He wore a black coat sharp, ironed, and clearly expensive. The scent of his branded perfume filled the air. Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself with quiet confidence.

He glanced at his wristwatch a masterpiece of white gold and diamonds, shining softly under the light. Pure elegance wrapped around his wrist.

He walked down the grand staircase of his mansion the kind of place where someone could easily forget the way to their own room.

As he stepped outside, a bodyguard was already waiting. Without a word, the guard opened the car door.

He slid in and sat comfortably, like he owned not just the car but the world.

On the other side… Maya was sleeping peacefully

On her bed, as if lost in a beautiful dream.

In her dream, she wore a red bridal lehenga, looking like a bride straight out of a fairytale. She was doing feras — walking around the holy fire — with a man. His face was hidden, covered with a garland of flowers.

Just as he lifted the garland to reveal his face…

“Kab tak soti rahegi tu?” her mother’s voice snapped her back to reality.

Her mother slapped her lightly on the shoulder.

“Ouchh! What happened, Mom? Kya tsunami aa gayi hai duniya mein?” Maya groaned, still half-asleep.

Her mom crossed her arms and frowned.

“11 bajne ko aaye hain! Store kaun kholega? Sapno mein dulhan bani baithi hai, aur yahan dukan ka shutter bhi bandh hai!”

Maya rolled to the side, mumbling,

“Bas 5 minute aur…”

“5 minute mein toh customer nikal jaayega!” her mom snapped back.

“Tumhare 5 minute toh hamesha aadhe ghante ke hote hain!” Her mother huffed, pulling the bedsheet off Maya.

Maya got up and walked straight to the kitchen.

She took out some rice and put it in a pot to cook. Since the store was attached to the house, she went just like that—in her slippers, still half sleepy.

“What do you need?” she asked the customer at the counter.

“A soap and half a liter of milk,” the woman replied.

Maya took a spoon, tasted the rice quickly, then grabbed a soap from the shelf and milk from the fridge. She handed both things to the customer.

The woman gave her the money. Without saying anything, Maya opened the cash box and placed the notes inside.

“What a dream that was…” Maya thought, still a little lost.

“When will something like that ever happen in real life?” she mumbled to herself, stirring the rice lazily.

Just then, she heard the sound of a scooter stopping outside.

A boy got off the scooty — holding… a piglet.

Yes. A real baby pig.

Maya blinked in surprise. She quickly put the rice pot to the side and walked toward the animal, forgetting everything else.

She snatched the piglet from the boy’s hands without even asking.

“This… this is so cute!” she said, holding it like it was a soft toy.

The boy looked at her, a little shocked.

“Uh… excuse me? That’s my pig.”

But Maya wasn’t listening. She was already smiling, gently patting the piglet’s head.

“Look at its nose! And these tiny legs… I love it!”

The piglet let out a small squeal. Maya laughed like a kid.

......................

“Sir, our share prices are dropping fast after last night’s scandal.”

He didn’t even look up from the files on his desk. His fingers continued flipping pages calmly, until the word “scandal” registered.

“What scandal?” he asked, voice low and cold.

His assistant shifted nervously. “Sir... Abhinav Sir was arrested last night. Drunk driving case. It’s all over the news this morning.”

The files were slammed shut. He looked up, eyes sharp, furious.

“That bastard! Where is he now?”

“Still in jail, Sir. I tried speaking to the officers early morning. They refused to grant bail. Said there’s pressure from higher authorities not to let him walk free just yet.”

He stood up, pushing his chair back with force.

“He’s the face of our hospitality arm. The face, damn it. Just two days before our grand launch, and this idiot gives the media a reason to destroy us.”

The assistant didn’t respond. He knew better.

Pacing the length of his massive glass-walled office, he muttered,

“I told him to stay clean. One job. Just one damn job. Handle the luxury line, smile at cameras, and behave like a goddamn professional. But no. These silver-spoon brats never listen.”

He stopped suddenly, turning back.

“Call Vikram from legal. Tell him to get that fool out by tonight. Quietly. I don’t want a single reporter outside that jail. Bribe. Threaten. I don’t care. Just make it happen.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Also,” he continued, grabbing his phone, “call Neha. I want a PR blast ready in an hour.”

“About the launch?”

“About everything. Make the media forget this mess. Tell them our new luxury restaurant is a revolutionary experience—whatever nonsense they want to hear. Celebrity invites, tasting events, live music—go big. Flood every social feed, every news outlet. I want trending hashtags by 6 PM.”

His assistant quickly typed notes on his tablet, fingers trembling slightly.

“Should I also prepare a statement on the arrest?”

He paused.

“No. Denial. No comment. Let the lawyers handle it legally. Publicly, we act like it didn’t happen. We’re too clean for this drama.”

“Understood, Sir.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his breath. This was not how the week was supposed to go. Investors were already on edge due to their last acquisition. Now this?

The silence was broken by a knock on the office door. It was the company’s COO, Meera Singh. Smart, calm, ruthless in crisis.

“I heard,” she said, walking in. “News broke on the early morning channels. They’re tearing us apart on Twitter.”

He sighed. “Perfect timing. Have you spoken to the board?”

“They’re demanding an emergency meeting at 2 PM. They want assurance this won’t affect the launch. Or the quarterly report.”

“It won’t,” he said firmly. “Because we’ll bury the story before lunch.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Unless someone digs up the CCTV footage of Abhinav crashing his Mercedes into a divider in South Delhi.”

His face turned pale for a moment.

“There’s footage?”

“Possibly. A journalist tweeted about it.”

He clenched his jaw.

“Find that journalist. Buy the footage if it exists. And if it’s already in circulation—”

“—Then we spin it,” Meera interrupted confidently. “Say Abhinav was avoiding hitting a stray dog. Or was ill. Humanize him. Make him the victim.”

He nodded slowly.

“Good. Let’s begin damage control. We survive this week, and our competitors will choke on our success.”

Outside the office, phones began ringing. Inside, war had just begun.

Abhinav lay curled on the cold floor of the jail cell, one arm beneath his head, the other across his stomach. His designer blazer had long slipped off his shoulders and was now bunched under him like a poor man’s pillow. His breath came in shallow drags, and the pounding in his skull reminded him he hadn’t sobered up yet.

The concrete was rough. The silence around him wasn’t peaceful—it was suffocating.

He didn’t look like the Abhinav people knew—no crisp shirts, no confident smile, no camera flashes. Just a broken boy in a stained shirt, trying not to cry in front of strangers.

“This can’t be real...” he murmured to no one.

Everything had fallen apart so fast. One minute he was speeding down the highway, music blaring, thinking he could handle a few drinks. The next, flashing lights, handcuffs, blood on his lip, and humiliation.

But what hurt more than the bruises... was the silence from his brother.

No calls. No messages. No one came.

His elder brother had always cleaned up his messes. From broken windows to failed exams to late-night fights at clubs—“Bhai will handle it,” he used to say, with a grin.

But not this time.

Abhinav turned his face to the wall, pressing his forehead against it.

“I messed up, Bhai,” he whispered.

He never wanted to be a disappointment. But it was always there—that feeling. That no matter what he did, he would never be like him.

His brother was respected, feared even. Built an empire from scratch. Ran a company with steel nerves and eyes that could cut lies. Meanwhile, Abhinav was good at charming crowds, looking good in suits, and playing the spoiled prince in a palace he didn’t build.

He hated that people called him a "younger version" of his brother. He hated it because deep down, he knew he wasn’t even close.

He didn’t want to be a burden anymore. But somehow, he always ended up being one.

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on the iron bars.

Abhinav jerked up, heart racing.

A police officer stood there. Behind him, a tall figure in a black coat, face hidden in shadows.

It was him.

His brother.

For a second, Abhinav froze. He wanted to run into his arms like when they were kids. But he didn’t move. His body felt too heavy with shame.

The officer unlocked the cell, stepped aside.

“You’re out,” his brother said. Voice flat. Cold. Not angry—worse. Disappointed.

Abhinav looked up slowly.

“I didn’t call anyone... I didn’t think you’d come,” he said quietly.

His brother didn’t reply. Just turned and started walking.

Abhinav followed.

As they exited the building, reporters yelled from a distance. Cameras flashed. But the guards kept them away.

Inside the car, silence ruled.

Only when the doors closed did his brother speak.

“You’re not a child anymore, Abhinav.”

Abhinav stared at the floor.

“I know.”

A long pause.

“One more mess like this... and I won’t come next time.”

Abhinav nodded.

But in his heart, something cracked. Because he realized—for the first time in his life—that his brother didn’t just see him as a foolish kid anymore.

He saw him as a threat to everything he built.