The Girl He Was Born to Hate
If you're the last man on Earth..."
Riya Malhotra looked him straight in the eye.
"...I'd happily stay single."
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Not amused.
Not offended.
Just dangerous.
"If you were the last woman alive..."
He stepped closer.
Close enough for only she could hear.
"...I'd build another planet."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then—
Three hours earlier...
Mumbai wasn't a city.
It was an empire.
An empire where billionaires ruled boardrooms like kingdoms, reputations were bought with headlines, and one wrong handshake could destroy generations of legacy.
Tonight, that empire had gathered beneath one roof.
The Imperial Grand Palace Hotel glittered against the city's skyline, its crystal chandeliers casting rivers of light over marble floors polished to perfection.
The annual Legacy Foundation Gala had begun.
Every influential family in the country was present.
Industrialists.
Politicians.
Actors.
Royal descendants.
Old money.
New money.
And somewhere beneath the music and expensive perfume...
Old enemies.
A black Mercedes rolled to a stop.
The cameras exploded.
"Miss Malhotra!"
"One picture!"
"This way!"
Riya stepped out, her emerald satin gown flowing behind her like liquid silk.
She smiled effortlessly.
Elegant.
Poised.
Perfect.
The photographers adored her.
The magazines called her Mumbai's Golden Heiress.
None of them noticed how tightly she was gripping her crystal clutch.
She hated galas.
Not because of the crowds.
Because every gala reminded her that in her world, nothing was ever simple.
Every compliment had a purpose.
Every smile hid an expectation.
Every conversation felt like another business deal.
"Smile properly."
Her grandmother whispered with a gentle laugh.
"You look like you're attending a funeral."
Riya's lips curved.
"Maybe I am."
Her grandmother squeezed her hand.
"Don't let your father hear that."
It was the first genuine smile of the evening.
They entered the ballroom.
Conversations paused.
Heads turned.
The Malhotras had arrived.
Across the ballroom...
Another entrance silenced the room.
Ishaan Singhania.
Six-foot-three.
Tailored black tuxedo.
Dark hair that refused to stay perfectly in place.
The kind of confidence that couldn't be bought—even with billions.
Women watched him.
Businessmen wanted to meet him.
Reporters chased him.
He ignored every one of them.
As he walked inside, an elderly waiter stumbled slightly, the silver tray in his hands tilting dangerously.
Without hesitation, Ishaan caught it.
"You should let someone help you."
His voice was quiet.
Almost gentle.
The waiter smiled gratefully.
"Thank you, sir."
Ishaan simply nodded and continued walking.
No cameras had seen it.
He preferred it that way.
Kabir, his closest friend, fell into step beside him.
"You know..."
"What?"
"You'd be much easier to hate if you stopped doing things like that."
"I wasn't doing anything."
"You helped him."
"He needed help."
Kabir laughed.
"Don't worry."
"What?"
"No one will believe me."
Before Ishaan could answer...
Kabir's gaze shifted across the ballroom.
"There she is."
Ishaan followed his line of sight.
Riya Malhotra.
The girl who had once thrown iced coffee over his white shirt after an argument neither of them even remembered properly.
She had changed.
She wasn't the fiery teenager he recalled.
She carried herself differently now.
Confident.
Graceful.
Beautiful.
His jaw tightened.
Still dramatic.
Across the ballroom...
Riya looked up.
Grey eyes met hers.
The orchestra faded.
The conversations disappeared.
Everything around them blurred.
It felt as though the room itself had stepped back.
Twenty-five years.
That was how long the Malhotras and Singhanias had hated one another.
Some said one family had stolen everything.
Others claimed the opposite.
No one spoke about what truly happened.
Only one rule survived.
Never trust a Singhania.
Her father appeared beside her.
"Don't look at him."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
She looked away first.
But something unsettled her.
For a brief second...
She remembered seeing him help the elderly waiter.
That wasn't the man she'd been taught to hate.
She pushed the thought aside.
People like Ishaan Singhania didn't deserve second chances.
An hour later...
The charity auction began.
Rare paintings.
Luxury watches.
Vintage wines.
The bidding climbed higher with every item.
Then the auctioneer smiled.
"Our final masterpiece tonight..."
A velvet cloth was lifted.
"The Royal Sapphire Necklace."
The ballroom erupted into applause.
Riya's grandmother inhaled softly.
"My mother owned one exactly like this."
Riya looked at her.
"You want it?"
Her grandmother smiled sadly.
"It reminds me of home."
That was enough.
Riya raised her paddle.
"Thirty crore."
Before the auctioneer could continue—
"Thirty-five."
She didn't need to look.
She knew that voice.
"Forty."
"Fifty."
Guests stopped talking.
Phones slowly appeared beneath tables.
Everyone sensed something bigger than an auction.
"Sixty."
Silence.
The auctioneer looked between them nervously.
Then Ishaan spoke.
Calmly.
Without hesitation.
"One hundred crore."
A collective gasp echoed through the ballroom.
Even the orchestra stopped playing.
Riya stared at him.
He wasn't looking at the necklace.
He was looking at her.
Her father gently lowered her paddle.
"Enough."
The gavel struck.
"Sold."
Applause filled the room.
Ishaan accepted the purchase with barely a glance.
As he walked away, he paused beside her.
"I didn't buy the necklace."
She frowned.
"Then what did you buy?"
His grey eyes held hers.
"Your defeat."
For the first time that night...
She wanted to slap him.
Instead—
She smiled.
Sweetly.
"Dad always told me not to argue with children."
Kabir almost choked on his drink.
For the first time in years...
Ishaan laughed.
A real laugh.
It surprised even him.
And somehow...
That irritated Riya even more.
Outside...
The palace gardens were quiet.
The city lights shimmered beyond the fountains.
Riya slipped off her heels.
"Billionaires are exhausting."
"They usually are."
She froze.
Ishaan.
Again.
"You really enjoy ruining my evenings."
"No."
He slipped both hands into his pockets.
"I enjoy winning."
She crossed her arms.
"You spent one hundred crore to prove a point."
"I've spent more for worse reasons."
"Arrogant."
"Honest."
She took one step closer.
"If you're the last man on Earth..."
"I'd happily stay single."
His smile returned.
"If you were the last woman alive..."
"I'd build another planet."
She rolled her eyes and walked away.
Neither of them noticed the black SUV parked beyond the palace gates.
A camera clicked.
The man inside lowered his lens.
"They've finally met."
A voice answered through the phone.
"Good."
"They're exactly where we wanted them."
The photographer hesitated.
"Should we tell them the truth?"
A slow laugh echoed through the speaker.
"No."
A pause.
"Not until they've fallen in love
