable of matching her fire.
Ankita mutters to herself : " bas ek baar promotion mil jaye ! " .