Chapter 17: A Storm Brewing
Ekansh sat at his massive mahogany desk, fingers tapping against its polished surface in an uncharacteristically restless manner. His office, a sanctuary of calm efficiency, now felt suffocating, the walls closing in as his mind raced. The room was vast, with floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the city skyline, sleek furniture, and a sense of cold precision—just like the man who owned it. Yet today, for the first time in years, Ekansh felt something close to… unrest.
His gaze flickered to his hands.
They were steady.
Unlike his mind.
Because no matter how much he tried, no matter how many distractions he had placed in front of himself since this morning, one image refused to leave him.
Siara Rajawat—collapsing in his arms.
Her body limp, her sharp, defiant eyes dulled by whatever drug had been forced into her system.
His fingers curled into fists.
The very thought made his blood boil.
The knock on the door barely registered, but he forced himself to respond. “Come in.”
Kabir Mehta, his assistant, walked in swiftly, his usual calm demeanor firmly in place. But the moment his sharp eyes landed on Ekansh, something flickered in them—something close to curiosity.
Ekansh didn’t care for it.
He didn’t care for anything at the moment, except one thing.
“I want last night’s footage from the lounge,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “Every single second of it. Find out who that bastard was.”
Kabir blinked.
Not because of the command itself—Ekansh was known for his ruthlessness. He had seen his boss destroy rivals without batting an eye, had seen him make calculated moves that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned businessmen.
But this?
This was different.
Because Ekansh Vardhan was furious.
For a woman.
And not just any woman.
Siara Rajawat.
Kabir hesitated, his mind trying to piece together what exactly was happening. Siara was a rival. A woman who had matched Ekansh move for move in the business world, someone who had never backed down, never shown an ounce of weakness.
And yet, here was Ekansh, his entire body coiled with barely restrained fury.
“Sir, are you sure you want me to—”
Ekansh’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and lethal. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Kabir. I gave you an order.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
Kabir swallowed, then nodded. “I’ll get it done right away, Sir.”
Ekansh gave a curt nod, dismissing him. The moment the door clicked shut, silence filled the office once again.
But it wasn’t peaceful.
No.
It was the calm before a storm.
Memories That Wouldn’t Leave
Ekansh exhaled sharply, turning his chair slightly, his gaze drifting toward the large glass windows that overlooked the bustling city. But he didn’t really see the skyline, the high-rise buildings, or the traffic moving below.
All he could see was last night.
A flash of Siara’s terrified eyes.
The way her body had collapsed into his arms.
The raw, unfamiliar panic that had clawed at his insides.
He closed his eyes. And there she was.
Siara Rajawat.
The woman who had slapped him across the face in their first meeting, her fury as sharp as the sting she had left behind. The woman who had challenged him in business like a force of nature. The woman who carried herself like she was untouchable.
And yet—last night, she had looked fragile.
His fingers curled into fists.
His mind played the moment like a cruel loop.
One second, she had been standing tall.
The next, she had been collapsing.
And in that instant, he had felt something dangerous. Something he had no right to feel.
Possessiveness.
His jaw tightened. His grip on the armrest of his chair turned white-knuckled.
He had held her too close, too protectively, as if she belonged there.
And that—was a dangerous thought.
No.
She wasn’t his to protect.
She wasn’t his to care about.
And yet, his blood boiled.
Because someone had dared to touch her.
Someone had dared to harm her.
And whether he had a right to it or not, he was going to make them pay.
The sharp ring of his phone cut through the silence. Ekansh picked it up, his voice clipped. “Speak.”
“Sir,” Kabir’s voice came through, slightly hesitant. “I have the footage.”
Ekansh’s eyes darkened. “Send it to my system. Now.”
Within seconds, his screen lit up with the incoming file. Ekansh clicked on it, his gaze narrowing as the grainy black-and-white footage played before him.
There she was—Siara.
Dressed in an elegant maroon gown, her head held high, exuding her usual confidence. She walked into the lounge, scanning the room like she owned it, like nothing could touch her.
Then the waiter appeared.
A small, seemingly insignificant bump.
A moment of distraction.
Ekansh’s entire body went still.
A sharp glint of a syringe.
It lasted barely a second, but it was enough.
Enough to confirm what he already knew.
Enough to ignite something dark inside him.
His hand clenched the armrest so hard it creaked.
That bastard had drugged her.
Right in front of everyone.
Right under his nose.
His breathing slowed, controlled. But beneath that calm exterior, there was a fire burning.
And it shouldn’t be there.
But it was.
Ekansh leaned forward, pressing his fingers against his temple. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t who he was. He didn’t get personally involved. He didn’t let his emotions dictate his actions.
And yet—
A memory surfaced.
Siara, her head resting against his chest, her breath shallow, her body unnaturally still. His own pulse hammering, his fingers tightening around her shoulders as he tried to shake her awake.
“Siara.”
No response.
“Damn it, Siara, wake up.”
A faint, barely-there whisper. “Ekansh…”
His name.
On her lips.
Something inside him had snapped in that moment.
He had wanted to burn the entire city down just to find the person responsible.
Ekansh exhaled harshly, rubbing his temples. No. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not over this.
Not over her.
But as he stared at the paused footage on his screen, at the blurred figure of the man who had dared to touch her, he made a silent promise.
He was going to find him.
And when he did—
The bastard would wish he had never been born.