A sharp knock rattled the edges of Rudransh's consciousness. His head felt heavy, the golden light of the room stabbing at his eyes. The scent of expensive perfume lingered nearby—not his own.

When he turned his head, he found Aadya Chauhan sitting on the opposite side of the chaise lounge, her posture tense, her hair slightly mussed as if she'd moved too quickly at some point. Her dark eyes snapped to him the moment he stirred.

"What the hell—" she began, her voice low but cutting.

"I could ask you the same," Rudransh said, straightening slowly. His mind was fogged, but his instincts were already sharpening. "What game are you playing, Aadya?"

Before she could respond, the knock at the door started pounding. Rudransh strode to the door, but the moment he cracked it open, flashes exploded in his face. Reporters surged forward, questions flying, microphones thrust toward them.Clicking camera shutters and overlapping voices bled through the heavy wood.

"Mr. Rajvanshi! Ms. Chauhan! Care to explain this... private meeting?"

"Rivals by day, lovers by night—is that the real story?" another voice shouted.

Rudransh's jaw tightened. "Perfect," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Aadya's lips curled in a bitter half-smile. "Congratulations, Rajvanshi. Looks like we just became tomorrow's headlines."

Neither of them remembered clearly how they'd gotten here, and that uncertainty made every second in each other's presence feel like a trap.
The media continued questioning,

"Was this a secret rendezvous?"
"Are the Rajvanshis and Chauhans joining forces?"
"Is this romance or strategy?"

Aadya stepped up beside him, her expression cool but her voice firm. "No comment." She attempted to move past, but the crowd closed in, the questions growing sharper.

Rudransh's hand brushed hers briefly as they maneuvered through the chaos—not an intentional gesture, but enough for one photographer to shout, "Got it! That's the shot!"

Suddenly, two figures cut through the crowd—Kabir, Rudransh's ever-efficient assistant, and Monica, Aadya's fiercely protective aide.

"Sir, this way," Kabir said, blocking a camera with his shoulder as he steered Rudransh toward the grand staircase.

"Ma'am, quickly," Monica urged, gripping Aadya's arm and pulling her toward a side exit.

The shouting followed them all the way to the doors, but once outside, the cool night air hit like a jolt of clarity. Black cars waited—engines running, doors open.

Rudransh slid into his vehicle without another word, Kabir shutting the door firmly before the car sped off. Across the driveway, Aadya vanished into her own car, Monica already on the phone, no doubt managing the brewing scandal.

For now, they were out of the cameras' reach. But both knew the truth—whatever had happened in that upstairs room, the world had already decided its version of the story.

My black SUV cut through Jaipur's night traffic, its tinted windows sealing me off from the noise outside. I sat back, the Navaratna Gems resting on the seat beside me in their velvet box. Even their ancient weight felt less pressing than the pounding in my skull.

Kabir sat opposite, his phone in one hand, already fielding calls from journalists and stock market analysts who had caught wind of the "scandal."

"Sir," Kabir said finally, lowering his voice, "the pictures are already online. Headlines are... not favorable."

My jaw worked silently for a moment. "I want every image, every video, and every person who sold them. I want to know who let them into that hallway, who spiked those drinks, and why."

Kabir hesitated. "Do you think it was the Chauhan's?"

My eyes darkened by hear the name, "If it was, Aadya wouldn't have been there without control over the outcome. She's many things—but careless isn't one of them."

Still, a sliver of doubt slid in me. If it hadn't been her, then someone had just dragged both of us into a mess they didn't create. And that meant only one thing: someone wanted us distracted.

The backseat of the limousine was quiet except for the faint hum of the engine. Monica sat across from me, typing furiously on her tablet.

"They're calling it The Royal Rivalry Affair," Monica reported grimly. "Every channel. Every blog. Even the international press has picked it up."

I let out a low, humorless laugh. "Rivals by day, lovers by night... they make it sound like some Bollywood cliché."

My mind, however, wasn't amused. The last thing I remembered clearly was speaking to a shipping tycoon near the east balcony—then... nothing until I woke up in that upstairs room with Rudransh staring at me like I'd stolen something.

If this was Rudransh's doing, it was a risky play. But something told me that he hadn't orchestrated it—his pride wouldn't have let him share the spotlight in such a scandal.

"Find out who served me that champagne," I instructed Monica. "And find out who served him the drug. Whoever it was, they weren't on the regular staff."

Monica looked up from her screen. "You think someone wanted you two in the same room?"

I turned toward the darkened city outside. "I think someone wants a war. The question is... which one of us is the real target?"