Shivyansh

I stared at him across the couch, the weight of the silence thick between us. His eyes didn't flinch, didn't even shift, just cold, steady, like I was some problem he'd rather ignore.

"You need to stop dictating my life. It's pathetic at this point, Dad."

The words came out harsher than I meant, but I didn't pull them back. My fists were clenched in my lap, nails digging into my skin, but I kept my gaze locked on his. Let him see it. Let him feel it.

He lets out an unsatisfied sigh before crossing his arms over his chest, "I'm not dictating your life, I'm making it easier for you. What is it about here that you love so much that you refuse to leave? Aesi kya cheez mil gyi hai idhar Shiv?" He questions in frustration.

"Koi cheez nhi hai, puri zandagi aapke isharo pe nikali hai, aur ab mujhe khud ko kuch karna hai toh abhi aapko dikkat hai?" I scoff, eyeing him with the same intensity he had been all this time.

"Toh karo Shiv, magar idhar rehke aesa kya mil raha hai tumko?" His voice cracked through the quiet room, sharper this time, his fist slamming against the arm of the chair like he wanted to break it apart.

I looked away from his intense gaze, jaw tightening. My fist clenched tighter than before, the skin of my palm stinging where my nails had dug in. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, pretending I didn't feel the burn or the way his anger twisted something deeper inside me.

What he doesn't know is that, away from home, away from the country, I won't be able to steal his company from him like I plan to. I won't be able to get hold of all the operations, away from this office, without his knowing. And it won't take long before he figures out what I've been up to for the past few months, secretly convincing the members of the board that it's time my father retired and stop polluting this company with any more corruption than it's already suffered.

My father has this irritating habit of corrupting everything he gets hold of, be it human or object. It didn't take him long before he convinced my mother to sell her company to him, which only resulted in her downfall. To this date, I've never seen her as happy as she was, being the perfect CEO that she used to be. He didn't even think for a second before deciding my future for me. It was written for me the moment I was born.

Shivyansh Khurana, new heir to the Khurana empire.

That was the headline splashed across every newspaper the day I was born.

The responsibility was forced upon me without even asking what I wanted. No one cared about the dreams I had, the life I pictured for myself. I was expected to leave all of that behind and become something I despised more than anything. Just another version of my dad.

It scared me. The idea of becoming like him, of adopting his ways and turning into something even worse than he is, haunted me. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't keep going forward knowing that if I didn't intervene now, he'd shape me into his clone... someone who dances at his every command, someone who forgets how to think for himself.

I refuse to let it happen, and I refuse to let his stubbornness ruin all my plans.

"Dad, I'm not leaving Delhi. That's my final decision," I shot back, the edge in my voice sharper than I'd intended.

He stared at me for a long second before springing out of his seat. Without another word, he moved toward the window in front of us, his focus shifting from me to the city sprawled beyond the glass.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun perched at its highest point. Buildings glittered under its sharp rays, streaks of light bouncing off the glass towers and steel panels. The sky stretched out in the same pale blue it always wore, something I'd grown so used to seeing every day that it had become almost mechanical, stripped of wonder.

He stood there for a moment, his back rigid, shoulders squared like he was holding himself together by force. Slowly, he turned toward me, his eyes harder than before, cold, sharp, as if drilling into every word I'd spoken.

"Then turn in your resignation," he said, his voice low but laced with steel. "If you don't want to do what's expected of you... If you want to throw it all away... go ahead. Submit the letter and leave."

He didn't raise his voice this time. It wasn't necessary. The threat hung between us, heavier than any shouted command. His gaze didn't waver, daring me to take that step. For a second, the silence stretched, and I could feel his disappointment, his fury, and something darker beneath it, a cold detachment, as if I no longer mattered enough to fight for.

"Let's look at this logically, Dad," I began, narrowing my eyes as I stared him down. "Right now, you're nothing without me managing everything around the company. I can turn in that resignation, no doubt. But it won't take you more than a week before you're crawling back, asking me to handle the small things you didn't see while trying to manage it all."

I let the words hang in the air, each one deliberate, sharp. His jaw twitched, but he didn't respond right away. The silence stretched again, thick with unspoken anger and wounded pride. I knew I'd hit where it hurt, and I wanted him to feel it.

"You're nothing without me," I said, leaning forward slightly, my voice steady, "and this company is nothing without me. It's time you accept that I've got the upper hand here, because it'll make things ten times easier for both of us."

I let the words settle before I leaned back into the couch, letting the tension drain out of my shoulders. A slow, confident smirk crept across my lips, one I knew he wouldn't like. But I didn't care. I wanted him to see it.

The pride that had fixed itself on his face just moments ago vanished like smoke. In its place, a red-hot temper flared, sharp and dangerous. His fist clenched tightly at his side, knuckles white, and he shot me a glare that could've burned through steel. He looked ready to tear me apart with his eyes alone.

But beneath that fury, beneath the layers of rage and wounded ego, lay something darker, something he couldn't show. His desperation.

To his dismay, he needed me. The company needed me. Without Shivyansh Khurana, this empire of his would collapse into nothing more than a cesspool of corrupt workers and money-sucking leeches. And as much as he hated to admit it, the foundation of everything he built rested on me.

Dad steps away from the window, his entire body tense, as if ready to explode. He points a finger at me, shaking with rage, sharp with accusation, as though he could burn me alive with a single glare. Every muscle in his face screams defiance, hurt, and fury.

But just before he can burst into flames right here, a soft knock interrupts us. My eyes snap to the door, and in that brief second, I don't need to see who it is. I already know.

"Come in," I say before I can stop myself, my voice quieter now, stripped of the sharp edge it had moments ago.

The door opens softly, and she steps inside.

Mariam wears a light blue kurti, the fabric soft and flowing, with a dupatta draped loosely over one shoulder, brushing down her side like a gentle stream of water. Her presence seems to shift the air in the room, cool, soothing, effortless.

For a brief second, I forget about the argument, about the rage still simmering in the space between me and my father. All I can do is stare. She feels like a calm breeze cutting through the suffocating heat, like a quiet oasis in the middle of a storm. The sharp edges of the room, the tension, the anger, they blur at the edges as she walks in.

My eyes follow her, lingering, drinking in the stillness she carries, and I feel something ease inside me.

She smiles at me as she enters, soft and effortless, like a quiet promise of peace. For a brief moment, the tight knot in my chest loosens. Her eyes hold warmth, and the corners of her lips curve in a way that feels like a breeze brushing past my skin.

But the moment her gaze drifts past me and lands on my father, the smile falters. It drops as if someone snatched it away. Her eyes widen for the briefest second, a flicker of concern passing through them before she composes herself, her lips straightening.

The calm she carries doesn't disappear entirely, but it thins, like the first crack in glass. I feel it too, the way the room's heat surges again, more suffocating now with her silent reaction staring right at it.

She takes a breath, steadying herself before speaking. "Good afternoon," she says softly, her eyes briefly meeting mine before shifting toward my father.

"I... I just came by to drop off a file," she adds, keeping her tone polite but measured, as if trying to maintain normalcy in a room thick with something neither of them wants to name.

Her eyes don't linger on my father, but I can tell she's aware of the storm beneath the surface. Still, she stands with calm poise, like a gentle breeze trying not to disturb the heat that surrounds us.

I nod at her, keeping my expression neutral, though inside I feel a flicker of relief.

Without saying a word, she walks in a little further, her steps quiet against the floor. She reaches my desk and places the file gently on top, her fingers brushing the edge before she lets go. Her gaze stays fixed on the floor, as if afraid to meet anyone's eyes.

The silence stretches for a moment before my father's voice cuts through it, sharp and controlled.

"I wasn't aware," he says, his eyes narrowing, "mere employees were allowed to present files directly to the office?"

His words hang heavy in the room, laced with suspicion. I can feel the air tighten again, but Mariam doesn't flinch. She keeps her eyes lowered, composed, as if holding herself together against the invisible pressure surrounding us.

Before the silence grows heavier, I cut in smoothly, keeping my voice even but firm. "She's not 'just an employee,'" I say, shooting a glance at my father. "Mariam's the new manager of the finances. She reports directly to me."

His eyes narrow further, but I don't let him interrupt. I keep my gaze locked on him, unwavering. "So yes, she's allowed to bring files here. As far as I'm concerned, she's exactly where she needs to be."

Mariam's eyes flicker toward me for a brief second, surprise and gratitude warring behind her lowered lashes, but she says nothing. She remains composed, her fingers loosely clasped in front of her as if grounding herself.

My father's jaw tightens, but for the moment, he holds his tongue. The tension in the room shifts again, less explosive and more brittle. Whatever storm comes next, it won't be from her.

My father's eyes dart toward Mariam, narrowing with suspicion. "What happened to the old manager?" he asks, his voice dripping with disbelief. "The one I appointed? Why... why is she here instead?"

His gaze lingers on Mariam far too long, sharp and questioning, like he's trying to pry into her worth, as if her presence itself is an insult.

I don't let it hang there. "He wasn't doing a good enough job," I say coolly, keeping my tone clipped. "So I demoted him."

His eyes flash with something darker, his nostrils flaring as if he can't believe it. "Whatever he was doing-" he hisses, his lips curling in disgust. "It ought to be better than what a woman is doing."

The words hit the room like a slap. His contempt is blatant, unfiltered. His eyes burn into Mariam, daring her to react.

I notice the flash of rage in Mariam's eyes, just the slightest tightening around her gaze, the way her jaw flexes, restrained but fierce. I have to clamp down on my own anger, force myself to stay still, to not react in a way that would give my father any reason to suspect just how much his words cut me. Every muscle in my body wants to lash out, but I hold it back, steadying my voice instead.

"Your 'man' of an employee," I say slowly, deliberately, "was stealing the finances of the company rather than managing them. So yes, Dad... a woman is much better than the asshole you appointed."

The words hit like a whip, sharp and deliberate. My gaze doesn't waver from his, though inside, my blood boils. I can see his jaw tighten, the first flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

Mariam shifts slightly, her jaw tightening, and mumbles almost under her breath, "I'll take my leave."

I nod at her, forcing calm onto my face, though inside, I ache. I wish I could reach out, pull her back, calm her, tell her she doesn't need to leave because of my father's misogyny. But I can't. Not here, not now.

She steps toward the door, quiet but purposeful, each movement deliberate, controlled, as if she's holding herself together in the eye of a storm. Her hand brushes the handle, and I feel the space between us stretch taut, almost painfully. My mind races, wanting to speak, to stop her, but every word I could say would either betray my father's suspicions or risk making her uncomfortable in the already charged air.

Then, just before she pulls the door fully open, she glances back at me. Our eyes meet, and in that suspended heartbeat is the same softness she had shown that night I claimed her, the same warmth, the same unspoken promise, the same vulnerability that had stirred something deeper in me than I'd ever let anyone see. My chest tightens at the memory, at the longing, at the fierce protectiveness that surges through me, knowing she has to step out into this minefield that is my office.

Her gaze holds mine for a second longer, silently asking me to understand, to protect, to wait, but then the moment shatters. She lets the door click shut behind her, her figure slipping from view, leaving me staring after her, the room suddenly colder, emptier. The silence presses in around me, thick and suffocating, carrying with it the weight of her absence and the ever-present echo of my father's authority.

I remain frozen for a moment, gripping the edge of my seat, wishing I could shield her from everything: the subtle power plays, the venomous pride, the arrogance that seems to have seeped into every corner of this office. But all I can do is watch her go, forced to survive in the den of a man who can never see her worth. And in that helplessness, a quiet fury simmers beneath my calm exterior, promising silently that I won't let this injustice go unchallenged.

"She is quite a beauty," my dad breaks the silence, poking at me with his newfound entertainment.

I let out a strangled laugh, piercing him with my gaze. "Torturing Mom with loneliness wasn't enough; now you're looking at girls half your age? You're a real piece of shit, Dad." I scoff, shaking my head at him as I dodge the murderous glare he shoots my way.

"Watch your mou-" he begins, but I cut him off, jumping from my seat and stepping closer to him.

"Watch your words, Dad. Who gave you the right to come here and harass one of my employees? Keep your misogynistic ideas and actions to yourself. It's absolutely heartbreaking that I have to call someone like you my father."

I spit out the words, anger I had suppressed in Mariam's presence now spilling over, taking over my demeanour, my posture, my every move. I feel the weight of years of restraint, of watching him manipulate, belittle, and dominate, finally finding its outlet in this one moment.

My father freezes mid-step, his words caught in his throat. For a long, tense moment, he just stares, first at the door Mariam left through, then back at me. His chest rises and falls as if he's holding himself together, and for a heartbeat, I think I've finally made him pause.

Then, unexpectedly, he lets out a wholehearted laugh. Deep, rumbling, unrestrained, like a man unhinged, or one who's finally amused at something only he understands.

"So this is the reason," he says between laughs, the sound echoing off the walls, making the room feel smaller, tighter.

I blink at him, confused, my mind scrambling to catch up. I watch him laugh like a madman, trying to understand what in the world could be funny to him right now.

His laughter fades slowly, leaving a dangerous calm in its wake. His eyes narrow, sharp and calculating, as if piecing together a puzzle only he can see. He steps closer, leaning slightly, and his voice drips with disbelief and amusement at the same time.

"A woman," he says slowly, letting the word hang in the air, "is indeed the reason you refuse to leave and do as I say. Unbelievable."

I freeze, caught off guard by the precision of his observation. His gaze bores into mine, studying me, waiting for the truth to slip out. My jaw tightens, my hands clench at my sides, but I force myself to remain composed, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he has unsettled me.

I let the words hang for a moment, measuring my response before speaking. My voice is calm, but every syllable carries a controlled edge.

"You're wrong, Dad," I say, stepping just slightly closer, keeping my posture steady. "This isn't about a woman. It's about competence, about respect, and about the fact that I make my own decisions. Whether I stay or leave, whether I run this company or not, that's mine to choose, not yours."

His eyes flicker, a mix of irritation and disbelief crossing his features, but I don't flinch. I keep my gaze locked on him, unwavering, letting the weight of my words settle in the room.

"So don't mistake authority for ownership," I continue, letting the finality in my voice linger. "I'm not here to please you, I'm here to lead. And I won't let anyone, least of all you, decide otherwise."

The silence that follows is thick, tense, and deliberate. He stares at me, unblinking, as if weighing whether to escalate further. But for the first time, I see the faintest crack in his composure.

His eyes darken, a dangerous glint flashing in them. He takes a slow step closer, voice low, icy, and full of venom.

"You think you can defy me?" he hisses, each word deliberate, each pause loaded with threat. "Try to fuck things up, Shiv... and I swear, I'll make sure Mariam's life becomes a living hell. Every opportunity, every corner of this company, I will turn against her. You think she's safe? Think again."

The words hit hard, sharp and calculated, meant to wound and intimidate. I grit my teeth, swallowing back the anger that burns behind my eyes. I don't flinch, don't let him see that he even scratches the surface of my resolve.

He lets out a derisive laugh, a sound full of fury and frustration, then turns sharply. His coat swishes as he storms toward the door, his hand slamming the handle as he exits. The room shakes with the echo of his anger, leaving behind only tension and the faint scent of his power lingering like smoke.

I stay frozen for a moment, fists clenched at my sides, staring at the door. Anger, protectiveness, and helplessness twist in my chest, but I know one thing for certain: I will not let him touch her.

The way she smiled at me earlier, that quiet warmth cut through all the suffocating tension in this room. The thought of her being hurt, of her trapped in my father's den, turns anger into something fiercer, something raw. Every memory, every shared look, every ounce of care I feel for her floods through me. It's love, yes, but protective, desperate, and utterly unrelenting. I've tried to hide it, tried to suppress it while he was near, but now, alone in the aftermath of my father's threats, I feel it fully, unfiltered.

I take a breath, steadying myself, letting the intensity settle into cold determination. My eyes lock on the desk, on the file she left, on the office around me that is mine to command, mine to protect.

"I'll destroy the world and myself before you get to her, Dad."

The words echo in the empty office, heavy and final, and I know there's no turning back.