Clash of Titans

The grand hall, bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, shimmered with the brilliance of diamonds that were truly one of a kind. The air carried the unmistakable scent of wealth and power, mingled with expensive cologne and fine wine. After all, tonight was one of the most awaited events of the year—the Annual Business Excellence Awards, where the country’s most powerful corporate giants gathered under one roof.

Ekansh Vardhan leaned against the bar counter, lazily swirling the amber liquid in his glass, his expression betraying his disinterest.

"Yeh events wagerah bilkul pasand nahi mujhe, par phir bhi kya kar sakte hain, majboori hai." (I don’t like these events at all, but what can I do? It’s not like I had a choice.)

Kushal, his cousin and trusted business advisor, chuckled at his tone.

"Aapko awards ki kya zaroorat hai bhai, sari duniya jaanti hai ki Ekansh Vardhan kya cheez hai." (Why would you need awards, Bhai? The entire world already knows who Ekansh Vardhan is.)

Before Ekansh could respond, a cheerful voice interrupted them.

Aarohi, his childhood friend, walked toward them with a teasing smile and gave him a quick side hug.

"Aarohi, tum yahan?" Kushal asked, raising an eyebrow. (Aarohi, you’re here?)

"Well, mann toh mera bhi nahi tha par Ekansh ko kaise akela chhod sakti hoon?" she said playfully. (Well, I didn’t really want to come, but how could I leave Ekansh alone?)

Ekansh shot her a glare, clearly unimpressed.

"Okay, okay, jokes aside. Papa ne bola ki mujhe corporate events attend karne chahiye—thoda kuch seekhne milega, naye connections banenge. And no matter how hard I tried to argue, he forced me. Aur jab pata chala tum dono bhi yahin ho, so ya, it wasn’t a bad deal." (Okay, okay, jokes aside. Dad said I should attend corporate events—it would help me learn things and build new connections. No matter how much I argued, he forced me. And when I found out you both would be here too, it didn’t seem like a bad deal.)

While Aarohi and Kushal continued their chatter, Ekansh remained distant, his mind preoccupied with strategies, upcoming deals, and projects. Time was money, and he wasn’t about to waste it just because of some event.

A sudden vibration in his pocket pulled him out of his thoughts. His phone buzzed, flashing "Papa" on the screen. He excused himself and moved away from the bar counter to take the call.

His father, Viren Vardhan, usually attended these high-class social events himself. But tonight, he had insisted that Ekansh represent the Vardhan Empire instead.

"Aaj tumhe yahan aana zaroori tha, Ekansh. Log sirf power aur paisa nahi dekhte, presence bhi matter karti hai." (It was important for you to be here tonight, Ekansh. People don’t just see power and money; presence matters too.)

"Aapko pata hai mujhe ye sab pasand nahi, par phir bhi main aaya hoon." (You know I don’t like all this, but I still came.)

"Acha kiya. Vardhan naam sirf sunai nahi dena chahiye, dikhaai bhi dena chahiye." (Good. The name Vardhan shouldn’t just be heard; it should be seen.)

After a brief conversation, Ekansh slid his phone back into his pocket and turned to return to the bar counter. But just as he was about to move, his sharp gaze caught a waiter stumbling over something. The tray in his hand, filled with glasses of wine, tilted dangerously—heading straight toward a girl who stood completely oblivious to the chaos about to unfold.

She was dressed in a midnight blue gown, her hair styled in a perfect bun, a few rebellious strands escaping and framing her face.

Instinctively, Ekansh moved. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, and in one swift motion, he pulled her toward him—away from the impending disaster.

Her eyes, large and sharp, held an unusual depth, a kind of beauty that wasn't delicate but striking. For a brief moment, she looked up at him, surprise flickering in her gaze.

And then, without warning, pain exploded in his jaw as her hand struck him across the face. His head tilted slightly to the side from the impact, and his grip on her wrist loosened.

"Tum samajhte kya ho apne aap ko, Mr. Ekansh Vardhan? Mujhe choone ki himmat kaise hui tumhari?" she spat, her voice dripping with disdain. (Who do you think you are, Mr. Ekansh Vardhan? How dare you touch me?)

Ekansh clenched his jaw, stunned, but before he could say anything, she continued, her voice sharp as a blade.

"Achhe se jaanti hoon tum jaise logon ko. Paisa aur power aa jaata hai toh samajhte ho kisi ko bhi kabhi bhi chho sakte ho. Par ek baat samajh lena—mai unme se nahi hoon." (I know men like you very well. When you get money and power, you think you can touch anyone whenever you want. But understand one thing—I am not one of those people.)

By now, the hall had gone silent. The media, always hungry for drama, had turned their cameras toward them, capturing every second of what was quickly becoming the next big scandal.

Ekansh exhaled sharply, controlling his temper.

"Dekhiye, aap jaisa samajh rahi hain, waisa kuch nahi hai—" (Look, it’s not what you’re thinking—)

"Accha? Toh phir kaisa hai? Bataiye!" she snapped, her tone accusatory. (Oh really? Then tell me, what is it?)

Before Ekansh could explain himself, a voice echoed through the hall.

"AND THE AWARD FOR STANDING OUT AS THE MOST PROFITABLE COMPANY THIS YEAR GOES TO THE RAJAWATS. I KINDLY REQUEST SIARA RAJAWAT, WHO IS NOW THE NEW CEO OF RAJAWAT INDUSTRIES, TO COLLECT THE AWARD."

The tension in the room shifted as heads turned toward the girl.

Siara Rajawat.

Without another glance at him, Siara turned, her expression shifting to calm composure. The anger in her eyes melted into a poised, unreadable gaze as she walked toward the stage. Her strides were graceful, her smile polite, deceivingly serene—but only she knew how much effort it took to mask her rage behind that perfect expression.

The audience, which had just been feasting on their dramatic encounter, now whispered amongst themselves, the revelation of her identity adding another layer of intrigue.

As Siara accepted the award and gracefully stepped down from the stage, the weight of the evening settled over her. She had expected to make headlines tonight—but not for a public altercation with Ekansh Vardhan. Still, it didn’t matter. She had spoken her truth. Men like him always assumed they could do whatever they pleased. She wouldn’t let anyone, not even him, think otherwise.

Just as she reached for a glass of water from a nearby table, a waiter hurried toward her, his expression anxious.

"Ma’am…" he hesitated, glancing nervously between her and the bar where Ekansh still stood, his jaw tight, his gaze unwavering. "Woh…" He swallowed, his voice faltering, as if unsure whether he should say anything at all.

Siara frowned, her patience thin. "Kya matlab?"

But the waiter didn’t answer. He merely lowered his gaze, took a small step back, and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

Something about his hesitation sent a strange unease creeping down her spine.

And just like that, she had no idea what a grave mistake she had just committed.