Chapter 1: Welcome to the Circus, Ishani

If there was a world record for running late and still looking fabulous, Ishani would’ve shattered it.

"Yaaar, abhi se late ho gayi?!" she muttered under her breath, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed through the grand entrance of Valenti Enterprises—the kind of place where people probably sipped imported coffee while plotting world domination.

Her oversized tote bag bounced against her side, half-open and threatening to spill its chaotic contents: a half-eaten protein bar, three tangled charging cables, and—because why not—a chappal she swore wasn’t hers.

Classy.

"Miss Mehta!" A crisp voice cut through the air. It was Alain, the event coordinator, a man so uptight he probably ironed his socks. "The meeting started five minutes ago. Where were you?"

Ishani gave him her best innocent smile—well, as innocent as a girl who had just jogged across Paris traffic could look. "Oh, you know," she shrugged, "saving the world, curing diseases, being fabulous—just the usual."

Alain blinked, unamused. "Your sarcasm is not appreciated here."

Neither was his attitude, but Ishani had bills to pay, so she bit back the urge to ask if the stick up his backside was permanent. "Got it, boss. No fun allowed. Message received," she said, flashing a mock salute.

She adjusted her blazer—crooked, obviously—and marched into the sleek conference room. Marble floors, glass walls, and people who probably dreamed in spreadsheets. Her nose twitched at the faint smell of overpriced leather and judgment.

And then… she saw him.

Dante Valenti.

Seated at the head of the table, dressed in a charcoal-black suit that looked like it cost more than her entire student loan. Jawline sharp enough to cut glass, eyes darker than her future in physics, and a brooding aura that screamed “Touch me and die.”

Ishani plopped into the chair nearest to the door—emergency exits were important when your mouth had no filter—and tried not to stare. Tried.

“Miss Mehta,” Dante’s voice was low, smooth, and a little too illegal for a Monday morning. “I trust you are prepared.”

Prepared? Bro, she was just happy she didn’t faceplant on the way in.

"Of course," Ishani replied, her voice bright. "I live to dazzle."

A faint twitch of his lip—was that a smirk?—and just like that, Silence King turned back to the documents in front of him.

Ishani exhaled softly. She could handle this. After all, it was just one corporate event. Nothing complicated. Nothing dramatic. Nothing—

A buzz on her phone made her glance down. A text from her bestie:

“Did you see him yet? Mafia or main character vibes?”

Ishani snorted, barely muffling the sound. If this guy was a main character, he was the villain everyone simped for.

Unfortunately for her, Dante Valenti chose that exact moment to lift his head. Their eyes met—chills down her spine—and his brow arched ever so slightly.

Yeah. She was so screwed.

—

TBC.

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