Aryan Khanna did not believe in fate.
He believed in leverage.
At thirty four, he controlled a logistics empire that moved goods across continents without ever appearing on the invoice. Officially, he was a global investor with a diversified portfolio.
Unofficially, he owned routes. Ports. Information.
He did not shout in meetings.
He adjusted outcomes.
Business magazines called him:
Strategic visionary
Self made magnate
Market disruptor
They liked his minimal interviews.
His controlled smile.
His refusal to discuss personal life.
No one asked why so many competitors quietly dissolved after crossing him.
They only admired his timing.
Aryan’s office sat at the top of a glass tower in Mumbai. Soundproof. Private access. No unnecessary staff.
Three screens glowed in front of him.
Commodity reports
International trade routes
Surveillance data
He didn’t micromanage.
He observed patterns.
And then he removed obstacles.
When someone betrayed him, they did not receive warnings.
They received disappearance.
There was only one name he did not ignore.
Karan Malhotra.
Real estate tycoon’s son. Arrogant. Loud. Reckless.
Their families had been circling each other for years. Contract poaching. Political influence battles. Undercutting bids.
A cold war in boardrooms.
Karan liked public fights.
Aryan preferred silent ones.
The upcoming Anand–Malhotra wedding was supposed to tip the scales.
Rajveer Anand’s industrial network joining hands with Malhotra would have cornered a significant logistics corridor Aryan had been targeting for months.
Strategic loss.
He never accepted those.
At 11:47 PM, his phone buzzed.
News alert.
“Anand–Malhotra Wedding Called Off Amid Dowry Dispute.”
He read it once.
Then again.
His jaw did not move.
But something shifted in his gaze.
He leaned back.
Interesting.
The alliance had collapsed before it began.
His rival had humiliated himself publicly.
And the bride?
Meher Anand.
He remembered her from an annual business summit. Sharp eyes. Measured answers. Not decorative.
Not weak.
He tapped the table lightly.
“Find her,” he said to his head of security.
Not angrily.
Curiously.
Because Aryan did not waste opportunities.
If she had walked away from that marriage, she had either courage or fury.
Both were useful.
And in wars between empires, sometimes the most powerful move isn’t destroying the enemy.
It’s claiming what they were about to own.
He stood by the window overlooking the city.
Rain streaked down the glass.
Mumbai glittered beneath him like a kingdom unaware of its king.
“Prepare the jet,” he said calmly.
His men did not ask where.
He already knew.
The news report mentioned an international departure from Mumbai airport booked under her name.
He wasn’t chasing a woman.
He was adjusting the board.
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