I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees.
His gaze flickered down to my hands, which are now fidgeting with the edgeof my saree.
What is happening to me?
Oh God, now I’m thinking about his mouth. Why is it slightly open? Does he not realize? Should I tell him?
No. No, Kiara.You stay far, far away from anything that involves thinking about his mouth. Or his face. Or that look he's giving you like he just saw you for the first time and isn’t sure whether to yell or… kiss you?
Nope. Absolutely not. Delete that thought.
I clear my throat, trying to remember how language works. “I am ready.”
He nods once, still watching me. That stupid, infuriating, way-too-handsome face completely devoid of expression—and somehow still managing to judge me.
“Hey… hi, Manav! Isn’t someone looking beautiful?” Myra chirped, bouncing off the bed with a grin so wide it could bring peace between countries.
“Uh… umm…” Manav stammered, clearly flustered, which only made him look more absurd. For a guy who practically owns half the world, you’d think he could string a compliment together without breaking into a sweat. I mean, I’ve even managed to nod along when my aunt asked if she looked like a queen, while she was looking like a villain straight out of a horror movie.
But here he is, struggling to form a single sentence as if saying something nice would set off an alarm. Or, you know, send a message to the zombies about an apocalypse—theymight want a heads-up, too. And while we're at it, maybe notify the long-gone scientists that we've ditched the classic light bulbs for a rainbow of LEDs, solar lights, and whatever else we can think of. Why? Because, of course, we went all out on every last resource, and now we’re left with just a gaping, ozone-deprived darkness.
____________
The party hall was a vision of grandeur and sophistication. High, vaulted ceilings glittered under the light of ornate chandeliers, their crystal accents casting a delicate, golden glow over the room. Crisp white linens covered the tables, and the fine china and polished silverware gleamed under the soft ambient lighting, creating an inviting yet refined atmosphere. Classical music played gently in the background, enhancing the air of sophistication that permeated the hall.
The room buzzed with the mingling of voices, laughter intertwining with the soft clinking of glasses. As I descended the grand staircase, applause erupted throughout the room, echoing off the walls like thunder. Roy, standing tall with a beaming smile, called out. “Here comes my life… my world… my little sister!”
Could someone please inform my brother that his“little sister”is a certified idiot? Apparently, I can’t even handle a flight of stairs without nearly face-planting and needing the strong, steady hand of the ever-grumpy, annoyingly sexy, and surprisingly caring Manav Oberoi. The only reason I managed not to go sprawling was thanks to his quick reflexes. All of this,of course, because my so-called best friend decided I should be wrapped up like a decorative cabbage in this ridiculously beautiful saree while she's probably off dreaming up new forms of sexting to revolutionize the world.
He held my hand without a word, steadying me with that silent, steady presence that people might call “gentlemanly.” But they’d be wrong. Manav Oberoi is no gentleman; he’s a mystery wrapped in muscles and brooding silence, and I’m not sure if he’s being nice or just silently judging. And honestly? The jury’s still out on whether I’m grateful or embarrassed.
Yes, I know—he protected me from that devil Rocky. Word has it he punched the guy’s face just because he wouldn’t stop talking about me. And it didn’t stop there; Manav fed me about five hundred times a day and taught me how to cook beyond just boiling pasta and vegetables (it turns out you need to mix them in a saucepan for a meal).
But here’s the thing: Manav Oberoi doesn’t forget. He checks my wrist bruises and the fading wound on my arm almost daily; his eyes clouded with some unreadable expression each time he asks, “Does it still hurt?” It’s been over a couple of hours since that brat attacked me, and Manav has probably asked me five thousand times about the pain. What throws me off is the frown that follows, as if he’s got a plan to end anyone who’s ever hurt me. And I can’t decide what bothers me more—that frown or the warmth of his care behind it.
The applause grew louder, the hum of scattered conversations fading as guests turned their attention toward me. Manav left my hand free gently, and suddenly I was cold… so cold.
Roy made his way over, his eyes gleaming with pride as he raised his glass in a toast. “I love you, baby sister…” he announced, pulling me into a warm, brotherly hug that made me feel, just for a moment, like the most cherished person in the room.
____________
As my eyes roamed across the room, Manav was engrossed in conversation with a cluster of business elites. But when our eyes met, he froze for a split second, his gaze faltering as he swallowed hard before quickly turning back to his discussion.
Is there ever a moment when he doesn’t look like he’s just stepped off the cover of a magazine? And in a tuxedo?Really? Is he auditioning to beJames Bondtonight? Whoever his tailor is deserves an award because it’s like they sewed him straight into that tux—flawless.
I can’t handle him in that suit without a drink in my hand—a strong drink.
I threw back a few more shots, feeling the heat spread through me, loosening my nerves, and giving me just enough distance from the scene around me. The bartender, a cute guy with an amused smile, watched as if tallying up my count with interest, probably wondering if he’d need to cut me off soon. Around me, people were buzzing, conversations weaving through the air about business ventures, exaggerated family bonds, and their polished facades of perfect lives.
Mr. Heinsken was loudly boasting about his company’s latest electric car model, his pride evident in every word. But what he didn’t mention—what no one here would—is the reality behind closed doors. The daughter he pressured out of her dreams of becoming a dancer, dismissed for fear she’d tarnish the family’s tech-driven legacy.
Mrs. Skew, in her usual tone of entitlement, was droning on about her belief that Indians should “know their place” and stay economically limited. I couldn’t help but smirk as Manav responded with a charming smile. “Yes, otherwise it’d be a serious threat to the entire world.”
Meanwhile, Dr. Shroff, fresh off a flight from India, had brought along his stunning daughter, who was eyeing my brother as if he were some form of carrot ready to be eaten by a hungry rabbit.
Yet, in all this glamor and gold, it’s refreshing to see that Roy has held onto something these people seem to have lost—the essence of humanity. Despite his seamless fit into their world, he hasn’t let it strip away his compassion.In this room of polished surfaces, he’s still grounded, reminding me why, in all this opulence, he stands out for more than just his success.
And here I am, surrounded by people wearing masks thicker than the walls in this room, taking another sip and pretending it all doesn’t get under my skin.
