The Devil in Suit

THEY SAY EVERYONE CARRIES A DARK SECRET IN THEIR HEARTS. SOME SECRETS CAN RUIN A PERSON. JUST LIKE THAT, SHE WAS CARRYING A SECRET IN HER HEART. WAS IT HER PAST, MAYBE, BUT SHE HAD SEALED IT COMPLETELY.

The meeting room felt colder than stone. Silence weighed heavy, pressing on every chest.

An employee, her face pale and breath shallow, finished her presentation and sank into her chair. Her anxious gaze clung to one figure at the head of the table — the man whose approval everyone feared to seek, yet couldn’t help but crave.

Reyaansh Singhania.

Owner of Astra Enterprises Ltd. The name itself made people shiver.

His grey eyes, cold as a winter storm, watched her unblinking. Fingers drummed slowly, dangerously, on the mahogany table.

“That’s it?” His voice was calm, so calm it chilled the blood.

“Y-yes…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think,” he asked, every syllable as sharp as broken glass, “this presentation met my expectations?”

“M-may… maybe,” she faltered.

With a crash, his palm slammed against the table. The sound cracked through the silence like a gunshot.

“I don’t pay you to waste my time with nonsense like this!” he barked, eyes flashing like lightning. “If you can’t even stand confidently before me, what makes you think you can stand before the world?”

Her shoulders quivered. No one dared to look up.

“I dismiss this meeting,” Reyaansh declared, voice dropping to a lethal calm. “By tomorrow afternoon, I need a new presentation. If you can’t deliver — pack your things, take your pay, and leave.”

A shiver ran through the room. Chairs scraped hurriedly; footsteps rushed to the exit.

None could meet his eyes — those eyes that seemed to strip away courage, layer by layer, until only fear remained.

For Reyaansh Singhania wasn’t just a CEO. In whispered corners of the city, his name walked alongside words like mafia, power, and death. His glare could snatch the breath from your lungs. His anger could crush an empire.

Left alone, Reyaansh stood, broad shoulders tense. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the muscles in his jaw tight with frustration.

Walking to the window, he stared down at the city — towers of glass gleaming under the dying sun, cars crawling like restless ants.

Tall, sharp-featured, his presence commanded every space he entered. The cold steel of his grey eyes made hearts stutter. To the world, he was a Greek god sculpted in shadows — impossibly handsome, yet untouchable.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He exhaled, softening just enough to answer.

“Hello, Mom,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Hello, my baby,” Aparna’s gentle voice floated through. “Rough day?”

“How did you know?” he asked, a hint of vulnerability slipping through.

“I’m your mother, Reyaansh. Thirty years old or three, I know your voice better than you do. Nine months in my womb, remember?” she teased softly.

A faint smile touched his lips. “That’s why you’re the best, Mom.”

“Well, did you see your doctor after your last panic attack?”

“I’m fine,” she reassured, “I met my psychologist today. She’s very sweet.”

“Mom, you have to take care of yourself. Your health gets worse whenever you’re home alone.”

“I know, beta,” she sighed. “If you want me to recover quickly… why don’t you marry my psychologist? She’s young, beautiful, and kind.”

“Mom!” he protested, half laughing. “She’s probably sixty!”

Aparna chuckled. “I’m not talking about Dr. Kishori. She handed my case to someone else. A young woman — perfect for you.”

“Stop matchmaking, Mom. You know I’ll never marry.”

“Hm… yes, yes,” she relented gently. “Anyway, don’t forget — your aunt and uncle arrive tonight. Please come home early.”

“I know. I’ll be there soon,” Reyaansh promised softly.

“Good. See you at home, beta.”

Ending the call, his mask of coldness slipped back in place. His love for his mother was the only light left in him — the single bond holding him to this family.

He pressed the intercom button. “Devansh! Where the hell are you?”

His PA stumbled in, breathless. “S-sorry, sir! Got caught up in—”

“Your only priority is me,” Reyaansh snapped. “I want every detail of the new deal on my desk. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m leaving now. Stay and send the email,” Reyaansh ordered, picking up his coat.

As Reyaansh strode out, Devansh sighed dramatically. “This man… will work me to death. Even a dog gets a walk.”

Sliding into the back seat of his black Mercedes, Reyaansh unlocked his iPad, eyes scanning files.

“To home,” he instructed the driver curtly.

The convoy pulled out — his car flanked by two others, black-tinted windows hiding armed men inside.

Minutes passed. His eyes were still on the screen when something pricked at his senses.

The road outside the window looked unfamiliar. The city skyline had shifted, replaced by narrow, broken lanes.

His gaze snapped up. “Where the hell are you taking me?” he demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

From the front seat came a voice — soft, feminine, and dripping with poison.

“This is the right way, Mr. Singhania,” she purred. “It just leads… to your death.”

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