Chapter-3

The air inside Thakur Mansion crackled with unspoken tensions, thick enough to cut through the extravagant floral arrangements and the shimmering chandeliers. On the surface, everything was opulent perfection—the golden glow of heritage lanterns, the scent of fresh mogra wafting through the hallways, and the carefully curated spectacle of a grand society wedding. But beneath it all? A battlefield.

At the heart of the war stood Aryaman Mehta and Sidharth Shah—once childhood friends, now corporate adversaries. Both vying for the ultimate prize: control over Gangothri Industries.

Aryaman had just returned from Delhi, having successfully crushed the workers’ union strike at one of their biggest factories. The negotiations had been brutal, but he had emerged victorious—something he knew Sid deeply resented.

Sid, of course, wasn’t going to let him enjoy that victory in peace.

Aryaman entered the banquet hall, his sharp eyes scanning the scene—powerful guests, important conversations, strategic alliances in motion. But his focus landed where it always did—on the man waiting for him by the bar.

Sid smirked. "Back from Delhi, I see. I was almost convinced you'd use the strike as an excuse to call off the wedding."

Aryaman barely lifted his gaze from the whiskey being poured into his glass. "Disappointed?"

"Not really," Sid drawled, swirling his drink lazily. "I figured you’d come running back once the ink dried on the contract. Congratulations, by the way. Must have been exhausting."

Aryaman took a measured sip. "The negotiations? Not really. But dealing with people who don’t know when they’ve lost? That gets tiresome."

Sid's smirk didn’t waver, but there was something colder behind it. "You always assume the game is over just because you’re winning in the moment."

"That’s because I plan beyond the moment," Aryaman countered smoothly.

Before Sid could respond, a new voice broke the tension.

"Well, if it isn’t my two favorite drama kings."

Anshuman Mehta, Aryaman’s younger brother, strolled in between them—completely unfazed by the corporate war zone. He had a plate of snacks in one hand and a glass of beer in the other.

Sid scoffed. "Ah, Anshuman. How does it feel to be the only Mehta who isn’t obsessed with world domination?"

Ansh grinned. "Fantastic. You should try it sometime." He clapped Aryaman on the shoulder. "Brother, can we take a moment to appreciate the irony? You’re here discussing stock percentages while your wedding mandap is being set up outside. Romance is truly dead."

Aryaman didn’t respond. He just took another sip of his drink.

Sid, however, smirked at Ansh. "You know, I’m actually impressed. Your brother managed to negotiate with labor unions, fight off investors, and secure my sister—all in the same week. A true overachiever."

Anshuman snorted. "Careful, Sid. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound jealous."

Sid’s jaw twitched, but his smirk stayed in place. "Of Aryaman? Hardly. But I do admire his ability to turn my family into his personal chess pieces."

Aryaman exhaled, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. "You know, Sid, I’d enjoy this conversation a lot more if you actually had something strategic to offer instead of recycled bitterness."

Sid chuckled, unfazed. "Fine. Let's talk strategy, then."

And just like that, the real battle began.

Sid leaned against the bar, eyes gleaming with sharp calculation. "The Delhi expansion—you really think cutting production costs will work long-term? The unions fought back once. They’ll do it again."

Aryaman smirked. "They fought back because they were misled into believing they had leverage. Now that the board has reinforced executive control, they’ll think twice before trying it again."Sid tilted his head. "Short-term win. But you’re forgetting one thing—supply chain volatility. You squeeze costs too much, and eventually, the suppliers start pushing back."

Aryaman shrugged. "That’s why we’re securing secondary suppliers in Gujarat and Maharashtra. If one market becomes unpredictable, we pivot."

Sid let out a slow whistle. "Risky. Expensive."

"But necessary," Aryaman countered. "Business isn’t about comfort, Sid. It’s about control."

Sid took a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing slightly. "Still. Betting too much on aggressive expansion can backfire. You push too fast, too hard, and suddenly, your competitors aren’t the only ones looking for your weakness."

Before Aryaman could respond, a voice cut through the tension.

"Krishna beta! Bring me the guest list from the study!"

Leela Mehta’s voice carried across the hall.

A faint, hurried reply. “Ji, Ma’am!” followed by quick footsteps.

Aryaman barely registered it. He was too engrossed in his verbal duel with Sid.

Sid chuckled. "You act like you’ve already won."

Aryaman smirked. "Because I have."

Another call.

"Krishna, check the floral arrangements in the east wing!"

Ananya’s voice, sharp and impatient.

Sid swirled his drink. "You know, Aryaman, your business style is almost poetic. Always looking for new territories to conquer."

Aryaman took a sip of whiskey. "And yours is outdated. Trying to protect dying markets instead of adapting to new ones."

Sid exhaled, shaking his head. "You really think my father will hand you his vote that easily?"

Before Aryaman could respond—

"Krishna beta, bring me my shawl from upstairs!"

Leela again.

Aryaman paused mid-sip.

That name had been called three times now.

Sid arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

Aryaman waved it off, but when Krishna’s name was called again, this time by Pinkesh Kaka, his eyes unconsciously flickered towards the hallway.

Ansh, who had been watching silently, grinned. "You noticing, bhai?"

Aryaman raised an eyebrow. "Noticing what?"

Ansh chuckled. "The ladies have found their new battlefield. And Krishna? She’s their chosen rope for this tug-of-war."

Aryaman snorted. Even Sid cracked a grin.

"Poor girl," Sid mused. "She must be exhausted."

"Forget exhaustion," Ansh said, grinning. "Who do you think will win? Mom or Ananya?"

Sid didn’t hesitate. "Ananya."

Aryaman, just as quick: "Mom."

Ansh smirked. "Wager?"

Sid: "Ten thousand bucks."

Aryaman swirled his drink. "Make it twenty."

Ansh clapped his hands. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

The tension softened, the sharp edges of rivalry momentarily dulled by amusement.

Eventually, Sid and Ansh walked off, leaving Aryaman alone. He checked his watch. Video conference in two hours.

But—

"Krishna, pass me that pen!"

His gaze flickered again.

This time, he actually observed—the absentminded way she chewed on a pen cap, furrowed her brows in deep thought.

The way she instinctively tied her dupatta into a knot before lifting a heavy box.

She tapped her forehead lightly when she made a mistake, muttering under her breath.

Aryaman watched.

Not out of interest. Not out of admiration.

Just… curiosity.

His phone buzzed.

Work.

He downed his last sip of whiskey and switched back to war mode.

But not before, just briefly, watching her trip over a step—catch herself—and let out a tiny, embarrassed chuckle.

Aryaman smirked to himself.

Then, shaking his head, he walked away.

*****