The air in the South Delhi mansion was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and old secrets. Vivaan Singh Rajput didn’t look like a monster. In his bespoke charcoal suit, he looked like the billionaire the world knew him to be—the King of Logistics.
But the ledger in front of him wasn't about shipping containers. It was about debt.
"The Sharma family has nothing left to give, Vivaan-ji," his associate whispered.
Vivaan tapped a heavy gold ring against the mahogany desk. "They have a daughter. I believe she’s studying Literature? A world of poems and happy endings." He paused, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips. "It’s time she learned a bit about reality."
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