Important note: The most of the real rich business family names are not being added to avoid controversies. It is not meant to disrespect them.
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Orion Tower – First Floor
Rohit was impressed the moment he stepped in.
Banners of welcome and brand advertisements lit up the walls, while a red carpet stretched across the gleaming marble floor.
Despite the space being vast, the area felt strangely quiet—only black-suited security officials and the occasional cleaner moved about.
Most of the shops were shuttered, but no expense had been spared on lighting. The entire floor felt like it was prepared for an inauguration.
Following instructions, Rohit approached the reception. A woman was already waiting there, her gaze sharp and expectant.
He registered his details, mentioned his affiliation, and handed over his packages to be stored—handled with brisk efficiency.
The receptionist didn't appear surprised at his presence; it was clear she'd been informed beforehand. After a quick phone call, she simply told him to wait.
Rohit occupied himself with his phone, not expecting much, until a familiar, lilting voice cut through.
"Good evening, Young Master."
He turned—and blinked. It was Ms. Chanu, the bodyguard, though not in her usual uniform. Instead, she wore a leather jacket and jeans, her presence softer yet still confident.
"What a pleasant surprise," Rohit greeted warmly. "You look… sweeter in this appearance."
Chanu's lips curved, her eyes holding his longer than usual. A faint blush betrayed her composure.
"It's only because Young Master is attentive enough to think so highly of a guard."
Her tone was modest, but her demeanor had softened.
After a brief exchange, she informed him that his mother had arranged a private suite on the 30th floor so he could change and refresh. Rohit, already prepared, declined politely. It wasn't unusual—he predicted the reserved suites to be used when the entire tower was under elite servie.
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Ragini might also stay overnight here—but brushed off the thought. Without delay, he and Chanu entered the lift and ascended directly to the 35th floor.
Exhibition Hall
After several passes and security checks, Rohit finally stepped into the hall. The sight struck him immediately.
The floor was opulent as everything screamed 'for elites'.
Guests dressed in luxury attire filled the space, waiters gliding past with trays of juice and quick snacks. Paintings adorned the walls, while sculptures, relics, and jewels, which seemed far older than mere antiques, were displayed in glass cases.
It felt less like an exhibition and more like a private museum, save for the absence of weaponry. The cultural richness was undeniable.
Guided by Chanu, Rohit approached the heart of the gathering—where his mother stood.
Ragini Singhania was encircled by guests, her presence felt radiant.
Tonight she wore a designer hybrid saree-gown paired with a tailored jacket, blending tradition and power in equal measure. Around her, other women donned a mix of traditional silks, Indo-western dresses, and even sharp western formals. Yet Ragini stood apart.
Her ruby pendant glinted beneath the chandelier, her hair styled into a professional bun. She looked regal, commanding, and breathtaking—her very aura carried authority.
Rohit, momentarily stunned, composed himself just as she noticed him.
With a smile that softened her otherwise powerful image, Ragini introduced him.
"This is my son, Rohit Singhania."
The surrounding guests exchanged surprised glances, smiles spreading as they greeted him.
Rohit responded with a polite namaste, though inwardly he dismissed them as insignificant extras, as none of them were noteworthy.
A few even remarked how unexpected it was to see Mrs. Singhania's son already grown, which brought a faint blush to her face—and a sarcastic smirk to Rohit's thoughts.
Blame your beauty, Mrs Singhania. Who told you to stand out so much?
Among the guests stood a man in a suit and glasses who introduced himself smoothly.
"It's a pleasure meeting you, Young Master Singhania. I am Arjun Pathak—Mrs. Singhania's secretary. You may call me Secretary Pathak."
Rohit acknowledged him with a pleasant expression, already filing him away as a butler-like figure who might prove useful.
As more people flocked to Ragini, Rohit quickly realized his mother would remain occupied. With tact, she handed him over to Secretary Pathak, instructing him to show Rohit around until the auction began.
Once they broke away from the crowd, Rohit turned to him.
"So tell me, Mr. Pathak—what exactly is this exhibition for? And the purpose of our gathering?"
Pathak adjusted his glasses before replying smoothly.
"The exhibition and auction tonight feature relics and artifacts dating back to the Mauryan era. On the surface, it appears to be a cultural celebration banquet—an elegant way to mingle with social circles. But the true purpose is to stand out, to attract attention. And that, Young Master… is where your role comes in."
Rohit raised an eyebrow. "My role? And whose attention are we seeking?"
Pathak straightened his tie and smiled faintly.
"Instead of telling you, why don't I show you? Please, follow me."
Rohit nodded. "Very well."
Pathak casually plucked a juice from a passing tray, sipping before motioning Rohit toward the center of the grand hall. His tone was measured, almost too relaxed, as though guiding Rohit was just another errand in his long day.
"Look over there, Young Master," he said, pointing discreetly toward a cluster of guests gathered near the stage. "That's Mahesh Chambani—the patriarch himself. India's most powerful industrialist. Beside him, in silver saree, is his wife, Nikita Chambani."
Rohit followed his line of sight. He had seen the Chambanis countless times in headlines and business magazines, but witnessing them up close was… different. They looked almost humble in appearance, but the way the crowd revolved around them radiated power and charisma.
Pathak leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"And that man is Masato Fujimura, senior official from Takamura Heavy Industries. They're bringing in a defense and metro-rail trade deal with the Indian government, and naturally, the Chambanis are their Indian partners."
Rohit frowned slightly. "So? What does that mean for the Singhanias?"
Pathak smiled. "Giants like them may rule nationally, but they still need regional alliances. That's where the Singhanias are trying to step in. For now, it means being subordinates, but once we're part of the ecosystem, it won't be difficult to push in our own stakes with investments."
Rohit hummed . "I see… so we're not the only ones after those regional alliances."
Pathak looked pleased at Rohit's deduction.
"Exactly. In North India alone, five families fight for influence under the Chambani faction. Four of them are here tonight. First, us. Second, the Ahujas—sometimes allies, sometimes adversaries. Third, the Mittals—our strongest rivals. And fourth, the Goenkas from the central plains."
Rohit nodded, though his eyelids grew heavy with fatigue. The endless talk of factions and hierarchies weighed him down. It was vital for survival, he knew that, but too tangled to easily grasp—who was truly in charge, and who was just pretending?
Pathak noticed his yawn and reassured him.
"Don't worry, I'll explain all the hierarchy."
From him, Rohit learned something surprising: even the rich in India had their own classes, factions, and ranks—things the media rarely reported. At the top, the wealthy were divided into two great blocs. The old and traditional supported the Tatas, while the new and rising groups rallied behind the Chambanis.
In their tug-of-war, the Chambanis had gained the upper hand, dominating domestic markets and politics. That was why the Singhanias—though an old dynasty—had sided with them.
At the regional level, these families acted like lieutenants, managing businesses, networks, and influence for the faction. Layers upon layers of hierarchy, main branches, and sub-branches—all interconnected.
What amused Rohit was the paradox: these families might feud regionally, but when outsiders threatened, they instantly united as one faction. Effective management, he thought. Ruthless, but effective.
Pathak then steered him through introductions, pointing out the young scions of the attending families. Their role tonight was simple: make their presence felt, attract attention, and gain favor in hopes of winning Chambani recognition.
"The Ahujas sent Danesh Ahuja. Elegant, disciplined—always the gentleman."
Rohit's gaze shifted to a striking girl dressed in a daring gown with a high slit and sleeveless cut that showed off her figure.
"That's Ishita Goenka," Pathak explained. "Sharp, ambitious, and not afraid to make an impression."
Finally, Rohit's eyes fell on someone all too familiar—Jayesh Mittal. Stylish, confident, the kind of man who seemed to own every room he entered. He laughed easily with women and charmed older guests as if it were second nature.
Rohit's jaw tightened. Memories surged of the boy's snake-like schemes, his ability to ruin without ever dirtying his hands. Their first clash had been when Rohit was ten—he had broken Jayesh's nose, only for Jayesh to twist the story, turning Rohit into the villain and shaming him for years.
That was the past. Not anymore.
Rohit steadied himself. "Alright. But what about the Chambani heirs? You said they came too."
Pathak sighed. "Two children. The son is your age, but… irrelevant. The elder daughter is sensible. She hasn't arrived yet."
Rohit raised a brow. "Why irrelevant?"
Right then, a loud outburst cut through the music.
"Kill, kill, kill! Shoot the bastard! Revive me, you idiot—damn it, no!"
A hush fell briefly before the crowd resumed as though nothing had happened. The source was an overdressed young man slouched in a chair, headphones on, screaming at his phone while playing PUBG. His appearance was refined, but his behavior was the opposite.
Pathak shook his head. "That's their son. Spoiled to the core. Anyone who tried approaching him was insulted outright. People tolerate it only because he's their heir. Best ignored."
Rohit's lips curved in faint amusement. "A spoiled heir, huh. Makes sense."
Pathak clapped him lightly on the shoulder, grabbing another drink from a passing tray.
"So, Young Master, this is your playground tonight. Mingle, test the waters, see who bites. Don't worry—I'll keep an eye from the sidelines. You've got the charm; I've got the explanations if you get lost. Deal?"
Rohit offered a polite smile while his inner thoughts curled sharp.
"Thanks for keeping my back," he said aloud.
But inwardly?
'Lazy bastard. You want a show? I'll give you one.'