Ayaan's POV...
As she walked out of the house, my eyes lingered on the door longer than I should've allowed.
Why did I want her to come back?
Why did it suddenly feel colder the moment she left?
Things with her... they were always easier. Even when we fought. Even when she glared at me like she wanted to throw a shoe at my head. With her, there was a strange kind of peace. Like no matter how loud the world got-her presence silenced it.
But she'll never forgive me. Not after that night.
The night that flipped everything upside down.
The memory hit me like a punch to the chest. My jaw clenched. Goosebumps rose uninvited on my arms.
God, I've tried-so damn hard-to erase that night from my head. But it's impossible. Not when it involves Sanya. Not when every second of it is burned into my mind with brutal clarity.
I shook my head, physically trying to push the memory away.
No. Not now.
I stood up, cradling my daughter gently in my arms and made my way upstairs. She stirred a little in her sleep, letting out the softest sigh as I placed her down on the bed. I surrounded her with pillows, careful and slow. My hand reached instinctively to brush back a strand of her hair before I pulled the blanket up to her tiny shoulders.
I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
My daughter.
The words still felt surreal sometimes.
I backed away from the bed and turned toward the couch, hoping to drown myself in work to avoid the storm in my head. But as I sat down and opened my laptop, another memory intruded.
Sanya.
Last night.
Fast asleep on that same bed... her hair messy, her breathing soft, her arms curled protectively around the baby.
She looked like she belonged.
I swallowed hard and shook my head again.
Focus, Ayaan. Focus.
I turned my attention back to my screen, but my fingers didn't move. Because no matter how hard I tried, my mind was still chasing her.
Still stuck in the past.
But I couldn't afford to rest. Politics didn't wait-not even for a man who had just become a father overnight.
I pulled the laptop onto my lap and opened it. Instantly, the screen filled with emails, notifications, and video call reminders. I scanned through them-some were about policy drafts, others about my recent absence from the media.
Without wasting time, I joined a secure video call with my core campaign team.
The screen split into windows-faces I had seen hundreds of times. Suresh Trivedi, our State Coordinator, sat straight in a white kurta. Neelam Kapoor, our Public Relations Head, had her glasses pushed up and a pen in her hand, already scribbling notes. A few junior team members looked tired, clearly pulled into another tiring session.
"Ayaan sir," Suresh began, "we've got a situation building up. The delay in rural education funds is being picked up by media houses. Some are calling it poor management."
"They won't say that once the revised budget goes out," I said firmly. "I approved it this morning. Neelam, make sure the press release is sent within the hour."
"I've already drafted the main points," she replied, not looking up. "I'll add the scholarship update and the construction plans for the new schools in Tier-3 cities."
"Good. That should shift the narrative."
Just then, the baby stirred in her sleep. I quickly muted the call and adjusted the small pillow near her head. Her tiny hand moved slightly, but she stayed asleep. I smiled softly and sat back down, unmuting myself.
Suresh continued, "Sir, the opposition is raising questions about the digital surveillance project. They're saying we're using it to monitor civilians."
Neelam jumped in, "Should we address it publicly? Or wait?"
"We'll respond without reacting," I said, rubbing my chin. "Organize a small demo next week. Show how it helps with public safety, not invasion of privacy. Let the public judge the difference."
"Yes, sir," they both replied together.
There were updates about upcoming NGO meetings, rally schedules, and a letter from the Chief Minister that needed a reply.
I picked up my glass of water, sipping slowly as I read through one of the reports-when one of the junior members suddenly spoke up.
Just as I took a sip of water, Rishi-one of the junior members-cleared his throat, nervousness clear in his eyes.
"Sir... there's something else you should know."
I looked at the screen, watching his hesitation.
"Speak," I said, setting the glass back down.
He shifted slightly. "It's someone named Karan Sehgal. A businessman. No one had heard of him in the political circles until recently... but now, he's suddenly everywhere."
The name meant nothing to me. I frowned.
"He's launched a quiet but aggressive PR attack-against you, and our team. Articles, videos, social media trends. Paid influencers. It's spreading like wildfire. And sir... it's not just about money. He's using emotions. Giving powerful speeches. Twisting facts. And using your silence as a weapon."
I leaned forward, my fingers tapping lightly on the table.
"He's targeting the youth," Rishi added. "Sponsoring events in colleges. Talking about 'freedom of thought' while indirectly attacking your image. Teenagers are starting to see him as some kind of youth icon."
My jaw tightened. A storm had started brewing-and I hadn't even felt the first drop.
Neelam's voice came next. Calm but clear. "We're tracking him, sir. But he's clever. He's hiding behind layers-agencies, influencers, even fake accounts. Nothing links directly to him. Just whispers. Shadows."
Suresh nodded beside her. "His full plan isn't clear yet. But it's building toward something. Something big."
I leaned back slowly, processing it all.
"Why has this not come out in the open yet? This is serious."
Suresh answered carefully. "Because he hasn't made a direct move. He's using the grey areas-indirect messaging, emotional hooks, quiet investments. Nothing concrete. Nothing legal."
Neelam added, "He's keeping his hands clean. No leaks, no noise-just slow influence. And the youth? They don't even realise they're being used."
I narrowed my eyes. "So we just sit back and watch?"
"No, sir," Neelam said firmly. "We're watching closely. But moving too early could backfire. It'll look like we're trying to silence opposition. That could turn the tide further against us."
Suresh nodded. "We're gathering evidence. Quietly. But once we have enough, we'll need your green light."
I stayed silent for a beat, letting the weight of it settle. Someone was playing a dangerous game. And they were using people's trust as their weapon.
"Keep digging," I said, my voice low and sharp. "I want names. I want connections. And when the time comes... we don't just expose him-we destroy the illusion."
A tense silence followed. But the understanding between us was loud.
Then I asked, "Does my dad and uncle know about this?"
Neelam paused before answering. "They know... but only the surface of it."
I frowned. "Explain."
Suresh stepped in. "Your father knows there's some noise building up. And Rajveer sir is aware of a businessman stirring trouble. But we haven't told them how serious this is-how far it's reached."
I exhaled, rubbing my jaw. "Why keep it from them?"
Neelam spoke gently but honestly. "Because the moment your father finds out everything... he'll go public. He'll fight fire with fire. And right now, that could hurt more than help."
Suresh nodded. "This needs control. Not chaos."
They were right. My father wasn't one for subtlety. He believed in shaking the ground before it crumbled. But this war needed precision. This wasn't his battlefield.
"Then don't say anything more," I said firmly. "Not until I say so. Let me handle this... my way."
Everyone nodded, the tension in the air thicker now.
"Karan Sehgal..." I repeated, letting the name settle on my tongue like a promise.
Let him enjoy the silence.
Because if he was preparing for war... he had no idea who he was provoking.
This wasn't about fixing PR anymore.
It was personal.
After a few more rounds of unimportant updates and political chatter, the meeting finally came to an end. I watched the screen go blank, the call disconnecting with a soft beep that felt like freedom.
I leaned back into the plush leather of my couch, releasing a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My head tilted back, eyes closing as I tried to let the silence wash over me.
God, that was exhausting.
Everything lately had felt like one long stretch of fire to put out. One crisis barely simmering down before the next one came clawing at the door. But in the middle of all this chaos, two things refused to leave my mind-the unsolved murder mystery, and now, this unexpected storm named Karan Sehgal.
A name that came out of nowhere and suddenly started echoing through the corridors of power and influence.
I couldn't help the irritation that bubbled beneath my calm exterior.
Someone really thought they could just walk into my world and pull the strings? Hide behind smooth PR campaigns and twisted words?
Let him try.
He might be smart. He might be rich. But he doesn't know who he's picked a fight with. No one plays a game with Ayaan Singh Rathore and walks away victorious.
My eyes opened.
I reached for my phone, the screen lighting up instantly. If this man was such a big shot businessman, there had to be something out there-something I could use.
I typed his name into the search bar. Karan Sehgal.
The results popped up instantly.
CEO of Rosé Luxe International.
A globally known luxury fashion brand.
Headquartered in New York.
Recently shifted base to India-no official announcement, but media speculations were swirling.
Unmarried. In his mid-30s. Keeps a low personal profile.
I scrolled further, eyes sharp.
Nothing alarming, but enough to paint a picture. Strategic. Ambitious. And smart enough to stay away from direct controversy.
I noticed a link to the brand's official Instagram account. Curiosity tugged at me as I tapped it open.
The page loaded-sleek design, glamorous photos, a showcase of luxury draped in every post.
Rosé Luxe International.
And then... I froze.
The very first post.
Front and center on the grid.
Her.
Sanya.
Clad in a bold, fiery red satin co-ord set from their newest summer collection. The top-a strapless, sculpted corset that hugged her curves with unapologetic elegance-was paired with a high-slit silk skirt that flowed like liquid fire against her skin. Her dusky glow shimmered under the golden light, accentuated by soft waves in her hair and that signature confident smirk she wore like a crown.
She looked... breathtaking. Untouchable. Dangerous.
The caption beneath read:
"Introducing the face of our Summer '25 campaign-Sanya Raichand. Elegance, power, and fire. All in one frame."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
What was she doing with his brand? How long had this been going on? Was it purely professional... or something more?
Something deeper?
Or worse-planned?
My jaw clenched as I stared at her picture, her presence now intertwined with the very storm that was rising against me.
This wasn't just about political influence anymore.
Not just about PR.
Not even about business.
This-
This was personal.
And I wasn't letting it go.