CHAPTER 1
ARYAN
Jayesh sits across from me on the leather chair, shoulders tight, fingers knotted together like he’s about to confess to a murder.
He isn’t normally like this. Jayesh is calm, methodical, confident—a man who knows exactly how to build a space from the ground up and make it feel lived in. So seeing him fidgeting? Yeah. Something’s wrong.
He clears his throat, voice strained. “My wife..." He looks everywhere but me, "She is seven months pregnant and…she’s having complications.” His eyes shift down, worry swimming there. “I need to stay with her. I know this is last minute and very unprofessional, and I apologize—”
I don’t let him finish.
I stand, reaching for my blazer resting on the chair’s back. “It’s okay,” I say gently, slipping my arms through the sleeves and buttoning it. “I get it.”
He looks up, startled.
I fasten the second button, then meet his eyes fully, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Go, be with your wife, Jayesh. That’s more important.”
Jayesh blinks at me once, twice…like he wasn’t expecting kindness from me—like that’s rare. And honestly? I shouldn’t find it funny. But I do. What is it with people assuming CEOs must be arrogant, rude, calculating machines? Cold-blooded, emotionless, profit-driven tyrants. So typical. So not me.
I’m the CEO ofThe Evergreen Group, not a Bond villain. If they want rude and arrogant, they should try having a conversation with Rudraksh—my childhood best friend, human embodiment of “I don’t give a damn.” He was born with a frown and an attitude problem, I swear. Though it suits him perfectly.
I’m…not that. Never have been. I did try. But it felt more like acting and I didn't know how long I could act. So I gave up and followed my own mantra: Kindness can solve almost everything. It works for me mostly. Of course, there are people who assume since I am all bright and shiny, I am weak, but that's a very illogical analysis and if someone tries to provoke, they get their answers too.
Jayesh stands up too, looking like I just pardoned him from a death sentence. “Mr. Khanna, I—thank you. Really."
“Before you go,” I say, raising an eyebrow, “can you help me find a replacement?”
His relief is almost comic. His shoulders drop, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. “Yes, definitely. I’ll ask around and get back to you.” He gives a grateful smile, bows slightly, and rushes out.
I watch him leave, and the moment the door shuts, I let out a slow breath and sink back into my chair.
And just like that, the office feels too big again.
My gaze drifts to the window—the city stretching wide and loud beneath us. Eight years. Eight long, exhausting, exhilarating years since I started Evergreen with nothing but a borrowed office space, a temperamental laptop, and the idiotic belief that I could build something meaningful.
Now? Now we’re one of the fastest-growing investment companies in the country. We outgrew this building three years ago. Bought the land next to it two year back. Construction finished two months ago, and the moment it did, Jayesh began remodeling the interiors.
And yet…here we are. Still not finished. Still nowhere near done.
Because apparently, interior design isn’t just “make it look nice.”
Who knew? Not me. I have zero sense of design. Absolutely none. If anyone asks me to choose between two whites, I will panic. If anyone asks me the difference between “cream” and “ivory,” I will assume it’s a trick question.
And now my only designer is gone.
I rub a hand over my jaw. Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed.
My phone rings.
I sigh when I see the screen light up, of course.
Ma.
I inhale slowly, mentally preparing myself. There is no force on earth as unavoidable as my mother on a mission.
I swipe to answer. “Hi, Ma.”
“So,” she begins without greeting—classic—“your aunt’s friend’s daughter—”
