Chapter 1 : The Girl Who Didn't Belong
Mysore was a city of heritage and poise—serene lakes, grand palaces, and silence that held centuries in its breath. And atop its highest tower, overlooking the city like a lion guarding his throne, was Rudra Veer Ahlawat.
Descendant of royal blood, CEO of the Ahlawat Group—an empire built on legacy, rebuilt by brilliance. Rudra was thirty-two, tall, broad-shouldered, with dusky skin and sharp features carved like old stone. His eyes were deep-set and unreadable, the kind of gaze that made people drop their sentences halfway. Silent, calculating, and perfectly polished in black suits and timeless watches. He rarely spoke in meetings. He never repeated himself.
People feared him.
Then came Aaradhya Singh.
From a small dusty town near Ayodhya. Age: twenty-three. Education: barely made it through a government college. Job: junior HR assistant, third floor, north wing. Nobody expected her to last a week.
She was too loud for Mysore. Too chaotic for corporate. And far, far too real for Rudra Veer Ahlawat’s world.
Her eyes were large and honey-brown, always moving. Her skin was wheatish and sun-kissed, and her thick black hair had a stubborn curl she never managed to tame. Dressed in faded cotton kurtas, anklets that jingled, and notebooks falling out of her cloth bag—she didn’t fit in.
And worse, she didn’t care.
He saw her for the first time while walking past the HR floor. She was arguing with the printer—loudly, dramatically, and violently.
"Chal na, saale printer! Teri maa ki..." she muttered under her breath, banging the machine like it had ruined her life.
Rudra stopped. Turned.
She didn’t notice him. Too busy fighting with paper jams and fate.
He narrowed his eyes. A junior staff member, cursing in the hallway, dressing like she was headed to a bazaar, laughing like the office was her living room?
Unprofessional. Irritating. Wild.
He hated her instantly.
And not the kind of hate they write songs about. The real kind. The why-is-she-here, get-her-out kind. The kind that crawled under your skin and stayed there like a splinter.
She was noise.
And Rudra Veer Ahlawat loved silence.
