The moment his hand touched mine, the world narrowed.
Aryan stood frozen, his eyes wide in disbelief. My grip tightened, then I stepped back and twisted his wrist away, releasing his hand with enough force that he stumbled slightly. He gasped in surprise, but before he could speak, I stepped sharply on his foot with my heels.
"Ah—!" he winced, but before the scream could leave his throat, my palm covered his mouth.
I leaned in, my breath ghosting over his cheek. "Did you think this would be easy? Huh? Get yourself together, babe."
And just like that, I let him go and walked out of the green room with calm, collected fury, leaving behind a man too stunned to move.
Inside, I was shaking.
Motherfucker. How dare he? Despite having a wife, he dares to touch me like that.
Fuck you, asshole I shouted in my car, my driver was too shocked, but he can't let a word out, he just knew this was the moment he should drive and reach home.
The Bentley ride home was quiet. The city lights danced across the windows, and I kept my gaze fixed outside, refusing to let my emotions show.
Dinner was served in the family dining hall — an ornate space with chandeliers, an eight-seater carved rosewood table, and silver cutlery glinting under warm light. Steam rose from the platters: shahi paneer, dal makhani, jeera rice, butter rotis, and a fresh salad sprinkled with chaat masala. The scent of cardamom floated from a pot of kheer at the corner.
We sat — Papa at the head, Mumma beside him, and me directly opposite.
Midway through our meal, Papa paused, placing his spoon down. "Aliza, this new startup of yours... what sparked the idea? It's so sudden — tech and auto?"
I wiped my lips and smiled faintly. "I remembered my degree, Papa. Mechanical engineering — it was bound to catch up with me."
He laughed, clapping once. "Finally! My daughter returns to the roots."
We finished dinner with laughter and teasing. I even smiled genuinely once or twice.
Later that night, I stood on my balcony, letting the cold breeze brush my face. My mind wouldn't settle. Something was still missing. Something more...
Then it hit me — an opportunity.
I rushed to my room, picked up my phone, and dialed Jenna.
"Yes, ma'am?" she answered, groggy.
"I want you to organize a public event in the government school where Anika Ven teaches. Reach out to the principal. Make it seem like they're inviting me to felicitate me for donating smart class setups. Media coverage should be arranged. I want this to boost my image — understand?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'll handle everything."
"Four days from now. I'll personally attend."
I showered and slipped into my silk nightwear, then collapsed on the bed. The sound of the water dripping faintly from the bathroom lulled me to sleep.
Four days later, Delhi greeted the morning with a sleepy drizzle. The clouds hung low, painting the skyline in shades of grey and blue. I stared out of my car's tinted window as we drove through narrow lanes toward the state government school in south-west Delhi — the place where Aryan's wife, Anika Ven, taught.
I sat gracefully in the backseat of my black Bentley, dressed in a soft blush pink saree that hugged my curves with subtle grace. A delicate diamond choker graced my neck, catching the daylight just right, and my long hair was tied in a sleek bun, neat and sophisticated. A soft red lipstick painted my lips, bold but not screaming. I looked every bit the poised, elegant woman I was meant to be — not just powerful, but magnetic. Seductive in stillness.
The car slowed at the school gate.
It wasn't much to look at. The building bore all the signs of a government institution — faded blue walls, a rusting iron gate, broken windows patched with plastic sheets, and uneven cement flooring. The classrooms had chipped paint and outdated furniture. Still, the children playing outside radiated a warmth untouched by poverty.
I thought to myself: Delhi needs a queen. If I ever became Chief Minister, they'd see a city turn into art.
As I stepped out of the car, my stilettos clicked against the cracked pavement. Teachers, students, and staff had gathered near the entrance. Banners with my name and face flapped lightly in the breeze. My security and PR team coordinated discreetly behind me.
And there — standing to the right, under the staff canopy — was Anika.
She wore a saffron silk saree with minimal gold accessories. Her long black hair flowed down her back, pinned slightly at the side. She looked beautiful — and innocent. Her skin was fair and glowing with simplicity. She looked so... untouched by the harshness of betrayal. So full of trust.
A strange ache stirred inside me. Poor woman. She doesn't even know the world she's married into.
Anika came forward with the principal to welcome me.
"Ms. Heri, welcome. We're honored," the principal said.
I offered my signature smile. "Thank you for inviting me. I've been looking forward to this."
"This is Anika Ven," she gestured.
Anika smiled warmly and folded her hands. "It's such a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I've followed your journey closely."
"Please, call me Aliza," I said, returning the smile. "And the pleasure is all mine."
She led me to the stage. We exchanged pleasantries and spoke briefly before the event began. The children performed a welcome dance. Then came the principal's speech — and finally, my turn.
I stood before a sea of innocent eyes.
"This donation is not charity. It's an investment in the minds that will shape tomorrow. I'm just a vessel — the power lies in them."
Applause followed. Then we moved toward Anika's classroom.
My guards brought in the large boxes of chocolate I'd asked Jenna to prepare. One by one, I handed each child a box, kneeling down to look them in the eyes. Their joy was infectious.
Anika helped, her soft smile never fading. She seemed genuinely touched.
When the kids had settled down with their treats, Anika and I sat together on a small bench in the playground.
"You're nothing like what I imagined a billionaire to be," she said, laughing lightly.
I chuckled. "And you're not what I imagined a government school teacher to be."
She smiled. "Well, I try."
"Come shopping with me sometime. I need a new saree consultant," I teased.
She laughed again. "I'd love to. Maybe this Sunday?"
"Perfect," I said, pulling out my phone and handing it to her. "Give me your number."
She did. Jenna, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow behind her glasses. She knew.
As the event drew to a close, the children presented me with handmade thank-you cards. Crayon drawings, glitter hearts, and scribbled letters made me smile wider than I had in weeks.
"Thank you, ma'am!" one tiny voice shouted.
I waved and blew a kiss. "Be good, little geniuses."
Back in the car, the doors shut, and silence wrapped around me. The smile slowly faded, the act was over.
My jaw clenched. My nails dug into my palm. Rage simmered just under the surface. In this moment I just had appreciated my patience of not showing rage I had for his wife despite of her sweetness she and her husband deserves hell, not the pretty lilies and roses life, after all the home she made with her husband is made on the grave of my broken heart, my trauma and my pain, I can't let it blossom.
"Driver," I snapped. "Drive. Now. Fast."
The Bentley surged forward, speeding away from the innocence I had just weaponized.