The Ice in His Veins
The Malhothra mansion never knew silence-it ruled here.
Darshan Malhothra stood by the massive window of his study, one hand in the pocket of his tailored black slacks, the other holding a crystal glass filled halfway with whiskey. His jaw was sharp, his gaze sharper. The city below moved at its usual reckless pace, but none of it touched him. He was untouchable-by feelings, by pity, by mercy.
He wasn't built for softness.
At just twenty-nine, Darshan had taken over his family empire like it was written in his DNA. Ruthless in business, colder in emotions, he was exactly what his father, Vikrant Malhothra, had carved him to be-efficient, detached, and a predator in a world full of prey.
His phone buzzed on the table. He didn't glance at it.
Behind him, the door opened without a knock-only one woman dared that.
Indira Malhothra entered, elegance and power lacing every step. Draped in a silk saree that cost more than some people's annual income, her eyes were sharp, unreadable.
"You're skipping breakfast again," she stated, not asked.
"I don't recall inviting you to micromanage my mornings," he replied coolly.
Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "You'll fall harder if you don't take care of what carries that ego around."
Darshan's lips twitched-half-smirk, half-warning. "Then let me fall."
Indira walked to him and set the untouched coffee on the side table. "Your father wants to see you."
That name had power even Darshan didn't argue with. Vikrant Malhothra was a name that commanded silence in boardrooms, fear in competition, and respect from blood. Darshan's father didn't raise a son-he raised a storm.
"I'll be down in ten," Darshan said, already reaching for his blazer.
Before she turned to leave, Indira added with a knowing glance, "And Diya's coming home today."
His brows twitched at the mention of his younger sister-Diya Singhania. The only person who ever got past his walls. The only softness he didn't know how to strangle.
And she was coming back into his world?
His grip on the blazer tightened.
The calm before the storm was over. The storm was him.
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