FLASHBACK — 3.5 YEARS AGO

 The ballroom glittered beneath a thousand suspended crystal chandeliers, each droplet reflecting bursts of gold and silver like frozen fireworks.

 It was the night of the National Business Excellence Awards—a night reserved for magnates, prodigies, entrepreneurs, and heirs to empires. 

Every corner of India's corporate world was present, wrapped in couture, confidence, and quiet competition.

Aditi Malhotra stood among them—radiant yet understated in a deep maroon silk salwar suit. Her outfit was simple, but she wore it with the kind of poise that came from legacy, discipline, and pride. Her hair was tied elegantly, makeup minimal, but she stood out like a flame in a room full of chandeliers.

She embodied the phrase:
A lioness doesn't need diamonds to prove she's royalty.

Standing beside her was her college friend—Raghuveer Singh—looking charming in a tailored black suit. He handed his empty wine glass to a passing waiter, then straightened his tie in a nervous gesture he hoped she didn't notice.

"Come on, Raghu," Aditi said, her bangles softly chiming.
"Dad should be somewhere near the front. I want you to meet him."

Her voice was warm, casual. But to Raghuveer, it was magical.

He nodded quickly, excitement and nerves swirling inside him.
This was it.
Tonight he would meet the father of the woman he'd secretly loved for nearly four years. Same batch, same projects, same internships—yet he never found the courage to confess what he felt. Aditi, with her sharp mind and sharper smile, seemed too brilliant to be touched by ordinary sentiments like his.

She led him gracefully through the crowd—past top CEOs, media cameras, and socialites posing for photographs—until they reached a small group of elite businessmen engaged in conversation.

Aditi's steps slowed.

Her father was there.
Raghuveer's father was there.

But so was someone neither of them expected.

Standing tall among the group was the former chairman of Rathore Industries—and beside him, his son:

Advait Rathore.

Even in a hall filled with powerful people, he was impossible to miss.

Advait stood like a monolith carved from cold steel—unmoved, unreadable, intimidatingly composed. His black tuxedo fit him perfectly, but it was his eyes—dark, observant, mercilessly intelligent—that held attention. Rumors described him as the youngest business tycoon in India's history. The man who took over a corporate empire at twenty-five and, within a year, pushed it to number one in the country and into the global top ten.

A man whose handshake could build alliances—
whose silence could end them.

People whispered about him the way one whispered about storms or economic crashes.

Ruthless. Brilliant. Unpredictable.
He devoured rivals with strategies they never saw coming.

But Aditi didn't care about any of that.

Her focus was entirely on her father, smiling at her as she approached.

"Dad!" she called, her voice bright.

Her father turned, his face lighting up with pride.

"Aditi! Come, beta." He placed a loving hand on her shoulder.
"And Raghuveer—good to see you, son."

Raghuveer managed a respectful smile, trying not to look like he was dying inside.

Both fathers exchanged a knowing grin—both aware their children had joined the business world hand-in-hand, both secretly imagining future possibilities.

Then Aditi's father turned, his voice slipping into a respectful tone.

"Aditi, Raghu... let me introduce you to some very important people tonight."

He gestured toward the cluster.

"This is Mr. Singh—Raghu's father, of course."
"And this is Mr. Rathore—former chairman of Rathore Industries."

The elder Rathore gave a polite nod.

"And last," he continued, "but certainly not least... this is Advait Rathore."

Aditi lifted her eyes out of courtesy...

...and froze for a heartbeat.

His gaze met hers—steady, sharp, unreadable.

Not warm.
Not cold.

But curious.

The kind of look a seasoned strategist gave to something—or someone—he found unexpectedly interesting.

________________________

The noise of the ballroom faded the moment Aditi stepped out onto the terrace. Cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the hotel gardens below. City lights shimmered like a constellation brought down to Earth.

And beside her—leaning casually against the railing, a glass of wine in hand—stood Advait Rathore.

The man everyone feared.
The man everyone worshipped.
The man who rarely spared anyone more than a polite nod.

Yet here he was... alone with her.

Aditi held her own glass with quiet grace, unsure why he had chosen her company out of hundreds present tonight.

She had watched him win all three of the highest awards of the night, and be nominated for four more. The hall had erupted in applause for him each time. But now, away from the cameras and applause, he stood silent, his expression unreadable and cool as moonlight.

Then, without warning, he spoke.

"So," he said, eyes still on the city.
"Do you believe in party hookups?"

Aditi blinked, caught off guard.
"Excuse me?"

Advait finally looked at her—really looked—and there was a flicker of mischief in his otherwise stoic eyes.

He repeated, voice lower, teasing, "Excused."

Aditi rolled her eyes and turned away, though the corner of her lips twitched.
"No, I don't."

He hummed thoughtfully, swirling the wine in his glass.

"In that case," he said calmly, "we can go on a proper date tomorrow."

Her breath caught.
A soft laugh escaped her.

"Mr. Rathore... you are not at all what you appear."

He shifted, turning his full attention to her.
"It's Advait for you," he said smoothly.
"And since we're being honest, let me be straightforward."

She swallowed.

He stepped a little closer, but not enough to invade—just enough to be felt.

"I like your aura," he said quietly.
"Your confidence."
His gaze softened, just a fraction.
"Your intelligence. Your presence."

Then his eyes lifted to meet hers, and his voice dropped.

"And last but not least... these eyes."
Aditi froze.
"I want to keep them in my sight as much as possible."

Heat rushed to her cheeks; she was sure her face was red.
She tried to look away, but he caught her reaction, lips curving.

"I've never met a man like you before," she confessed softly, barely above a whisper.

Advait shrugged lightly.
"Of course you haven't. I'm a one-of-a-kind piece, darling."

That made her laugh—really laugh—and when she turned to look at him, he turned too.

She finally turned to fully face him.
He mirrored the movement—almost unconsciously.

The distance between them shrank.
His breath mingled with hers.
The world behind them blurred into insignificance.

Aditi didn't know who moved first.
Maybe he leaned in.
Maybe she did.
Maybe gravity simply pulled them together.

In the span of a heartbeat, their lips met.

It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't hungry.
It wasn't fueled by alcohol or impulse.

It was slow... gentle... almost reverent.
A kiss woven from emotion, newness, curiosity—
not lust.

His hand brushed her cheek, barely touching, as though afraid she might disappear if he held too tightly.

And for the first time in a very long time, the ruthless, untouchable Advait Rathore let someone past the walls he guarded so fiercely.

Before Aditi could breathe, before she could even process the warmth of Advait's lips, she suddenly felt something cold brush against the skin of her neck.

A metallic whisper.
A soft click.

Instinctively, she pulled back, eyes flicking downward. What she saw made her heart jolt.

A necklace.

A delicate chain.
And hanging from it—a ring.
Simple. Elegant. Sharp-edged, just like the man standing in front of her.

Her eyes widened.
"W–what is this?"

Advait didn't look the slightest bit guilty. If anything, his expression was shamelessly satisfied, like this had been part of his plan all along.

"Hope the size fits," he said calmly, as though he hadn't just slipped a ring around the neck of a woman he met a few hours ago.

Aditi blinked.
"Advait... what does this mean?"

He turned his gaze toward the moon for a moment, inhaling lightly. Then he looked back at her—straight into her eyes—standing close enough that her heartbeat tripped over itself.

"It means," he said slowly, "let's get married."

Aditi's jaw dropped.

"Wow—wow. Aren't you a little too fast, mister?"

He shook his head like a stubborn child. "No."

"No?" she echoed, incredulous.

"I like you," he said. "Or maybe I love you—I don't know what the correct word is. But I know this: you're the only girl who has ever made me feel... this." He gestured between them, as if trying to capture the energy crackling in the air.

"And now I want to explore it. I want to spend my entire life with you."

Aditi stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

"Advait," she said carefully, "we met a few hours ago."

"So?" His voice didn't waver. Not even an inch.
"Love happens in seconds, Aditi. At least for me. I am not a baby boy who needs months to figure out what's in front of my eyes. I am a man who only needed a few seconds to know."

Then, before she could object again, he leaned in and pressed a soft peck to her lips—quick, gentle, leaving her breath tangled.

Still, she whispered, "Marriage is a big commitment."

He lifted his hand and cupped her face—his thumb brushing along her cheekbone, warm and steady.

"Look at me," he murmured.

She did.
She wasn't sure if she wanted to—yet she couldn't look away.

"I know," he said with absolute certainty, "that you're the woman I want to spend my life with. I don't need time. I need you."

Her breath hitched.

"Tomorrow," he continued, "I'll send you an address."

A pause.

"Tomorrow. Seven p.m."

His next words stole the ground from beneath her feet.

"If you show up wearing this ring..."
His fingers brushed her collarbone.
"...that means we're getting married."

Aditi swallowed. Hard.

"And if I don't?" she whispered.

Advait's eyes softened—not with fear, but with a strange, fierce resolve.

"Then," he said quietly, "I'll remain celibate for the rest of my life."

Her breath stopped.

He continued, voice steady:

"I'll love you alone. Even if you choose not to love me."

Aditi knew she should be angry.
She should have snapped at him for being presumptuous, for cornering her into a decision as big as marriage, for assuming she had no say. Any other girl in her place would've stormed away or at least lectured him.

But with Advait...
It wasn't possible.

Because the second he spoke—
The second, he pouted like a boy caught stealing mangoes—
The second, his tone softened just a fraction...

Something in her chest loosened.

She felt comfortable.
Safe.
Seen.

And that blush burning her cheeks?
She hated that she couldn't hide it.

Advait Rathore—the man she'd heard terrifying rumors about, the man the business world painted as cold-blooded, emotionless, ruthless—was here, leaning toward her with a mischievous smirk, looking nothing like the monster people described.

Was this softness... this charm... this teasing smile...
Was all of this only for her?

She couldn't help asking with genuine curiosity, "Well, still... why do you have a ring with you? Did you... plan to propose to someone tonight?"

Advait didn't even blink.
His answer came smoothly, like he had rehearsed it for destiny.

"I'm a businessman," he said, straightening his collar with smug confidence. "And I'm always prepared. You never know where you'll find your soulmate."

Aditi burst out laughing.
Like actual laughing.

"Soulmate? Oh my god—you're so cringe. Nothing like how you look."

His eyes sharpened with playful warning.

He reached out, grabbed her jaw gently but firmly, pulling her closer until her breath tangled with his.

"Only yours," he murmured.

Just two words.
But they hit her like a spark to dry leaves.

Her cheeks flamed.
Her lips parted.
Her heartbeat skidded out of control, drumming against her ribs so hard she wondered if he could hear it.

And then, just when she thought he might kiss her again, he tilted forward and pressed a quick peck—
Not on her lips.
But on her cheek.

Soft. Warm. Bold.
The kind of kiss that made her knees forget how to function.

He stepped back with a lazy grin.

"See you tomorrow, Aditi," he said, voice dipped in something dangerously close to promise.

Then he walked away—
Confident, unhurried, looking like a man who already owned her heart...
Or was damn sure he would soon.

Aditi stood there long after he disappeared into the crowd of glittering guests, her fingers brushing the ring hanging on her neck.

One thing she knew for certain...

She wouldn't be forgetting this man anytime soon.
Especially not a man who made her heartbeat stutter, race, spin, and crash—

All in one night.

But what Aditi didn't know...
Was that someone else had witnessed everything.

Raghuveer.

He had been standing a few steps away, half-hidden by the velvet curtains that draped the balcony entrance. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop—at least that's what he would have told himself—but the moment he saw Aditi walk toward the balcony with a man, curiosity tugged him forward.

And then curiosity turned into anguish.

He saw their silhouettes first—
Two figures facing each other in the moonlight.
Too close.
Too intimate.

Then he heard their voices, soft and low.
Too familiar.
Too comfortable.

And when he saw Advait lean in, when he saw Aditi's body soften, when he saw the kiss—

Something inside him cracked with a soundless scream.

Advait Rathore didn't even glance his way when he left the balcony; the man didn't recognize Raghuveer at all, didn't care enough to.
For Advait, Raghuveer was just another face in the crowd.

But for Raghuveer...
Advait had just stolen the girl he had loved quietly for years.

By the time Aditi turned around, Raghuveer had composed himself—
At least on the surface.

But the anger simmering in his eyes, the jealousy tightening his jaw, the bitterness trembling in his fist...

Aditi missed all of it.

"Raghu? What are you doing here?" she asked, startled, cheeks still flushed from Advait's kiss.

She was embarrassed—thinking he merely caught them talking closely, unaware that he had seen far more than that.
Seen enough to break him.

"Nothing," he said stiffly, his voice low and sharp. "He was talking, huh?"

There was a sarcasm there, a sting she didn't pick up on.
To Aditi, Raghu had always been soft, playful, teasing—so she assumed he was teasing now too.

"Okay, fine, I'll spill the tea."
She laughed, looping her arm through his with the familiarity of old friendship.
She pulled him away from the balcony and toward the golden staircase, chatting breathlessly as they walked.

Raghu followed mechanically—his smile forced, his chest tight, his brain screaming—but Aditi, lost in her excitement and the new warmth blooming in her heart, didn't see any of it.

She shared the basics with him—how Advait asked her out, how he was unexpectedly charming, how he had a certain pull she couldn't ignore.
She didn't tell him about the kiss.
 
Those details she held close, still trying to understand them herself.

But the little she shared was enough to twist the knife deeper in Raghuveer's heart.

"Well," he said sharply when she finished, "I think you shouldn't go there at all. That man is a creep. Who asks for marriage on the first meeting? He sounds—desperate."

Aditi blinked.
The tone didn't match the Raghu she knew, but she brushed it aside.

Maybe he was drunk?
Or overprotective?
He had always been a little protective of her.

Besides, the effect Advait had on her...
It was something she had never experienced before.

"I don't think he's a creep," she replied softly, her cheeks warming again. "I think... I should go. At least give the date a chance."

Raghuveer stopped walking for a second.
His eyes darkened.

"So it means," he said slowly, "you're going to wear the ring?"

Aditi shrugged, her smile small and shy.
"Maybe. Maybe not. I haven't decided anything yet. If I don't like him, I'll say no. End of story."

Raghu's jaw clenched.

"And also," she added more seriously, "it's my age to get married, Raghu. Papa will soon start introducing me to every 'eligible bachelor' in Delhi. Before that happens... I'd rather choose someone myself."

He opened his mouth to argue again, but she raised her hand and continued:

"And it's not like Advait will force me to marry him. If I say no, he'll accept it. He seems intense, but not... dangerous."

Raghuveer tried everything—every subtle warning, every disguised plea, every attempt to cast doubt on Advait—but nothing worked, and in the end he failed miserably.

 Aditi drifted toward Advait with an intensity he had never seen in her before, like she had finally met someone who matched her fire.

 When their wedding took place four months later, Raghuveer didn't even attend.

 He claimed he was buried in work, but the truth was far more fragile: he couldn't bear to watch the woman he loved promise herself to another man. 

The hatred he nurtured for Advait by then was deep, bitter, and almost poisonous, but ironically, his love for Aditi only grew sharper, more obsessive, more consuming with each passing day.

A week before her wedding, unable to hold himself back any longer, he had confessed his feelings to Aditi—his voice trembling, his heart raw—but she had only smiled softly, not understanding the gravity of his pain. 

She told him she valued him far too much to lose him, that she wanted him as a friend forever, that his place in her life mattered too much to risk it. 

She didn't see that her words, meant to comfort, felt like a knife twisting deeper into him. 

She never realized that Raghuveer's love, though genuine and painfully sincere, didn't fade with rejection—it intensified. 

The more unreachable she became, the more deeply he fell. 

He wanted her, yes, with a longing that burned him from the inside, but he wasn't a man who would break someone's home for his own desire. 

He stepped back respectfully, watched her become someone else's wife, and swallowed the heartbreak quietly. 

But he never stopped loving her, not for a single day.

Then the news came—Aditi had divorced Advait. And not because of betrayal, not because of heartbreak, but because of a contract. 

A reason that had nothing to do with love. 

A reason that made her single again.

 For Raghuveer, it felt like destiny had finally cracked open a door he had been staring at for years. 

She wasn't married anymore.

 She was legally free. And that meant he could court her, pursue her, fight for her without guilt. And that is exactly what he did.

Being her closest friend for more than seven years gave him an advantage no one else had: he knew her weaknesses, her fears, her insecurities—especially the tender parts of her she hid from the world. 

Aditi, who was fierce, ruthless, and almost untouchable in the business world, was heartbreakingly naive and sweet when it came to personal relationships, especially with the people she loved and trusted. 

She wasn't suspicious of loved ones; she saw only goodness in them. 

She believed in loyalty, in honesty, in emotional bonds. 

And Raghuveer used every piece of that knowledge with precision.

He manipulated her gently at first, slipping doubts into her mind like droplets of poison disguised as concern. 

He guided her, advised her, and played the role of the protective friend with flawless belonging. 

He told her which questions to ask Advait, which boundaries to test, which actions to take "just to see where his loyalty really lies."

 And every time Aditi saw Advait with Navya—whether it was professional, accidental, or harmless—Raghuveer's carefully crafted words started echoing inside her mind. 

Words designed to twist any situation into something suspicious, something dangerous, something emotionally treacherous. 

And with every seed he planted, her insecurities grew exactly as he intended.

And slowly, steadily, painfully—his manipulation worked.

His words, dripping with tenderness and perfectly measured concern, slowly began to weave themselves around Aditi's mind until she truly started believing that Raghuveer cared for her far more deeply than Advait ever had. 

He made her feel understood, cherished, valued—feelings she thought had slowly faded in her marriage.

 He played the role of the affectionate, ever-present companion, gently allowing her to believe that he was the one who genuinely loved her. 

And he didn't stop there.

 He subtly guided her into attending "counseling sessions" with one of his closest friends—an adviser whose expertise was manipulation masked as therapy, a man who was more loyal to Raghuveer than to ethics. 

Together, the two of them worked hand in hand, crafting narratives, planting doubts, strengthening insecurities, and ultimately shaping Aditi's emotions to favor Raghuveer. 

What Aditi thought was support was, in truth, a carefully calculated strategy—one that pushed her farther and farther from Advait without her even noticing.

Advait, on the other hand, never interfered. He never once questioned her friendship with Raghuveer. 

He was not a man who got jealous simply because another man stood near his wife; his trust in her was absolute, unshakable, almost innocent in its purity. 

To him, Raghuveer was nothing more than a friend—a harmless presence, someone Aditi valued, so he valued him too.

 But Raghuveer mistook Advait's grace for weakness. 

In his mind, he wasn't breaking a home—because technically, the home was already broken.

 The divorce papers had been signed; the marriage had ended.

 Aditi was committed to Advait emotionally, perhaps, but legally, she was single, and that was enough reason for Raghuveer to believe he had the right to try. 

And he tried with everything he had.

In his pursuit, he shamelessly weaponized Navya. 

He painted her in the darkest shades possible, portraying her as a villain in Aditi's eyes—someone scheming, someone dangerous, someone unworthy of trust. 

And the adviser, playing his part perfectly, helped reinforce every lie until they began to feel like truth. Aditi, who had already lost her romantic love for Advait long before, still carried a small ache for him—an emotional attachment, a concern born from shared years, shared moments, shared promises. 

She cared. She still cared, even if she no longer loved. 

But Raghuveer believed that his love—pure in his eyes, unwavering, intense—would eventually wash away every last trace of Advait from her heart.

 He didn't care whether she could conceive or not, whether she had flaws, scars, or emotional wounds. 

None of it mattered to him. He loved her, and that was the beginning and end of his world.

And so, with everyone playing their parts—Aditi slowly drifting, Advait unknowingly losing, Raghuveer relentlessly pursuing, and Navya being turned into a shadowed figure she never was—the twisted love triangle tightened itself around all of them until the flashback dissolved into the present, carrying with it the truth of how everything began to fall apart.

(For this paragraph, I actually had an explanation. I was never an iPhone lover—I was a die-hard Samsung user. 

But after seeing iPhones everywhere on Pinterest, somehow I ended up becoming a loyal 16 Pro Max user myself. 

And honestly, I used to hate the design of the 17 Pro Max; I thought it looked terrible. But now the silver one looks so romantic that even I want it.

In short, I'm not trying to flaunt my iPhone. 

What I'm trying to say is: when you keep seeing something repeatedly, even if it feels strange or wrong at first, your mind eventually starts believing it's right. 

And that's exactly what happened with Aditi. Raghuveer manipulated her for over a year—slowly, consistently—until she began to believe everything he said was true.)

Flashback Ends