Reyansh
The city looked smaller from up here.
Glass walls. Silent air-conditioning. The faint sound of traffic thirty floors below.
I stood near the window of my study, sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons of my shirt undone. Black coffee in hand. No sugar.
I checked the time on my watch.
8:58 AM.
People knew better than to be late when meeting Reyansh Oberoi.
Sharp.
Precise.
On 9:00 AM exactly, the door opened.
Four men entered.
The Singhania brothers.
Old money. Political connections. Too much ego.
"Welcome, gentlemen," I said smoothly, turning around.
The youngest one - the fiercest, most impatient - scoffed.
"Drop the act, Oberoi. We came to settle the deal."
He stepped forward.
"What did you decide? Are you marrying our sister or not?"
Ah.
Right.
The wedding.
I placed my coffee cup down slowly.
"What exactly," I asked calmly, "will I gain from it?"
The eldest brother exhaled sharply. "Seriously, Oberoi? Our families joining forces would double your political leverage in the north. Our construction contracts alone-"
"I know what you bring to the table," I interrupted mildly.
Silence fell.
I walked back to my chair and sat down, studying them.
Power marriages were simple.
No emotions. No drama.
Just strategy.
"Hm," I hummed thoughtfully. "Fine."
The youngest brother stiffened slightly, not expecting agreement so easily.
"But," I added, "is Krithika agreeing?"
The eldest gave me a tight smile. "You don't need to worry about her."
Translation: she didn't have a choice.
Interesting.
"Then we'll proceed," I said.
A few formalities later, they left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence returned.
I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigarette, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling.
Marriage.
Alliance.
Power.
Everything calculated.
And yet-
My mind drifted somewhere else.
Dark lights.
Loud music.
A tray slipping from trembling fingers.
"Liar."
Anaya.
She didn't look like she belonged there.
She wasn't desperate for attention.
Wasn't flirting for tips.
She looked... cornered.
And when that man grabbed her wrist-
Her fear wasn't new.
It was familiar.
Practiced.
I took another drag.
Why did she choose that job?
"Personal reasons."
No one chooses a place like Clay without being pushed.
I picked up my phone.
"Get me Arjun," I instructed my assistant through the intercom.
Within seconds, the line connected.
"Yes, sir."
"I need you to find out everything about the new waitress at Clay."
A brief pause.
"Name, sir?"
"Anaya."
I leaned back, staring at the city again.
"Full background. Family. Education. Financial records. Everything."
"Yes, sir."
I ended the call.
Another drag.
Krithika Singhania would make a perfect political wife.
Elegant. Trained. Controlled.
Predictable.
But the image in my mind wasn't of Krithika.
It was of a girl in an ill-fitted uniform trying not to spill drinks while the world watched her break.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
And Reyansh Oberoi did not like things he couldn't predict.
Arjun called back sooner than expected.
"Sir, I've sent you everything."
"Good."
I ended the call and opened the encrypted file on my tablet.
A photograph loaded first.
Anaya Mishra.
Not in club makeup. Not in that short uniform.
Simple kurti. Hair tied back. No lipstick.
She looked younger like this.
I scrolled.
Name: Anaya Mishra
Age: 23
Parents: Vikram Mishra, Sachi Mishra
Status: Both deceased. Car accident. Two days ago.
My jaw tightened slightly as I read further.
Background:
Subject left home at 19. Reported history of domestic abuse.
Parents did not allow higher education.
Subject studied secretly using borrowed books.
Secured academic scholarship.
Scholarship cancelled in second year - reason unclear.
Worked in a café while continuing studies privately.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
I leaned back in my chair, cigarette resting between my fingers.
She ran away.
She built herself up.
Alone.
Not weak then.
Just... forced into survival.
I kept scrolling.
Current Financial Status:
Minimal savings.
Primary income: Club employment (Clay).
Outstanding liability: ₹50,00,000.
My eyes stilled on the next line.
Loan Issuer: Oberoi Financial Holdings.
Silence filled the room.
I zoomed in on the scanned document attached below.
Vikram Mishra's signature.
Loan amount: Fifty lakhs.
Interest accumulating.
Pending.
Unpaid.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Her father had taken money from me.
And now she was working at my club to repay a debt she didn't even know existed until two days ago.
Fate had a strange sense of humor.
Or maybe I did.
I tapped the desk lightly, thinking.
She didn't know.
Not yet.
That the "boss who doesn't like waiting"-
Was me.
The smoke from my cigarette curled upward as I stared at her file again.
Abused.
Ran away.
Scholarship cancelled mysteriously.
Parents dead.
Fifty lakhs hanging over her head.
Cornered animals either break.
Or they grow claws.
I closed the file slowly.
The Singhania alliance suddenly felt... less interesting.
A political marriage would bring power.
But this?
This was opportunity.
I picked up my phone again.
"Arjun."
"Yes, sir."
"Prepare the loan recovery notice. Formal. Legal. Give her... five days."
There was a pause. "Sir, the agreement states ten."
"I know what it states."
Silence.
"Yes, sir."
I ended the call and stood up, walking back toward the window.
Five days.
Let's see what you do, Miss Anaya Mishra.
Because if you survive this-
I might just offer you a different kind of deal.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in."
My lawyer stepped inside, holding a sleek black folder.
"Sir... the Singhanias have sent the contract. It requires your signature. The wedding is to be scheduled at the earliest."
Of course it was.
I extended my hand. "Give it to me."
I flipped through the pages calmly.
Venue: Finalized.
Media coordination: In progress.
Engagement announcement: Within the week.
Wedding: This week.
Efficient.
Desperate.
I leaned back in my chair, tapping the edge of the contract lightly against the desk.
Too rushed.
Too eager.
And then-
An idea formed.
Clean. Precise. Effective.
My phone buzzed violently against the desk.
Notifications flooding in.
News alerts.
Social media mentions.
Trending tags.
I picked it up slowly.
And smirked.
Right on time.
An anonymous leak.
Private photographs.
Evidence of the Singhania heiress - Krithika - meeting with the heir of their political rival.
An affair.
Scandalous enough.
Damaging enough.
Not catastrophic for me.
Just enough to ruin a rushed wedding.
Calculated. Controlled. Strategic.
I hadn't said a word publicly.
I hadn't been seen anywhere near the situation.
But the leak had found its way to the right journalists.
My phone rang.
Mr. Singhania.
I answered smoothly.
"Yes, Mr. Singhania."
"The media is all over my daughter's so-called affair!" his voice thundered through the line.
"Yes," I replied evenly. "I've just seen the reports. Unfortunate timing."
"Don't pretend like you weren't involved in this, Oberoi!"
I let a brief silence stretch.
"I assure you," I said calmly, "I have far more important matters to handle than family gossip and poorly managed secrets."
His breathing was heavy on the other end.
"The wedding is postponed until fuether notice," he snapped.
"As you wish," I replied.
The call disconnected.
I placed the phone down without emotion.
My lawyer was still standing there.
"The wedding won't be happening," I said simply. "Make a public announcement. Mutual decision. Respectful tone."
"Yes, sir."
He left immediately.
I walked back to the window again, watching the city move beneath me.
Predictable.
People thought power was loud.
It wasn't.
It was timing.
A few minutes later, my secretary rushed in without waiting to be seated.
"Sir! The news of you breaking off the alliance with Krithika Singhania is blowing up. Media is demanding statements. Your PR team is in the club's conference room."
I adjusted my cufflinks.
"Let them wait."
"Sir, it's escalating-"
"I'll be there shortly."
He nodded and stepped back.
I picked up my coat.
No wedding.
No political leash.
No obligations.
And now-
I was free to explore more... interesting investments.
Like a girl who owed me fifty lakhs.
And didn't even know it yet.
I drove to the club myself.
Didn't call the driver.
Didn't want conversation.
The city lights blurred past the windshield, but one thought stayed sharp.
Anaya.
Annoying.
Unexpected.
Useful.
I parked underground and took the private elevator upstairs. The conference room doors were already closed. My PR team stood when I entered.
I didn't greet them.
I sat at the head of the table.
"Speak."
The PR manager cleared his throat. "Sir... your broken alliance with Krithika Singhania is impacting investor confidence. The board is concerned about instability."
I stared at him.
He continued quickly, "Your public image has always been... intimidating. Ruthless businessman. Alleged underworld links. Political tension. The cancelled wedding reinforces that narrative."
"And?" I asked coldly.
"We need contrast," he said. "Something that humanizes you. Softens you."
Another executive added, "Right now, the media paints you as power-hungry and emotionally detached. If you marry someone completely outside the political and crime ecosystem - someone ordinary, educated, uninvolved - it reframes you."
"How?" I asked, leaning back.
"It shows stability," the PR manager replied. "It signals you want a personal life detached from power games. Investors prefer leaders who appear grounded. A clean alliance improves market perception, stabilizes stock projections, and distances you from allegations of political manipulation."
Another chimed in, "Philanthropy campaigns. Couple interviews. Community appearances. A simple wife from a modest background? That narrative sells."
Someone muttered, "But how do you make someone fall in love that quickly?"
The PR manager shot him a glare. "Obviously, it would be an arranged marriage, you idiot."
Silence followed.
And in that silence-
A face surfaced in my mind.
Borrowed books.
Fifty lakh debt.
Terrified eyes.
I smirked.
"I'll handle it," I said, standing. "Prepare a rehabilitation narrative draft. Leave the bride to me."
They exchanged confused glances.
I walked out.
When I entered my private office, I stopped mid-step.
Anaya.
Standing beside my desk.
White cleaning cloth in hand.
Leaning slightly over my table.
My documents were shifted.
Her head snapped up when she noticed me.
"What are you doing?" I asked calmly.
She straightened immediately. "I-I wasn't peeking! I was cleaning your desk. Nandini ma'am told me to."
"Since when does cleaning require rearranging confidential files?" I said evenly, walking closer.
"I swear I wasn't reading them!"
"Lie," I said softly. "You have remarkably poor lying skills, Miss Anaya."
Her fingers tightened around the cloth. "Mr. Oberoi, I only moved them to wipe the surface. I barely glanced at anything."
"How much did you hear?" I asked.
She blinked. "Hear?"
"You were outside the conference room earlier. What did you hear before I entered?"
She froze.
Silence.
"You heard my team discussing shipments. Law enforcement pressure. Marriage optics."
Her throat moved as she swallowed. "I won't tell anyone. I swear. I really need this job. Please don't fire me."
I stepped closer.
"I know you won't."
"Please..." Her voice trembled. "I can't lose this job."
"I know," I whispered near her ear. "Fifty lakhs is a heavy burden."
Her face drained of color.
"How do you-?!" she stumbled back. "How do you know that?! Are you stalking me?"
I chuckled.
"Delusional, aren't we?"
She stared at me.
"Your father took a loan from me," I said calmly. "Fifty lakhs. With interest."
Her lips parted. "What?"
"Outstanding. Legally binding."
She shook her head slightly. "No... no... that can't-"
"It can," I cut in. "And it is."
Her breathing became uneven. "That's why... you..."
"I'm offering you a solution."
Her eyes filled with confusion and anger. "What solution?"
I walked around the desk and leaned against it.
"Let's call it... an arrangement."
She frowned. "Arrangement?"
"I require a wife."
Her jaw dropped.
"A very specific kind," I continued. "Someone untouched by politics. Not connected to crime. Educated. Ordinary background. Clean reputation. Someone who helps repair my public image."
She stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
"It's contractual," I added. "Six months. Terms and conditions. Public appearances. Social events. No interference in my business. After that, we separate."
She whispered, "Are you insane?"
"If you marry me," I said smoothly, "your father's debt disappears. Completely. In addition, you receive a monthly allowance. You will not work during the contract period. Your education can resume if you wish."
Her expression shifted between disbelief and anger.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked.
I held her gaze.
"I never joke about business."
She stared at me like I had just proposed something absurdly illegal.
"Even if I agree," she said slowly, "who would believe this? You and me? It doesn't even make sense."
I exhaled, patient.
"The media," I replied. "The media loves the unexpected. It eats up narratives that feel dramatic. Powerful businessman marries an ordinary girl? It writes itself."
She kept staring.
"It will look like something out of a Bollywood film," I continued dryly. "Or one of those overdramatic internet novels where a ruthless man falls for an innocent girl."
Her disbelief only deepened.
"This isn't a story," she whispered.
"No," I agreed. "It's strategy."
She shook her head, stepping back. "I-I can't do this."
"Yes, you can."
Her eyes snapped to mine.
"And you will," I added calmly.
"That's not how this works! You can't just decide for me!"
"You don't have many decisions available," I said evenly.
She looked hurt now. Angry. Cornered.
"You're intelligent," I continued, my tone controlled. "Intelligent enough to understand consequences. You can cooperate and secure your future. Or you can refuse and let the legal recovery process proceed as it normally does."
Her breath hitched.
"I'm not threatening you," I clarified coldly. "I'm stating facts. Debts don't disappear because life is unfair."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back stubbornly.
"If you agree," I went on, "the fifty lakhs vanish. Clean slate. In addition, you'll receive a monthly allowance of fifty thousand rupees. Possibly more, depending on compliance with public commitments."
She looked humiliated at the word compliance.
"You will not have to work during the one-and-a-half-year term," I added. "You can study. Take care of your dog. Live comfortably."
Her voice trembled. "And after one and a half years?"
"We separate legally. Quietly. Respectfully. You walk away debt-free."
Silence filled the room.
Her hands were still clutching that white cloth like it was the only stable thing in her world.
"I'm giving you two days," I said finally.
She looked up at me, eyes wide and conflicted.
"Think rationally," I continued. "Choose the easier path instead of forcing yourself into unnecessary suffering."
I stepped away from the desk.
She didn't move.
"Two days, Anaya," I repeated.
And then I walked out of the office, leaving her standing there - shocked, frightened, and now fully aware that her life had just collided with mine.
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