The Billionaire's Secret Heiress

Chapter 1: Cold Eyes, Warm House

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.