1

The chandeliers of the Oberoi Grand Ballroom glittered like molten gold above the heads of politicians, industrialists, celebrities, and old-money elites.

Power breathed inside the hall.

And among them all—

Rana Digvijay Singh stood like the center of gravity itself.

Thirty years old. Ruthlessly wealthy. Controlled. Feared.

People lowered their voices when he walked past.

Not because he demanded respect.

Because his silence did.

Black suit. Broad shoulders. Cold eyes sharp enough to dissect lies. He spoke little, but one look from him was enough to make grown men nervous.

Behind him stood Preeti—his personal assistant for the last six years.

Efficient. Calm. Respectful.

Rana trusted very few people.

Preeti was one of them.

And then—

Chaos entered the ballroom in silver heels.

Ahalya Vishwa Raj.

Twenty-one.

Beautiful enough to make people stare twice.

Spoiled enough to make them regret it.

Diamond earrings danced against her neck as she walked in like she owned the entire hotel. Her white gown shimmered around her slim figure, arrogance dripping from every step.

“What I say must happen.”

That was her favorite line.

And everyone around her knew it.

She had grown up shielded by wealth, worshipped by her father, excused for every tantrum, every insult, every disaster she caused.

To Ahalya—

The world existed to entertain her.

Servants were invisible.

Employees were beneath her.

Rules were for ordinary people.

And tonight, she was already irritated.

Some designer had copied her imported dress design.

Some influencer had looked at her “rudely.”

And now she needed someone to unleash her mood on.

Unfortunately—

Preeti became the target.

Preeti accidentally stepped near Ahalya while speaking to an event manager.

“Excuse me, ma’am—”

Before she could finish—

Ahalya turned sharply.

“Can’t you see where you’re walking?”

Preeti immediately apologized politely.

But Ahalya’s ego was already awake.

“Oh my God. Look at you talking back.”

“Ma’am, I didn’t—”

SLAP.

The sound cracked across the ballroom.

People froze.

Preeti staggered sideways, hand on her cheek.

Ahalya looked disgusted.

“Cheap bitch. Learn your place before standing near me.”

The room went dead silent.

And then—

A shadow moved.

Rana.

His expression did not change.

That was the frightening part.

He walked toward Ahalya slowly.

Every person in the hall instinctively stepped aside.

Ahalya turned casually—

And suddenly felt a powerful grip around her wrist.

Hard.

Her eyes widened.

Rana twisted her hand just enough to make pain shoot up her arm.

“Who gave you the right,” he said quietly, “to touch my employee?”

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

Ahalya’s temper exploded instantly.

“How dare you touch me, you bastard!”

Gasps spread across the ballroom.

Someone nearly dropped a wine glass.

Across the hall, Vishwa Raj went pale.

His heart almost stopped.

Because everyone knew who Rana Digvijay Singh was.

King.

That was what the business world called him.

Not affectionately.

Fearfully.

And his daughter had just called him bastard in public.

Vishwa rushed through the crowd in panic.

Meanwhile Ahalya tried jerking her hand free.

But Rana’s grip tightened.

Pain burned across her delicate wrist.

“You should apologize,” he said softly.

The softness was more terrifying than shouting.

But Ahalya hated authority more than anything.

Nobody controlled her.

Nobody.

Before her father could reach them—

She lifted her free hand and slapped Rana across the face.

Not hard.

But enough.

Enough to freeze the entire ballroom.

Even the musicians stopped playing.

Ahalya glared at him furiously.

“Apology my foot. I’ll kick your ass for holding my hand! Do you know who I am? My dad will see your end!”

Nobody breathed.

Vishwa finally reached them and immediately grabbed her shoulder.

“Ahalya!” he whispered harshly.

Then he turned to Rana.

For the first time in years—

One of the richest men in the country folded his hands.

“King… forgive her. She’s a child. She just returned from abroad. She doesn’t know—”

The word king hit Ahalya’s ears like thunder.

King.

Rana Digvijay Singh.

Her face slowly drained of color.

Now she noticed the room properly.

The terrified faces.

The silence.

The fear.

Her stomach dropped.

Oh God.

Even she had heard stories about him.

A man who destroyed billionaires without raising his voice.

A man politicians kept happy.

A man no one insulted and survived unchanged.

And she—

slapped him.

Rana looked at her with unreadable eyes.

“What should I do with you now?” he asked quietly.

For the first time in years—

Ahalya felt genuine fear.

She tried pulling her hand away.

He didn’t let go.

Vishwa looked desperate.

“Ahalya. Bow. Apologize. Right now.”

Her pride choked her throat.

Sorry.

The word felt impossible.

But then Rana spoke again.

“Vishwa,” he said calmly, eyes still on Ahalya, “make your daughter apologize to my PA… or I’ll make her kneel here until the party ends.”

Ahalya’s eyes flared with humiliation.

How dare he?

But even her father looked terrified.

“Ahalya!” Vishwa whispered. “For God’s sake!”

Her jaw clenched.

Finally—

through gritted teeth—

“Sorry.”

She looked at Preeti while saying it.

Dry. Forced. Burning with ego.

Only then did Rana release her wrist.

Angry red finger marks bloomed instantly against her pale skin.

Vishwa immediately pulled his daughter behind him protectively.

“I’m sorry again, King. Please forgive her.”

Rana stared at Ahalya silently.

Inside him—

rage clawed violently.

He wanted to break the hand that slapped him.

No one had dared in years.

But Vishwa was his father’s old friend.

That alone was saving her life tonight.

Still—

punishment was necessary.

Rana looked toward his guards.

“Fracture the hand that slapped me.”

The hall went cold.

Ahalya’s eyes widened in horror.

“What—”

Before she could react, two guards grabbed her left arm.

THWACK.

The heavy security baton struck her forearm.

Ahalya screamed.

The sound echoed through the ballroom.

Pain exploded through her arm so brutally that her knees almost gave out.

Tears burst from her eyes instantly.

“Dad—!”

Vishwa caught her trembling body while she sobbed hysterically.

“I’m sorry, King,” he said again, voice shaking.

Rana simply turned away.

“Take her.”

Vishwa hurried his crying daughter out of the hotel.

Behind them—

Rana exhaled slowly.

“Useless brat,” he muttered coldly.

Then he turned toward Preeti.

“Are you alright?”

Preeti nodded softly.

“I’m fine, sir.”

The concern in his eyes did not go unnoticed.

Whispers immediately spread again.

Maybe Preeti truly was special to him.

Because Rana never cared personally about anyone.

—

Meanwhile—

Ahalya cried through the entire hospital visit.

The fracture wasn’t severe.

But the swelling and pain were enough to make her sob dramatically while the doctor applied plaster.

Vishwa sat beside her exhausted.

Relieved she was alive.

“Do you understand now?” he scolded softly. “You cannot insult everyone you see. At least know who you’re speaking to!”

Ahalya clung to his arm like a frightened child despite her age.

Tears soaked his sleeve.

“I hate that gorilla!” she cried. “I already said sorry! What more did that donkey king want?”

Several hospital staff immediately turned to look at her nervously.

Even hearing someone insult Rana felt dangerous.

Vishwa quickly shushed her.

“Lower your voice!”

But Ahalya was furious.

Her arm hurt.

Her ego hurt more.

“How dare he hurt a cute girl like me like this?”

She sniffled angrily.

“In my head I already kicked his face with my heel.”

Vishwa nearly got another heart attack.

“Ahalya…”

She ignored him completely.

“I’ll take revenge for this insult,” she muttered dramatically while the painkiller slowly made her sleepy.

“In fact, I’ll break all his teeth myself…”

Her voice faded.

Minutes later she fell asleep sitting against her father’s shoulder.

Still frowning.

Still angry.

Still completely unaware—

that Rana Digvijay Singh had not forgotten her face either.