The Sole Heiress Of Oberoi Group

"Sukesh!" The watchman's scream pierced the silence.

His mind reeled in shock. Who had killed his companion so mercilessly? When? And why?

Just moments ago, he had switched shifts with Sukesh, who had gone inside the school. Had the murder taken place within those very walls? But he hadn't seen anyone enter.

In his daze, the watchman failed to notice the two ravenous dogs that had been feasting on his companion's corpse. Now, their predatory eyes were locked onto him.

With a guttural growl, they lunged. The force of their attack sent the watchman crashing to the ground. One dog sank its teeth into his arm, its sharp fangs ripping through fabric and flesh, burrowing deep into his skin.

Desperation surged through him as he thrashed and kicked, trying to break free. But these creatures were unlike any ordinary dogs. Their strength was unnatural. No matter how much he struggled, their grip remained unrelenting.

Within moments, they began to tear into him. One clamped down on his arm, the other on his leg. Blood soaked through his clothes, pooling beneath him.

A chilling realization settled over him—this was the end. Death loomed, cold and inescapable. With one final surge of will, he wrenched himself free and stumbled toward the school building, dragging his wounded leg behind him.

The dogs gave chase, their snarls echoing in the night. But just as they closed in, the watchman stumbled inside and slammed the door shut, bolting it from within.

The beasts barked and clawed at the door, their fury relentless. Though logic told him they couldn't break through, terror twisted in his gut. It felt as if they would find a way—just as they had with Sukesh.

Slumping against the door, his breath came in ragged gasps. His hands trembled as he fumbled for his phone, barely managing to dial the police before darkness took him.

Unbeknownst to him, a figure stood on the first floor, watching in silence. His face was hidden in the shadows, but the serpent tattoo coiled around his muscular arm glistened under the dim light, an ominous mark of something far more sinister.

Time stretched on as the figure observed the unconscious man below, as if ensuring he was truly out cold.

Then, with measured steps, he descended.

Draped in a crimson hoodie, he knelt beside the watchman, a syringe glinting in his hand.

Without hesitation, he pressed the needle to the man's neck and injected its contents.

Dusk Escape

Late at night, Sharvik's phone rang.

A light sleeper, he stirred immediately, his eyes fluttering open. A subtle weight pressed against his chest.

Lowering his gaze, he found Surbhi nestled against him, her head resting over his heart, fast asleep in his arms.

Moving carefully, he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

As he glanced at the caller ID, his gaze instinctively returned to Surbhi.

She rarely fell asleep easily, but when she did, even the loudest noises wouldn't stir her.

Sharvik answered the call.

A deep voice from the other end spoke, laced with quiet intensity. "I hear you met her today… and she's with you now?"

Sharvik's fingers traced lazily through Surbhi's silky hair as he murmured, "Hmm, she's here."

The voice pressed on, "What is she doing?"

"Sleeping."

A sharp intake of breath. "She's sleeping?"

The disbelief in the caller's tone was palpable.

"Yes, she's asleep."

A pause. Then, a more serious question followed. "How long?"

"Five hours."

"Five hours? That's impossible."

Sharvik frowned. "Why does that surprise you? People sleep. It's hardly unusual."

"For ordinary people, no. But she isn't like them. Didn't Hitesh tell you? She can go weeks without sleeping. She suffers from a severe sleep disorder—one that no sleeping drug or hypnosis can affect. Getting her to sleep is nearly impossible."

Sharvik fell silent, his mind turning over this revelation.

It didn't make sense. On one hand, neither medication nor hypnosis worked on her, and sleep eluded her for days. Yet, at times, she seemed capable of dozing off at the most unexpected moments.

His voice turned cold. "How much more have you kept from me about my wife?"

The other end fell silent, as though the caller had been caught off guard.

After a long pause, the voice finally responded, "You're right. There's much about Devika that we haven't told you. Not because we wanted to hide it—only because we hadn't yet revealed it. But no matter. I'll be in India the day before the engagement. Then, I'll tell you everything—every secret, every truth. After that, the choice will be yours. Whether you still wish to marry her or not."

Sharvik's jaw tightened. His gaze fell upon the woman sleeping soundly in his arms.

Surbhi.

No—Devika Oberoi.

The sole heiress and major stakeholder of the Oberoi Group. Why she was living in Delhi under the guise of a high school student was a mystery only she could answer.

His voice, steady and resolute, cut through the silence. "I will marry her. No matter what, no matter how great the challenges, no matter how deep the scars. Your granddaughter will be my wife. That was decided long ago. Sharvik Singhania does not break his word. Nor does he allow others to."

His words carried the weight of an unshakable vow.

On the other end, a faint smile curved Mr. Raghunath Oberoi's lips. This was exactly the kind of man he had hoped for his granddaughter.

"I only hope," Raghunath said, "that when you learn the full truth, your resolve remains unchanged."

Sharvik said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than words.

Next Morning

After an intense workout, Sharvik returned to his bedroom.

Devika lay fast asleep on her stomach, her tousled black hair spilling across her face, making her look irresistibly delicate.

Sharvik wiped the sweat off his face with a towel, his gaze lingering on her.

It was already seven, yet she showed no sign of waking.

He didn't disturb her. He knew she struggled to fall asleep early and had no desire to disrupt the rare peace she found in slumber.

Instead, he stepped into the bathroom for a shower.

The bathroom itself was a masterpiece of luxury—its sheer size rivaled that of an average home, with every detail meticulously crafted for elegance and comfort.

Under the cascading water, Sharvik let the icy stream flow over his sculpted frame, his shirtless torso glistening.

His powerful build—defined abs, chiseled muscles, and sharp V-line—was a vision of strength and perfection, capable of rendering anyone speechless.

Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers through his damp hair, lost in thought.

Business matters typically occupied his mind, but today, all he could think about was Devika—and the cryptic words of her grandfather.

Something about her didn't add up.

How did she remain so fit despite suffering weeks of sleeplessness?

Yes, he had noticed the exhaustion in her eyes last evening, but there were no dark circles, no visible signs of fatigue—something nearly impossible for someone deprived of rest.

Her skin, her form—everything about her defied logic. Even at twenty-six, she carried the youthful aura of a teenager. No one at her school had ever guessed her real age.

It was unnatural.

Freshly dressed, Sharvik returned to the bedroom.

Devika remained in the same sleeping position.

He reached out, grasped her waist gently, and turned her onto her back.

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes slowly opened, meeting his.

Sharvik held still, waiting to see her reaction.

After all, last night… he had torn her skirt.

Devika regarded him in silence for a few moments before closing her eyes and slipping back into slumber.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Sharvik's lips.

It felt as though she had merely been pretending to sleep moments ago.

Pausing briefly, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before making his way to the adjoining study.

He had no intention of going to the office today.

Time slipped away—morning blurred into noon, noon into evening, and then into night.

Yet Devika did not stir.

A flicker of unease crept into Sharvik's mind.

Singhania Palace

Nestled in Delhi's most exclusive enclave, Singhania Palace wasn't just India's most opulent residence—it ranked among the most coveted estates in the world.

Celebrities, politicians, athletes, artists—many longed for a glimpse of its grandeur, though for most, it remained an unattainable dream.

Within the palace's lavish art room, a teenage boy stood before a massive canvas, scrutinizing a painting with deep intensity.

"So here you are, Mohit! Brother has been looking for you," Rim sighed as she entered, spotting her nephew lost in thought.

Mohit didn't respond immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the canvas.

"Aunt, take a look at this painting. What do you see?"

Rim followed his gaze.

It was an image of a building—perhaps a house, or a factory—engulfed in flames, nestled within a dense forest.

She studied it closely.

Mohit was obsessed with art, and she knew he wouldn't have called her over without reason.

Yet, to her eyes, it appeared to be just another painting. The colors, however, were peculiar—muted, subdued. Though fire raged within the image, the flames weren't their usual brilliant orange and yellow; instead, they were shaded in black, white, and gray, casting an eerie, lifeless aura over the scene.

"It's well done," Rim remarked. "Did you paint this?"

Mohit didn't answer. Instead, he said, "Stand where I am and look at it again. Tell me what you see."

Rim frowned. "I already told you—it's a great painting. But if the colors were livelier, it would stand out more. What difference would changing my position make?"

"Just try it, Aunt," Mohit urged. "You'll understand."

Curious, Rim moved to his spot.

The moment her eyes fell on the painting from his perspective—

She froze.

Her breath hitched.

Her blood ran cold.

_______________________________

What did Rim see in the painting?

Why hasn't Devika woken up yet?

What truth is Mr. Raghunath about to reveal to Sharvik?

Who was the hooded figure in red?

What did he inject into the watchman's neck?