Sanvee Kapoor’s phone buzzed for the twenty-first time in two days.

Aanya Raizada – Incoming Call

She stared at the screen like it owed her rent. "Twenty-one missed calls... either someone’s dying, or she wants to drag me into something outrageous again."

The phone stopped ringing. Three seconds later, it lit up again.

Sanvee groaned and picked up. “What now?”

“You finally answered!” Aanya’s voice exploded through the speaker. “Do you have any idea how dramatic I had to be to keep calling without losing self-respect?”

“I thought Raizadas didn’t believe in persistence. Just... private jets and assistants.”

“Ha-ha. I’m inviting you to something better than any overpriced art gallery,” Aanya said. “You, me, and a family vacation. Udaipur. Private estate. Heritage haveli. You need a break.”

Sanvee stared at the chipped wall of her studio apartment, the smell of turpentine clinging to the air. Her unfinished canvas loomed in the corner—a half-drawn portrait of a girl with no background. Story of her life.

“Your version of ‘break’ includes vintage furniture I’m not allowed to sit on and champagne I can't pronounce,” she muttered.

Aanya’s voice softened. “You haven’t left your apartment in three months, Sanvee. You work, you sleep, and you sketch until your fingers bleed. You need sunlight. And maybe a conversation with someone who isn’t made of oil paint.”

There it was. The crack in the sarcasm wall. That quiet, uncomfortable tug in her chest. Aanya was right. As annoying as she was, she was also... right.

“One week,” Sanvee said quietly. “No more.”

“Deal. Pack red. You’ll thank me later.”

The private jet was insultingly quiet.

Sanvee sat awkwardly in her aisle seat, gripping the edge of the leather armrest like turbulence might hit out of spite. Aanya was already sipping champagne and taking selfies like she owned the clouds.

“This is ridiculous,” Sanvee muttered. “There’s more staff on this jet than in my building.”

“You're welcome,” Aanya said cheerfully.

Before Sanvee could respond, the cabin door opened with a smooth hiss.

He walked in like gravity bent slightly in his favor.

Aarav Raizada.

The eldest Raizada. The CEO. The secretive, emotionally off-grid brother. He looked like every brooding billionaire ever written—tall, sharp-featured, all-black everything, with sleeves rolled up just enough to show off tension in his forearms. And not the kind that came from gym memberships. The kind that came from power.

He didn’t speak. He nodded—barely—and took the seat across from Sanvee like she was a filing cabinet he didn’t request.

Wow. Okay. Human iceberg spotted.

Aanya leaned in and whispered, “Ignore him. He’s like a cactus in a Gucci suit. Just don’t water him.”

The Raizada family estate in Udaipur was... overwhelming.

It wasn’t a house. It was a memory carved in sandstone, surrounded by rose gardens and lake views. Grand but not gaudy. The kind of place that made you feel small in the best and worst ways.

Sanvee dragged her small suitcase across the marble entryway, painfully aware of her beat-up sneakers and paint-stained hoodie. Her reflection in the glass doors looked like a glitch in an otherwise perfect family portrait.

“Ma’s in the kitchen,” Aanya said, pulling her forward. “You’ll love her.”

Before Sanvee could respond, a poised woman in a pale green saree approached with a grace that only came from old money and good posture.

“Sanvee?” she asked, her eyes warm.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sanvee said awkwardly.

Instead of a handshake, Priya Raizada pulled her into a soft, motherly hug. It startled her more than the luxury ever had.

“You remind me of someone,” Priya murmured. “Someone I cared for deeply... long ago.”

Sanvee blinked. That’s... oddly specific.

Before she could say anything, a voice echoed from the top of the stairs.

“Aanya, Ma—the board meeting’s at four.”

Sanvee turned.

Aarav again.

Sharp. Clean. Distant.

He paused when he saw her. His eyes, unreadable as always, flickered with something she couldn’t quite name.

“You’re still here,” he said blandly.

Sanvee raised a brow. “Wow. The robot speaks.”

“You’re quick with comebacks,” he muttered, adjusting his watch.

“Quicker than you are with greetings.”

There it was again—that flicker. Something between annoyance and... amusement?

Aanya smacked her own forehead. “Please stop. You’ve known each other for twenty minutes and already started a verbal war.”

Aarav glanced at Sanvee one last time before walking off, the soft click of his shoes disappearing into silence.

She stood still for a moment, heart annoyingly aware of his presence even after he’d left.

So that’s how this week’s going to go...

Here’s the simplified version of Chapter 2 of The Billionaire’s Secret Heiress, using clear, everyday language, while keeping all the emotional moments, family banter, and romantic tension intact.

Chapter 2: The House of Raizadas (Simplified)

~1,200 words

Sanvee Kapoor had been through enough in life. Awkward school reunions, rejected paintings, and even that time she accidentally glued her own hand to a canvas.

But this?

This was the Raizada breakfast table.

And nothing had prepared her for it.

—

“Someone pass the paratha before Aarohi hides it all again,” said Vivaan, waving his fork and pretending to be serious.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Aarohi replied with a smirk. “I’m just making sure you don’t steal five like last time.”

“This house is huge and we’re fighting over bread,” Meher said, rolling her eyes. “Billionaire problems.”

At the end of the table, Rehaan stared at his tablet. “Can everyone please lower the volume? I’m working on code.”

“You always say that,” Ishaan added, flipping a book. “Even when you’re watching cat videos.”

Sanvee quietly chewed her toast, watching the chaos unfold.

This wasn’t what she expected. Not stiff, boring, rich-people breakfast.

It was messy. Loud. Kinda fun.

And very real.

—

She was sitting between Aanya and Meher when Aarav walked in.

Instant silence.

Well, for two seconds.

Vivaan grinned. “Look out, Prince Serious has arrived.”

Aarav raised an eyebrow. “Still jobless, Vivaan?”

Sanvee tried not to laugh.

Vivaan sipped his juice like a royal. “Still cold as ever, Aarav?”

Aarohi leaned toward Sanvee. “Don’t worry, this is normal. Last week they argued for an hour over salad dressing.”

Sanvee smiled. “Honestly? I kinda love this.”

“I definitely love you already,” Aarohi replied.

—

Later, Sanvee followed Aanya through the house. It was beautiful, yes—but also big enough to get lost in.

“Seriously, does anyone know their way around here?” she asked, looking around.

“You get used to it,” Aanya said. “Anyway, Ma wants to talk to you before dinner.”

“Am I in trouble?” Sanvee joked.

“No,” Aanya smiled. “She just really likes you.”

“Why though?”

“She says you remind her of someone,” Aanya said, shrugging. “A friend from the past.”

Sanvee stopped walking. “She told me that yesterday too…”

“Yeah,” Aanya nodded. “She gets emotional about people she connects with.”

Sanvee didn’t say anything, but something about it stayed with her. That strange feeling again… like a memory that wasn’t hers.

—

Dinner meant full-length dresses and enough jewelry to light up a street.

Sanvee stood in front of the mirror in a deep red gown. Her hair was loosely tied back, and even she had to admit she didn’t look half bad.

“You look amazing,” Aanya said. “Like someone who gets stopped on the red carpet.”

“I feel like someone playing dress-up,” Sanvee muttered.

A knock on the door.

Aarav.

Of course.

“You’re late,” he said simply.

“You’re early. That’s suspicious,” she replied.

Aanya slipped out with a smile. “Enjoy the dinner—and try not to insult each other too much.”

Aarav looked at Sanvee again. Just for a second longer than usual.

“You look… fine,” he said.

Sanvee raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just ‘fine’? You wear a suit like you’re planning a business merger at dinner.”

“Don’t expect compliments. I don’t give them often,” he said.

“Figures.”

And with that, they walked down the stairs together.

—

Dinner was nothing short of grand.

Everything was perfect—plates, food, flowers. The Raizadas looked like they belonged in a movie.

But what surprised Sanvee was how casual it still felt.

Vivaan made jokes. Aarohi teased everyone. Rehaan stayed quiet but sharp. Ishaan threw in random facts. Meher kept asking Sanvee to help her dye her hair pink.

And Aarav… watched.

He didn’t talk much. But he watched.

Especially when Sanvee spoke.

Especially when she laughed.

And once, their eyes met—and neither looked away right away.

—

Back in her room later, Sanvee lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Dinner had gone better than she’d imagined. The family was loud but kind. Strange but sweet.

And yet… something inside her still felt restless.

She picked up her sketchbook.

Without thinking, she began to draw.

A face. Sharp jaw. Focused eyes. Cold expression.

She paused.

“Why do you feel familiar?” she whispered.

Then closed the book.

Something was starting.

She could feel it.

Sanvee woke up to the smell of cardamom and coffee. For a moment, she forgot where she was—until she opened her eyes and saw the carved ceiling above her. Right. Raizada Mansion.

The place where luxury had its own zip code and even the walls whispered old money.

She got out of bed and pulled on a light sweater. It was chilly, even though the sun had been out since morning. As she walked down the hall, she heard soft laughter echoing through the corridor.

In the main living room, a fire crackled in a massive stone fireplace. The cousins were all there—curled up on couches, sipping coffee, and playfully arguing over which movie to watch that evening.

Aarohi spotted her first. “Look who finally woke up! We thought you got lost in the walk-in wardrobe.”

Vivaan grinned. “Or maybe she found Aarav’s secret room full of spreadsheets and stock charts.”

“I value my sanity,” Sanvee replied, sinking into a chair near Meher.

“Good call,” Meher nodded. “His room probably smells like Wi-Fi and emotional trauma.”

Laughter broke out, and Sanvee found herself relaxing. These people—rich, dramatic, over-the-top—they still felt more like family than anyone else ever had.

Aarav entered the room exactly five minutes later. Of course he did. Like a character who only shows up once everyone else has settled.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Rehaan asked, not even looking up from his laptop.

“I do work,” Aarav replied. “I just don’t feel the need to announce it with every breath.”

“Wow, so humble,” Ishaan muttered. “Aarav Raizada, CEO, billionaire, part-time sunset mood.”

Aarav ignored them. His eyes found Sanvee instantly.

“You’re up,” he said.

“Gold star for observation,” she replied, sipping her coffee.

There was a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. Just for a second. Then it disappeared.

Later that day, Aanya dragged Sanvee to the art room—a sunlit space at the far end of the mansion with easels, untouched paint sets, and floor-to-ceiling windows.

“I told Ma you’re a painter,” Aanya said. “She insisted you have this space while you’re here.”

Sanvee blinked. “Wait, this is just... here? Empty?”

“Unused for years,” Aanya shrugged. “I think she kept it closed since that friend moved away.”

Sanvee felt a tug in her chest again. She looked around. The room had that same silence her old orphanage classroom used to carry—the kind that made you feel like the past was still standing around in the corners.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said quietly.

“Then don’t,” Aanya smiled. “Just paint.”

And she did.

That evening, Aarav found her there—alone, in front of a half-finished canvas.

“You’re good,” he said, eyes on her sketch.

Sanvee turned, a little surprised. “You sure that wasn’t meant to be a spreadsheet compliment?”

Aarav smirked. “Funny.”

She put the pencil down and faced him. “You always show up at weird moments. Do you lurk?”

“No. I observe,” he said calmly. “There’s a difference.”

“You also stare. A lot.”

“That’s because most people don’t surprise me. You do.”

For a second, Sanvee didn’t know what to say. Aarav’s voice wasn’t teasing—it was honest. Unfiltered.

“Most people treat me like a background character,” she said, looking away. “You don’t.”

“That’s because you’re not.”

Their eyes met. The room felt still. Warmer. Like the fire in the fireplace from earlier had followed them here.

Then Aarav looked away. “Dinner’s in ten. Don’t let the soup get cold.”

And just like that, he was gone again.

Dinner that night was quieter. Priya Raizada sat beside Sanvee and asked her about painting. Not in a fake, polite way—but like she genuinely cared.

“You remind me so much of someone I knew,” she said gently. “Same spark in the eyes. Same honesty.”

Sanvee smiled, unsure what to say. That line again.

She was starting to wonder if this “friend” even existed—or if Priya was just seeing something else.

Later that night, Sanvee stood out on the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, looking out at the moonlit lake. Her sketchbook sat beside her, open to a new page.

She drew a girl sitting in a sunlit room… and a boy standing at the doorway, watching her like she was the first real thing he’d seen in a long time.