The ballroom of the Imperial Hotel was a sea of shimmering sequins, heavy gold jewelry, and the suffocating scent of expensive lilies. This was the hunting ground of Delhi's elite—a place where reputations were built on whispers and destroyed by a single glance.
Esha Khanna stood on the mezzanine, looking down at the crowd. She wore a floor-length, backless gown in emerald silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. It was a bold choice for a Delhi gala—distinctly Western in its daring, yet regal enough to silence critics. To her, this wasn't just a party; it was a theater of war.
She watched her brother, Ashok, across the room. He was nursing a scotch, his face flushed with the pride of a man who thought he was still in control. Beside him stood Shagun, looking radiant in a designer saree, playing the part of the devoted partner to perfection. But Esha saw the cracks—the way Shagun's eyes darted to the entrance, waiting for the arrival of her ex-husband, Raman Bhalla, just so she could flaunt her current status.
"Ambition without focus is just noise, Ashok," Esha murmured to herself, her voice a low, melodic purr.
The Corporate Opening
Esha glided down the stairs, her presence acting like a magnet. She didn't head for the bar; she headed for the corner where the board members of Khanna Industries were huddled.
"Gentlemen," she intercepted, her smile sharp enough to draw blood. "I've reviewed the Q3 projections. My brother is a visionary, but visions don't pay dividends. From tomorrow, all capital expenditures require my signature."
The men stammered, caught between her staggering beauty and the icy authority in her tone. She didn't wait for their approval. She had already bought their loyalty through private equity shifts before her flight even landed. This was her first goal: Financial Autocracy. Ashok would remain the face, but she would be the brain—and the hand that held the leash.
The First Acquisition: Shagun
With the business flank secured, Esha turned her attention to the personal. She approached Shagun, who was reapplying lipstick in a secluded alcove near the balcony.
"You're overcompensating with the crimson, Shagun. It suggests desperation," Esha said, her voice echoing in the marble space.
Shagun spun around, her eyes widening. "Esha! I didn't see you. I was just... Ashok said you'd be busy with the accounts."
Esha stepped into Shagun's personal space, ignoring the traditional boundaries of "polite" distance. She reached out, her fingers grazing the heavy embroidery on Shagun's shoulder. Shagun stiffened. In the conservative circles of Delhi, women touched with a certain sisterly brevity. Esha's touch was different—it was lingering, exploratory.
"Ashok is a man of limited imagination," Esha whispered, stepping closer until Shagun could smell the faint, intoxicating scent of Esha's oud perfume. "He sees you as a trophy. I see you as an underutilized asset. You have the poise to open doors that Ashok merely kicks down."
Shagun laughed nervously, her heart hammering against her ribs. The proximity was making her lightheaded. "I... I don't understand what you mean."
"I mean that Raman Bhalla is here," Esha noted, glancing at the door where Raman had just entered, looking miserable. "And instead of looking at him to see if he's jealous, you should be looking at me to see what I can offer you."
Esha's hand moved from the shoulder to Shagun's chin, tilting her face up. Shagun's breath hitched. This was wrong—this was deviant by everything she had been taught. Women didn't look at other women this way. There was a hunger in Esha's eyes that was terrifyingly magnetic.
"You're shaking, Shagun. Is it fear? Or is it because no one has ever looked at you and actually seen you?"
The Collision of Worlds
Before Shagun could respond, a voice broke the tension.
"Is there a problem here?"
Esha turned slowly to find Ishita Iyer standing there. Ishita looked the picture of traditional grace—a simple, elegant Kanjeevaram saree, her hair tied in a neat bun, eyes filled with a mix of confusion and suspicion. She had seen the intimacy of the stance from across the room and felt an instinctive need to intervene.
Esha let her hand slide slowly off Shagun, her fingers trailing across the other woman's neck in a way that felt like a brand.
"No problem, Dr. Iyer," Esha said, her eyes scanning Ishita with the clinical precision of a jeweler evaluating a diamond. "Just welcoming Shagun into my... inner circle. I've heard so much about you. The woman with the heart of gold and the iron-clad morals."
Ishita frowned, her conservative sensibilities bristling. There was something "un-Indian" about the way Esha stood, the way she spoke, and the way she seemed to disregard the modesty expected of a woman of her stature.
"I am just here for the children's charity, Ms. Khanna," Ishita said stiffly. "I don't care for corporate circles."
"Oh, but you will," Esha promised, her gaze lingering on Ishita's lips for a second too long. "Because I find that those with the strongest morals are often the most exquisite when they finally decide to break them."
Ishita felt a flush of heat—not of attraction, but of profound indignation and a strange, flickering spark of something she couldn't name. She turned and walked away, her steps hurried.
The Setting of the Trap
Later that night, the gala moved to the terrace. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant sound of a sitar. Esha found Shagun again, away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi.
The moon cast long, dramatic shadows across the stone balustrade. Esha stood behind Shagun, her voice a low vibration near Shagun's ear.
"Think about it, Shagun. Ashok can give you a home, but I can give you the world. And in return..." Esha leaned in, her lips almost brushing the shell of Shagun's ear, "I only ask for your absolute, unwavering devotion. No more looking at Raman. No more looking at Ashok. Only me."
Shagun's voice was a mere whisper, trembling with the weight of a taboo she didn't know how to navigate. "Esha, people... people will talk. This is India. A woman and another woman... it's not right."
"Right is a word used by the weak to limit the strong," Esha replied. She reached around, her hand covering Shagun's on the cold marble of the railing, pressing firmly. The contrast of Esha's cool, commanding grip against Shagun's frantic pulse created a symphony of tension. "In the dark, Shagun, there is no India. There is only what we feel."
Esha didn't kiss her. She knew the value of the 'slow burn.' Instead, she left Shagun standing there, trembling in the moonlight, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and a newfound, dangerous curiosity.
Esha walked back inside, her mind already calculating the next move. She had planted the seed of doubt in Shagun and the seed of defiance in Ishita. The business was being secured, and her collection was beginning to take shape.