Sanya P.O.V
I didn't want to go.
Not today. Not after everything that happened last night.
The image of Ayaan, sitting silently with that faraway look in his eyes, kept flashing before me like a scene stuck on loop. He didn't say much, but he didn't have to. His silence had said it all—and it haunted me. It wrapped itself around my thoughts like a fog, refusing to lift.
Still, I had no choice. The last-minute meeting request wasn't just inconvenient—it was suspicious. After weeks of silence, they suddenly wanted to "discuss terms"?
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as I navigated through the morning traffic, my eyes fixed on the road but my heart nowhere close. I wanted to turn the car around and go back. Be there. With him. But instead, I pulled into the parking lot of my studio and stepped out with the kind of confidence that felt... practiced.
The sharp click-click of my heels echoed down the hallway. Inside, the place smelled of warm coffee and fresh lilies—Naina's doing, no doubt. She was already waiting, slouched on the plush studio couch with her phone practically glued to her face.
She looked up as I entered. "There you are," she said, flashing a quick smile and jumping up. "You're late. Again."
I gave her a look. "You know I hate morning meetings."
"Morning meetings hate you too," she teased, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the vanity. "But let's at least make you look like you're about to close a million-dollar deal."
I sat down with a sigh. "Let's just get this over with."
As she started prepping my face, dabbing primer and blending in foundation with skilled hands, she asked casually, "So... how was your dinner yesterday?"
I hesitated for a second, watching her through the mirror. "It was fine."
Her brows rose. "Just fine? That's it? Didn't you meet Ayaan too?"
"Yes. I did."
She paused, makeup brush hovering mid-air like she was savoring the moment. "Girl. You are so lucky," she said dramatically. "Do you even know how many girls would kill to be in your place? The hottest, most powerful guy in the country and he actually looks at you like—like you're it."
I stayed quiet.
Only if she knew.
If she knew about the silence between us last night. The storm in his eyes. The pain that he covered so well with sarcasm. She saw the dream. I saw the man.
She moved on to concealer. "Anyway, are you ready for the meeting?"
"I am," I replied, and then added with a frown, "But didn't our contract with them end two months ago?"
She nodded, setting the concealer down. "Exactly my point. That's what's suspicious."
I crossed my arms as she powdered my face. "The way they treated our team—unprofessional, borderline insulting. I swore we'd never work with them again."
She sighed, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. "I don't know why Aarav agreed to this meeting."
"Me neither. I was actually shocked when he called me requesting to attend the meeting."
Naina narrowed her eyes. "Maybe they're trying to do damage control. They've lost a lot of good press since you pulled the collab."
"Well," I said, voice a bit sharper now, "they should've thought of that before throwing attitude at our staff."
She applied the final touches—just a hint of soft brown eyeshadow, nude matte lipstick, a sweep of highlighter. "You look perfect. Confident. Polished. Like you're about to devour them in the boardroom."
"I plan to."
We both laughed softly.
Then she handed me my clothes—something sleek and formal. I stepped into the changing room and traded my casual jeans and oversized tee for something that made me feel in control again.
A crisp ivory blouse with full-length pleated sleeves and a structured collar. I tucked it into a deep charcoal-grey high-waisted pencil skirt that hugged my figure in all the right places. The skirt had a slit at the back—not too high, just enough to walk like I owned the floor. I added a sleek black belt, a pair of minimal diamond studs, and classic black stilettos. My watch was silver, polished, and sharp like the energy I needed today.
As I stepped out, Naina looked me up and down. "Damn. If I were the CEO, I'd offer you the whole company."
"Good," I said, grabbing my handbag. "Because I'm not walking in there to play nice."
She followed me to the door, still worried. "Sanya, just... be careful. Something feels off about this."
"I know," I replied, my voice calm but cold. "But I'm not scared. If they want to talk—fine. Let's talk. But they better come prepared."
I adjusted my blazer, applied one last layer of lipstick, and took a deep breath.
I wasn't just going in as Sanya, the influencer, or the face of Rosé Luxe.
I was walking in as a woman who knew her worth—and wasn't afraid to make them remember it.
Still... I couldn't help but glance at my phone once before I left.
I tucked the phone into my bag and walked out. My heels echoed down the hallway again—but this time, they sounded a little louder.
Like a warning.
---
As the car came to a gentle halt in front of the towering Rosé Luxe International headquarters, I slowly took off my sunglasses and looked up at the sleek glass building that loomed above us. The morning sun reflected off its mirrored surface, casting a soft golden hue that made the structure look even more majestic. It was modern, intimidating, and elegant—just like the reputation it held.
Naina stepped out right behind me, holding a file of documents tightly to her chest, her face masked in her usual professional expression. I straightened the creases of my blazer and adjusted the strap of my handbag, exhaling softly as I prepared myself mentally. I didn't want to be here, but circumstances had left me no choice.
We walked toward the entrance, the automatic glass doors sliding open with a soft whoosh. The moment we stepped inside, the cool air-conditioned lobby wrapped around us, carrying the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive perfume. The floor was made of pristine white marble, polished to perfection, reflecting the soft glow of the gold-and-black chandeliers hanging above. High ceilings stretched above us, adorned with sleek architectural designs.
Digital screens displayed Rosé Luxe's most iconic fashion campaigns—models walking down runways, slow-motion clips of photoshoots, and magazine covers featuring international celebrities. A massive, striking portrait of Karan Shegal himself hung on the far wall behind the reception desk, his sharp jawline and piercing eyes staring straight ahead as if he were watching over the entire building.
"It's beautiful," Naina whispered under her breath, awe flickering in her voice as her eyes darted around the grand interior.
I turned to look at her and couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Just moments ago, she was the picture of composure, all strict and serious—and now here she was, completely captivated. Her wide eyes quickly narrowed as she noticed my amused expression.
"Focus," she mumbled, trying to snap back into her usual no-nonsense mode.
We made our way to the reception desk where a young woman in a crisp black uniform was on the phone, her tone cheerful and professional. The moment her eyes landed on me, she straightened immediately and ended the call in haste.
"Good morning, ma'am," she greeted with a polite smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Good morning," I replied, offering a short nod.
Before I could say anything more, Naina stepped forward like she always did—sharp, efficient, and direct.
"We have an appointment with Mr. Karan Shegal," she said, her voice calm but stern, her tone leaving no room for delay or confusion.
Ah, my Naina. Cute as ever when she goes all boss-lady mode.
The receptionist quickly tapped something on her screen and then looked up. "Yes, ma'am. The meeting is scheduled on the 8th floor in the main conference room."
"Thank you," I said curtly, and we both turned to head toward the elevators.
As we walked, the click of our heels echoed in the vast lobby space. I could feel a familiar tension rising in my chest, not fear—never fear—but the anticipation of an encounter I knew wouldn't be pleasant. Karan Shegal wasn't just another businessman. There was something off. And I was here to figure out exactly what that was.
As the elevator doors slid open, Naina glanced at me sideways. "Let's get this over with," she muttered.
I nodded, stepping in beside her.
"Let's go."
---
We stood in front of the grand conference room on the 8th floor, the heavy wooden doors towering over us, polished to a dark mahogany sheen with golden handles that glinted under the hallway lights. The hallway itself was quiet, with only the soft hum of the AC and the faint echoes of voices from far-off rooms.
Naina reached out and gently pushed one of the doors open. The hinges gave a soft creak before she stepped aside with a subtle gesture, allowing me to enter first.
As I stepped into the room, the cool air hit me immediately. The space was large and well-lit, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows on one side offering a panoramic view of the city skyline—tall buildings, morning traffic, and the soft blur of moving people below. A long, rectangular glass table stretched through the center of the room, sleek and modern, surrounded by high-back leather chairs.
Minimalistic yet luxurious décor adorned the room—abstract art on the walls, a fresh bouquet of lilies placed neatly at the corner, and a large digital screen on one end displaying "Rosé Luxe x PR Alliance – Confidential Meeting" in sharp white letters.
And there they were.
Everyone was already seated. My team occupied one side of the table—Aarav, sat at the far end, casually scrolling through his tablet but fully alert. Seated beside him were Mira and Dev, my legal consultant and brand strategist, both focused and prepped. On the other side, facing them, was the Rosé Luxe team. And at the head of the table, in the largest chair that screamed power and entitlement, sat him—Karan Shegal.
He looked up the moment I entered, his sharp eyes scanning me with that same unreadable expression. His suit was perfect, his posture confident, but there was something too polished about him—like a man who had perfected the art of hiding everything behind a smirk.
I didn't slow down. I walked to the seat marked with my nameplate—Sanya Raichand. I took my place calmly, placing my handbag on the floor beside me. Naina silently sat down on my left, setting down the folder of documents in front of her, her expression unreadable, lips pressed into a line.
"Good morning, everyone," I said clearly, breaking the silence.
"Morning," came a few responses—some stiff, some polite, none warm.
I felt every eye on me, but I didn't flinch.
Karan leaned forward just a little. "Glad you could join us, Miss Raichand," he said, voice low and silky, the kind that made you wonder if he meant what he said.
I gave him the slightest smile. "Let's hope this meeting is worth the sudden invitation, Mr. Shegal."
And with that, the room fell into an expectant silence, the tension as clear as the glass surrounding us.
This wasn't just a meeting.
It was a storm waiting to be stirred.
As soon as the polite greetings settled, the air in the room shifted into something more formal. A few assistants poured water into glasses, while files were passed around the table. Karan adjusted his cufflinks like he had all the time in the world before leaning back in his chair, looking directly at me.
"Our summer collection sold out in no time," he began, his tone laced with both charm and calculation. "Just because of you and your huge fan base. The response was unbelievable. That's why I was eagerly waiting for this meeting."
I gave a professional nod, keeping my voice composed. "I'm glad I could help."
He smiled again—too quick, too perfect. "That's why I was thinking of something..." He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words hang for a moment before continuing. "Something bigger this time. Not just a one-time collaboration."
Before I could respond, Aarav chimed in, his voice firm but courteous. "Karan, before we jump into future ideas, I think it's important we address the tone and treatment our team received toward the end of the last project."
Naina nodded subtly beside me, her fingers tightening on the pen she held.
Karan gave a small sigh, leaning forward and clasping his hands. "Yes, I was informed. And let me assure you, it was never our intention to disrespect your team. It was chaos on our side—tight schedules, internal miscommunications. I've already handled the people responsible."
"You'll understand if we're cautious," I said, folding my hands on the table, locking eyes with him. "It wasn't just 'miscommunication.' There were moments where your team crossed lines."
He gave a slow nod, as if carefully processing my words. "And I respect that. Which is why I want to propose a completely different setup this time—direct communication between you and me. No third-party confusion. A joint campaign for the fall collection. We're rebranding the whole image, and I want you as the face."
Mira whispered something to Aarav, who frowned slightly.
"What kind of campaign?" I asked, raising a brow.
He leaned back again, flashing that same cool smile. "Fashion meets power. You. In control. A series that not only shows beauty but authority. Command. Elegance. We want to tap into your public identity—every woman's icon. Not just a pretty face, but someone who owns the room."
There it was again—flattery layered with business motives.
"And what do you gain from it?" Naina asked bluntly, tilting her head. I didn't stop her—she wasn't wrong to ask.
Karan chuckled softly. "Straight to the point. I like that. Well, it helps both sides, doesn't it? You get a strong campaign to add to your portfolio. We get the star power. But yes... there's more."
The room grew quiet again, that pause returning.
"I heard you're starting your own label," he said, looking straight at me.
My expression didn't shift, but the sudden stillness in Naina and Aarav told me they were caught off guard. He wasn't supposed to know that.
"That's... internal," Aarav said sharply.
Karan shrugged. "Everything becomes public eventually."
I sat back, crossing one leg over the other. "So this meeting wasn't just about a campaign, was it?"
He smirked, unapologetic. "Let's just say—I like to keep my options open. And I think we could make each other very powerful allies."
There was a thick silence in the room after Karan's last comment, like everyone was waiting to see how I'd respond. But I didn't flinch. I tilted my head, calm on the outside, though my pulse ticked faster.
"I don't appreciate my private plans being used as leverage in business conversations," I said, voice firm. "Especially when you didn't come clean about your intention from the start."
Karan's jaw twitched, but he quickly masked it with a half-smile. "Relax, Sanya. I'm not here to manipulate. I'm here to offer you a bigger stage."
"You don't get to decide that," Aarav cut in sharply. "You called for a simple meeting. This feels more like a trap."
Karan's smile faded slightly. "It's called business, Aarav. If you're too sensitive for it, maybe you should stay out of high-level conversations."
I saw Aarav's knuckles whiten on the armrest. I gently placed a hand on his arm, silently calming him down before turning back to Karan. "You've made your point. Now make it properly. What is it that you really want?"
Karan leaned forward again, dropping the charming act. His tone grew serious, but his eyes sparkled with ambition. "We want to do something bigger now. Not just another campaign. We want to launch a full collection with you—designed by you."
The room went completely still. Even Naina turned to look at me, brows raised.
"You'll have full creative control," Karan continued. "From fabrics to design, from theme to presentation. The line will carry your name. It won't be Rosé Luxe ft. Sanya. It'll be Sanya for Rosé Luxe. Equal partnership. Split profits. A full-blown fashion line, headed by you."
I blinked, surprised he'd go this far.
"You want me to design it?" I asked, voice slow. "You want to give me the face and the control?"
"You've got influence, style, and presence," Karan replied. "You've already proven that your name sells. We'd be stupid not to offer you this. We just need your vision. Your taste. You don't need to do the stitching—just the direction."
"But why now?" Naina interjected, her voice cold. "You never gave this offer before, not even after our summer campaign broke records. Why this sudden... generosity?"
Karan's eyes flicked to her, sharp. "Because now I know she's about to become competition. And I'd rather have her with me than against me."
Ah. There it was.
"You're afraid," I said, softly but clearly. "Afraid I'll start something on my own. Afraid I'll rise without needing your brand."
He gave a slow, amused clap. "Not afraid. Smart. I know a star when I see one. And I'd rather shine together than watch from the sidelines."
Aarav spoke up, his voice ice. "We'll consider it. But don't think we'll jump in just because you know how to package your desperation in charm."
Karan stood up, buttoning his blazer. "Think it over. The offer stands. But not forever."
I met his gaze, standing too. "I don't need forever to know what I want. But I do need honesty if we're going to build anything real."
He gave a slight nod, and walked out of the room.
The moment he left, Naina let out a breath. "Okay. That was intense."
I sat back down slowly, thoughts spinning. "Too intense. But... tempting."
Aarav looked at me. "You're not actually considering it, right?"
I didn't answer. Not yet.
The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss, and for the first time in the past hour, I finally breathed. Not calmly—but deeply enough to feel it hit my chest.
"That was... wild," Naina muttered beside me, flipping through the folder in her hands without really seeing it. "What even was that meeting? A fashion pitch or a boardroom brawl?"
I let out a dry chuckle. "Maybe both."
Aarav stood beside me, quiet—too quiet for him. I glanced at him through the mirrored elevator wall. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed. Not angry. Worried.
As soon as we reached the parking lot, I stopped. "Okay. Spill it. What are you thinking?"
He turned, eyes hard. "I'm thinking you should say no."
"I figured," I said with a light smile, trying to ease the tension.
"I'm serious, Sanya." He stepped closer. "He doesn't want to collaborate. He wants to own. He's scared you'll start your own label, and he wants to make sure you don't."
I looked away, chewing on my lip. "That's... not entirely untrue. But he offered me everything I've wanted. Creative control. Partnership. Freedom."
"On paper," Aarav shot back. "You think a guy like him gives freedom without a price?"
"I know how to handle men like him," I said firmly.
"That's not the point," he said, voice softer now. "You shouldn't have to handle them. You've worked too hard to settle just because someone's finally seeing your worth."
I stayed quiet.
"Would you even have thought about it," Naina asked gently, "if he hadn't thrown your name across glossy lights and shiny promises?"
I sighed. "Honestly? Maybe not. But it's not about the spotlight. It's about the idea. A line I can actually shape. My vision. My terms. That... tempts me."
There was a silence between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.
I'm not saying no," I finally said. "But I'm not saying yes either. Not until I see everything on the table. I won't be used. Not again."
Aarav nodded, calmer now. "Good. Because if you go in, you go in strong. You don't fold."
I looked at him with a soft smile. "Thanks, Aarav."
He smirked. "Someone has to play the villain if you're gonna be the queen."
Naina grinned. "Damn right."
As we reached the car, I looked back once—at the building, at the name Rosé Luxe glinting in silver.
Let's see what this game becomes.
---
Just as we stepped out into the cool shade of the parking lot, I patted my blazer pocket and froze.
Damn it.
"My phone," I mumbled, already spinning on my heel.
"Guys, you all carry on. I'll go get my phone—I must've left it in the conference room," I called out quickly.
"Sanya, I'll bring it—" Aarav started, but I cut him off.
"No, it's fine. I've got it." I didn't wait to hear more. My heels clicked sharply against the marble as I jogged back inside.
I slipped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind me with a soft thud. Pressing the button for the 8th floor, I leaned against the cool mirror lining, my mind racing—not with stress, but with everything that had just happened. The pitch. The offer. The tension in the room. Karan's words still lingered in my head like smoke refusing to clear.
The elevator dinged open, pulling me out of my thoughts.
The room was empty when I walked in—silent, like nothing had happened in here moments ago. Papers were neatly stacked, chairs slightly pushed back. The air still held the faint scent of cologne and coffee.
And there it was—my phone, lying near my name tag.
I walked over and picked it up, its screen lighting up to a dozen notifications. I didn't bother checking. Instead, I turned on instinct and walked out, half-distracted, unlocking my phone and opening Instagram just to scroll through something—anything—to stop myself from overthinking.
As I stepped into the lift again, my fingers mindlessly swiped through the explore page, and I barely noticed when the doors opened a floor too early.
I stepped out without looking up, still scrolling.
Only when I had taken several steps down the hallway did something tug at me. A strange stillness. A feeling that something wasn't quite... normal.
And then I looked up.
My breath caught.
The corridor wasn't like the one I'd walked through earlier. This one... felt different. The lighting was warmer, softer. Almost golden. The walls—oh god, the walls.
They were filled. Lined edge to edge with images—of me.
Photos. Sketches. Portraits.
On one side, blown-up shots from my brand's campaigns. On another, candid pictures—me at the airport, in a café, walking in a crowded mall, laughing with Naina outside a theatre.
And then... drawings.
Pencil sketches. Charcoal ones. Watercolor pieces, some detailed down to the crinkle beside my eyes when I smile. Some from photos I remembered posting on Instagram. Others from moments I didn't even know had been captured.
"What the..." I whispered, taking a step back.
I turned slowly in place, heart racing. It was overwhelming—not just the number of pictures, but how... intimate they were. Not scandalous, no. But personal. As if someone had studied me—not just my face, but my being.
Each frame told a story. Each drawing held emotion. Admiration. Obsession. Reverence.
Who... did this?
Was this a tribute?
Or a warning?
The sound of footsteps snapped me out of my daze. My head turned sharply. The hallway suddenly felt quieter... heavier.
And colder.
I looked down at my phone, now forgotten in my hand. Still unlocked. Still open on my feed.
I stepped back slowly, needing air. Needing answers.