Otherside of the city , the faint chime of vintage silver cutlery echoed from the drawing room, but Mahesh Madhvan had no appetite. He stood by the tall glass windows of his private chamber in the Madhvan estate—his jaw clenched, watching the soft drizzle soak the manicured lawns. The empire his father helped build had slipped into the hands of his elder brother's idealistic son.
Riyansh.
Even the name grated at his ego.
Behind him, Vasundhara sat on the chaise in a deep maroon silk saree, her posture elegant, unhurried. Her fingers tapped lightly against her teacup, waiting. She knew this look in her husband's eyes—restless ambition masked as calm observation. The same look he had when Om Madhvan had publicly bypassed him for board elevation.
Tonight, something was coming.
"I met Bansal yesterday," Mahesh finally said, his voice steady but low.
"Ah," she replied, without looking up. "How many crores did he want this time?"
Mahesh chuckled dryly. "He didn't ask for money. Not this time. He offered something else. His daughter."
Vasundhara's eyes narrowed with interest. She turned her head slightly. " Meera Bansal? Or the younger one—Saanvi?"
"Saanvi. Studied at Wharton. Helped restructure their FMCG arm last year."
Vasundhara sipped her tea, silent, calculating.
"She's sharp. And ambitious," Mahesh added. "And more importantly, her father wants influence in luxury and banking—both. We align his ambition with ours, we gain his vote, his capital, and most importantly, his networks."
A small smile curved Vasundhara's lips. "Smart. Bansal controls a majority in the North-East retail corridor. If we absorb that through strategic partnerships, Rajat's hold over madhavan's expansion becomes… irreversible."
Mahesh walked to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and laid out a leather-bound file. Inside were charts of recent acquisitions, PR placements, and internal memos—tracking every move of Riyansh since he took over Madhvan Capital's ethical restructuring.
"He's weakening the old guard," Mahesh said bitterly. "No offshore subsidiaries, no political shielding. He talks about integrity like it's a currency."
Vasundhara stood, smoothing the pleats of her saree, and joined him at the desk. She placed a hand gently over his.
"Then we remind the board that currency still rules currency," she said coolly. "Riyansh may have Gayatri Devi's favor, but sentiment won't fund the next fiscal."
Mahesh leaned in. "We'll announce the alliance discreetly after the city M gala. Until then, keep Saanvi close. Invite her to dinners, events, showcase her in the right circles."
"Sure " Vasundhara replied with a faint smile. "She will definitely joining the Mehra Foundation dinner tomorrow as our guest. She's being dressed by Ananya, of course."
Mahesh exhaled, pleased. "We win this war not by opposing Riyansh outright—but by making him irrelevant."
They stood in silence for a moment, both staring down at the empire they were quietly redrawing.
"Does Rajat know?" Vasundhara asked.
Mahesh's eyes darkened slightly. "He will. Tonight."
Rajat Madhvan was reviewing global projections when the knock came. He didn't expect his father and mother to enter together.
"Something wrong?" he asked, standing.
"On the contrary," Mahesh said, handing him a file with Bansal Group's portfolio.
Vasundhara stepped forward. "It's time you begin building your own court, Rajat. Starting with a queen."
He frowned. "You want me to marry… for strategy?"
"No," Mahesh said coolly. "We want you to marry for power."
Rajat's gaze dropped to the file. A single name stood out.
Saanvi Bansal.
Riyansh's Office, Madhvan Capital HQ
The glass windows behind Riyansh Madhvan overlooked the sprawl of city's D skyline, but his gaze wasn't on the city. He sat behind a walnut desk, sleeves rolled up, his sharp jaw tensed in thought. A file lay unopened in front of him — his mind was elsewhere.
"Did you find where Vivaan lives now?" he asked without looking up.
His secretary, a composed woman in her late 30s, cleared her throat softly.
"Yes, sir. It's… an unusual place."
Riyansh's eyes narrowed. "Where?"
"The Mital house, sir. Old R Nagar. Registered under Mr. Aakash Mital's family."
Riyansh straightened instantly. "Woh wahan kaise pahunch gaya?" (How did he get there?)
The secretary hesitated, then spoke carefully.
"The Mital family is renting out a spare room. Your brother approached them for a room — under a different surname. He didn't reveal who he was."
A pause. She added, "According to the sources —— Vivaan claimed he was a traveler, freelance musician, working on a documentary."
Riyansh's fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk. His expression turned unreadable.
"So my brother is living in a broken home, calling himself a stranger, and not even using our name."
The secretary gave a measured nod. "Yes, sir.
Riyansh stood and walked to the window, his voice lower now. "He left the mansion. The estate. The trust. Everything. And ended up in an old family house."
The secretary said nothing.
Then Riyansh turned back sharply.
"Call Aakash Mital to my office. Now."
"Right away, sir."
The door clicked shut behind Aakash Mital as he stepped into Riyansh Madhvan's office — elegant, modern, and silent except for the distant hum of the city outside.
Riyansh stood by the window, his back to the room.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Aakash asked, confused but composed.
Riyansh turned slowly, his face unreadable. He motioned to the chair across from him.
"Sit."
Aakash did.
There was a long pause before Riyansh spoke again — not as a CEO, not as the heir of a powerful empire — but with the careful restraint of an elder brother trying not to let emotion betray him.
"You didn't think to tell me he was staying in your house?"
Aakash blinked. "Sir?"
"Vivaan." The name landed gently but firmly. "He's living in your family home. Isn't he?"
Aakash's mouth parted slightly. "I… didn't know." Why is your brother staying at my house? I don't know anything. If I knew, I would have definitely told you.
Silence.
Then, Riyansh stepped closer. His tone softened, stripped of corporate polish.
"Listen, Aakash. I don't want anyone in your family to know who he really is. Not your family, not your neighbors. Not yet."
Aakash nodded slowly. "Of course, sir."
Riyansh looked him in the eye.
"But I'm asking you—personally—not as your boss, but as his brother… take care of them. Quietly. If he needs anything — food, medicine, gear, work — you come to me. Directly. Without him knowing."
Aakash's brows furrowed slightly, sensing more behind the words.
Riyansh gave a half-laugh, full of old memories. "Typical Vivaan. He'd sleep on a rooftop if it had the right echo."
The silence between them was heavier now, more human.
Then Riyansh added firmly:
"Whatever differences I may have with him… he's still my younger brother. And I won't let him struggle like this, not when I'm still breathing."
Aakash nodded. "Understood, sir. I'll make sure your brother has everything he needs… without ever knowing it came from you."
Riyansh gave a faint nod of gratitude.
Then, almost as an afterthought: "And Aakash… thank you."
Aakash stood up, moved by the rare softness in Riyansh's tone.
"He's not alone, sir. Not while he's in our house."
As the door closed behind Aakash, Riyansh looked back out the window — the city lights flickering like memories he hadn't yet forgiven himself for.