I've always wondered why my name is Samhita-a name that sings of Indian roots in a land far away from it. My father, Adrial Williams, never cared much for such things, but my mother, Ahana, insisted. She believed that my name should connect me to her heritage, to a culture she held close to her heart despite living a life surrounded by the chaos of the Russian mafia.
As a child, I was drawn to my mother's stories of India-the festivals, the colors, the songs, and the people. She made me learn Hindi when I was barely six, promising that one day it would become my secret weapon in a world where languages can be a bridge or a barrier.
"Call me Maa, not Mumma or Mom," she would say sternly but lovingly. "It's who I am, and it's who you are too, even if you don't see it now."
At first, I found it annoying. But over time, Maa became a word that felt right-a link to my roots, to her, to something more than the cold walls of our Russian mansion.
Now, sitting in the sleek black car outside our estate, I sighed as I noticed the missed calls on my phone. Maa. Six calls in a row. I could already imagine the lecture brewing.
I stepped inside, my heels clicking against the marble floor. As expected, Maa was waiting in the living room, her arms crossed, her face a mix of worry and anger.
"You don't pick up your phone anymore, Samhita? Am I talking to the wind?" she snapped, her Hindi as sharp as a whip.
I rolled my eyes but managed a small smile. "Relax, Maa. I was busy with Titan. You know how work gets."
"Busy! Busy doing what? Running around with those six boys of yours and forgetting that you have a mother who worries about you day and night?"
Her voice grew louder, and I winced. I loved her, but her ability to nag was unparalleled.
"Maa, I'm 27. Not 17. You don't have to wait up like I'm sneaking out to a party," I said, trying to diffuse her anger.
But she wasn't having it. "Don't 27 me, young lady! You think I don't know what kind of danger you put yourself in? Your father may let you do as you please, but I won't!"
"Ahana, let her breathe."
The deep voice of my father, Adrial Williams, filled the room as he entered, his calm demeanor instantly softening the tension.
"She's here, safe and sound. That's what matters," he said, placing a hand on Maa's shoulder.
"She's always safe because of her father. But one day, even you won't be able to protect her," Maa retorted, but her voice had lost its edge.
I shot my father a grateful look. He winked at me before steering Maa toward the kitchen.
As they walked away, I couldn't help but smile. No matter how much she yelled, Maa's love was the anchor that kept me grounded in a world of chaos.
*
Agastya's POV:
In the heart of Jaipur, the towering Rathor Enterprises building stood like a monument to power and wealth. The top floor was my kingdom, and as I stepped out of the elevator, the air seemed to shift. Employees straightened in their seats, their chatter fading into silence.
They were scared of me-and rightly so. I demanded perfection, and I didn't tolerate incompetence. But fear wasn't all they felt. There was respect too, carved out of years of witnessing how I turned every challenge into an opportunity.
"Good morning, sir," came a chorus of greetings as I walked through the glass-walled corridor. I nodded curtly, my mind already on the day ahead.
In my office, a space as vast as it was opulent, Raghav Sharma was waiting for me. Raghav had been my manager for seven years-a quiet, efficient man who understood my ways better than most.
"Raghav," I said, settling into my chair. "What's the update on the Jaipur Metro project?"
"It's progressing as planned, sir. We've secured the final approvals. Construction will begin next month," he replied, his tone steady and professional.
"Good. And the event this evening?"
"Everything is arranged. I'll ensure there are no issues," he said.
I nodded, leaning back in my chair. Raghav wasn't a friend; I didn't have those. But he was reliable, and in my world, reliability was more valuable than camaraderie.
"You can go," I said.
As he left, I allowed myself a rare moment of quiet. My gaze fell on the family portrait on my desk-my parents and younger sister, smiling brightly.
Marriage, I thought bitterly. The topic had been coming up far too often lately. My family want me to start a family of my own but I didn't care for such things. My empire was my legacy, and I had no time for the distractions of love or commitment.
Yet, their voices echoed in my mind. My mother's pleas, my father's subtle hints, my sister's teasing-all of them weaving a web I couldn't escape forever.
But for now, I had bigger concerns. The gala tonight wasn't just a display of wealth-it was a battlefield. And I didn't intend to lose.
Write a comment ...