Chapter 1 - The Artist's Dream

Isha’s Perspective

The scent of fresh paint and old books filled the air of Isha Mathur’s Bandra apartment. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a golden glow on half-finished canvases scattered across the studio.

This was her world.

A world of colors, emotions, and untold stories waiting to be painted.

Isha stood in front of her latest artwork—a breathtaking portrait of Mumbai’s cityscape at dusk. Her brush glided over the canvas, adding delicate strokes of orange and purple to the sky. Lost in her art, she barely noticed the time slipping away.

A loud knock on the door jolted her out of her trance.

Before she could respond, the door burst open.

"Madam Artist!"

Isha sighed as her best friend, Meera Kapoor, waltzed into the room like she owned it. Dressed in ripped jeans and an oversized T-shirt that said Sarcasm is my superpower, Meera was the complete opposite of Isha—bold, loud, and completely unpredictable.

"Meera, at least pretend to knock before barging in," Isha muttered, setting her palette down.

"But where’s the fun in that?" Meera grinned, plopping onto the couch. "Anyway, have you forgotten? Your big night is today!"

Isha’s stomach did a nervous flip.

Of course, she hadn’t forgotten.

Tonight was her first solo art exhibition at Mumbai’s Oberoi Art Gallery—a dream she had chased for years. But instead of excitement, a strange nervous energy sat heavy in her chest.

"What if something goes wrong?" she murmured, fiddling with her paintbrush. "What if people don’t like my work?"

Meera groaned dramatically. "God, Isha, you overthink everything! Your paintings are amazing, and you are going to own that exhibition. Now stop doubting yourself and start getting ready!"

Isha bit her lip, still uncertain.

Little did she know—tonight would be unforgettable. But not for the reason she hoped.

Somewhere Else in Mumbai…

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Rudra’s Perspective

The soft hum of a Rolls-Royce Phantom filled the air as the car sped through the quiet streets of South Mumbai. Inside, Rudra Singh sat in the backseat, his fingers tapping against his phone screen.

"Did you take care of it?" he asked coldly.

Across from him, his right-hand man, Kabir, nodded. "Yes, boss. He won’t be a problem anymore."

Rudra exhaled. Another traitor removed. Another loose end tied.

At thirty, he had built an empire on fear, power, and absolute control. As CEO of Singh Enterprises and the silent ruler of Mumbai’s underworld, he had learned one truth—weakness was a death sentence.

"Where to next?" Kabir asked.

Rudra glanced at his watch. He had a business deal to finalize, a few enemies to handle.

But first—

"The Oberoi Art Gallery," he said.

Kabir raised an eyebrow. "An art exhibition? Didn’t know you were a fan of paintings, boss."

Rudra’s lips curled slightly. "I’m not."

Then why was he going?

Even he didn’t know the answer.

Yet, something about this night felt… different.

And for the first time in years, Rudra Singh had no idea what was coming next.

Hi my lovely readers I hope you all like it, and please ignore my mistake.

bye see you at next chapter.