PROLOGUE
ADITI
The heavy mahogany conference table in Rudraksh Bhai’s home office is polished to a shine, the kind that reflects guilt and intimidation back at you. It’s rarely used—unless someone has something important to discuss. Today, I guess, I’m the person of importance.
Across the table, Aarav and Bhai sit side by side, shoulders squared like twin walls of judgement. Aarav’s jaw ticks. Bhai’s fingers tap slowly against the glass coaster. Both stare at me as if I’ve just announced that I’m eloping to the moon with a mob boss, despite only saying that I am moving to Mumbai.
I adjust in my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. On either side, my bhabhis—Anika and Shivani bhabhi—sit like quiet allies. Anika’s nails are immaculately painted, her fingers calmly laced in her lap. Bhabhi has one brow raised, already in battle mode. They know. They’ve got my back. Thank God.
I clear my throat. “I’m starting an internship at Varuna Enterprises.”
Aarav shifts forward. Bhai stops tapping.
I hold up a hand, fingers spread like a stop sign. “Before you say anything—I don’t want interference. No calls, no name-dropping, no protective stalking. I want to work without our surname trailing behind me. I want to build something on my own.”
Aarav leans back, arms crossed. “Aditi, there’s no need—”
“No need?” Anika cuts in, her voice sharp as glass. “Who exactly are you to decide what she needs?”
Bhabhi turns slightly, voice low but pointed. “And since when does being her brother mean you get to plan her life?”
She shoots a glance at Rudraksh bhai. “Remember how mad I was when you bought that publishing house without telling me?”
Anika’s head swivels. “Wait—he bought a publishing house?”
I sigh. “You should hear about the panipuri stall.”
Anika gasps. “He what?!”
“Panipuri. Stall. Ten thousand rupees,” Shivani confirms, like she’s reporting a crime.
Anika narrows her eyes at Aarav. “If you ever pull something like that behind my back—”
“I know I’ll die,” Aarav mutters, raising his hands in mock surrender.
I roll my eyes. “Can we circle back to me, please?”
Bhabhi smiles. “Right. What I’m trying to say is—when you protect someone too tightly, you’re not protecting them. You’re caging them. She’s your sister, yes. But she’s also her own person.”
She pauses and looks directly at me. “I trust she’ll ask for help when she needs it.”
All eyes shift back to me. The weight of their attention presses like a spotlight. I nod, arms folded. I won’t ask for help, but sure. Easier to agree now.
Aarav glances at Bhai. “I don’t think we’re winning this one.”
“She’s smart,” Bhai says, eyes narrowing at me. “Using our wives against us.”
I shrug. “I’m not using anyone. I just needed help—from people who get it.”
Bhai rises, chair scraping softly against the floor. “Fine. But don’t you dare land in trouble.”
Bhabhi glares at him. “No, it’s okay if you do; just don’t forget to ask for help,” she says and looks at Bhai. “Is that what you will tell Rudrani too, Mr. Malhotra?” She narrows her eyes.
“Nope, she’s never going anywhere until she turns fifty,” Bhai says, his tone serious, and I snort. Rudrani’s only three and already the queen of sass. Bhai’s overprotectiveness is legendary. He’s going to have a hard time, and I am all here for it.
Bhabhi exhales, rubbing her temple like this isn’t the first time she’s had this conversation—and probably won’t be the last. “Rudra, we talked about this.”
I grin as Bhai walks out, having dismissed the meeting I technically called.
