It's the First chapter of the book .
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AUTHOR'S POV
MUMBAI, INDIA
A caravan of sleek, tinted black SUVs cut seamlessly through the heavy Mumbai humidity, their reinforced tires crunching rhythmically against the pristine gravel of a sprawling private driveway.
The vehicles had passed through the towering iron gates a full minute prior. The distance between the entrance gate and the front doors of the house was a calculated expanse of manicured land, intentionally designed to keep the chaos of the outside world at an intimidating distance. Surrounding the vehicles, a high-end security detail moved with synchronized, practiced precision, the side mirrors catching the sharp glint of the morning sun.
Then, the fortress appeared.
The great Malhotra mansion loomed ahead—a towering, architectural masterpiece of pure white stone, spreading aggressively across the landscape with breathtaking elegance. It was a house built on legacy, built to endure, and built to remind anyone who stood before it exactly who ruled the nation's corporate capital.
The lead vehicle slowed to a perfectly smooth, silent halt at the bottom of the grand marble steps.
Standing near the giant entrance doors, framed by the massive white pillars, was—Yash Malhotra.
He was the founding patriarch, the architect, and the legendary mind behind the multi-billion-dollar Malhotra Group. Time had lined his weathered face and turned his hair into a sharp, striking silver, but it hadn’t touched his posture. He stood completely straight, his hands resting lightly on the gold head of a walking cane he didn't truly need to lean on. Even in retirement, Yash held the kind of absolute, quiet authority that could dismantle a board of directors with a single, slow nod of his head. He still held all the knowledge, tracking every stock movement and corporate whisper before it even manifested.
And right now, those sharp, assessing eyes were fixed entirely on the rear door of the main SUV.
Yash had been waiting. His grandson, Araav Malhotra, was the CEO and the uncrowned king of the business world. Araav had spent the last few years carving out a ruthless international reputation across Europe, operating from Switzerland, and he had shown no intention of returning to India. But three weeks prior, a single, unyielding ultimatum from his grandfather had shattered that distance.
“If you cannot come home now, Araav, you do not need to show up for my funeral.”
Against a command backed by the full weight of Yash Malhotra's mortality, there had been no room for negotiation. Araav had been forced to return.
A security guard moved swiftly, opening the rear door of the vehicle. Inside the plush leather interior, Araav did not step out immediately. Instead, his posture softened completely. He shifted carefully in his seat, sliding one long, protective arm under a tiny pair of knees and supporting a small, heavy head against his shoulder. He brought three-year-old Aarush close against his chest, shielding the little boy's soft curls from the sudden blast of warm Mumbai air. The toddler's small fingers instinctively clutched the fabric of Araav's grey tie, while a faded stuffed elephant named Ellie remained tucked securely under the child's tiny arm.
Aarush did not wake. His breathing remained slow, deep, and peaceful against his neck.
Adjusting his grip on the boy to ensure his weight was completely supported, Araav finally stepped out of the car.
The moment his feet hit the ground, Araav's spine straightened. The cold, analytical mask of a global tycoon settled seamlessly over his sharp features as he looked up the grand steps at his grandfather. The king had returned to Mumbai, bringing his fragile universe with him. And whatever storms were waiting inside the white stone mansion, he was ready to face them.
ARAAV'S POV
The heavy click of the car door closing behind me signaled that my years in Switzerland were officially behind me. The thick, warm Mumbai humidity hit me instantly, but my focus remained locked on the small, rhythmic breath against my shoulder. I adjusted my arm, keeping Aarush pulled tightly against my chest to shield him from the bright sun.
As I walked up the long marble steps, my gaze lifted to the man standing by the entrance.
Yash Malhotra.
My grandfather didn't move an inch. Even standing with his silver hair and a walking cane he barely needed, he still looked every bit the legend who had built our family's empire from the ground up. But as I drew closer, the severe expression he always wore for the corporate world dissolved, replaced by a deep, familiar warmth in his eyes. He was the one person in this world who had backed every choice I made, the single anchor I had left.
Reaching the top of the stairs, I carefully balanced the sleeping weight of Aarush against my shoulder with one arm. I bent down completely, lowering myself to touch my grandfather’s feet in deep, unwavering respect.
Before I could even straighten up, a strong, weathered hand clutched my shoulder, pulling me up.
"That's enough, Araav," Yash said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that held nothing but affection. He scanned my face, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You've grown into a true king out there. But you look like you haven't slept a full night in years."
"I slept enough on the flight," I replied softly, a genuine smile breaking through my usual rigid expression.
His sharp eyes flicked down to the toddler resting peacefully against my neck, tracking the tiny hand still tightly holding the fabric of my grey tie. Yash’s expression softened completely, filled with absolute understanding. He reached out, his hand gently patting Aarush’s back without waking him.
"I had the west wing study entirely remodeled for you before you landed," my grandfather murmured, gesturing for me to follow him inside the cool, grand interior of the mansion. "A proper home office. Plenty of space for your corporate files, and more than enough room for his toys. You won't need to leave his side for a single meeting."
A profound sense of relief washed over me. I didn't have to explain myself. My grandfather already knew, and he had already built our sanctuary.
"Thank you, Dadu," I said quietly.
Yash nodded once, his cane clicking smoothly against the polished floorboards as he guided us into the house. The corporate battles of the Malhotra Group were waiting for tomorrow, but right now, under my grandfather's roof, we were finally home.
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Love,
Tanni.
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