Victoy Richmanの小説

Maybe the storm was just a blessing, a sign of fate giving them a chance to work things out. Perhaps the universe finally agreed with her because she had never had a more evident sign. They had talked, and it had been a lot of talking. They considered all possibilities, positive and negative, and they decided what was best for them was to get back together despite all odds. She always saw many things, but when it came to herself, it was always unclear, just like her situation and the moment, but she vowed she would live her best life with those who mattered to her, no matter how short. The Yadav home knew she was safe, and she had sent a message informing them she was with Zayn and would be back once the storm was over, although that wasn't looking promising again. It was everything she wanted; for once, her thoughts and vision were clear. She saw peace and solitude, for her soul was at rest. Each time her mind diverted to Zayn Vendant, she saw a hint of darkness, sometimes blur. She

Everyone in town was shopping for the next three days and rushing home to avoid getting caught up in the storm predicted by the weather forecasters. It was expected to hit in four hours and last for three days. It was a big-time rush, but Zayn wasn't a part of it. He needed to get things cleared up with Isha. Myra was gone, and that was a good thing. He just needed to see her, and despite the advice from his closest friends, he couldn't wait for the storm out without her. He wasn't sure he would make it without her.He was informed that she was out when he got to the Yadav household. It was her day off, and she had gone out, as usual. Only some people knew where. He called her several times, and she didn't pick up. He was a confused man in Delhi.He drove back to the Yadav household and met with one of the helpers."You should go home; this storm will be here anytime." She said, picking different saree colours from the cloth line where they had been left to dry. She looked bored and ju

They caught her in the most vulnerable state. With the ninety-nine issues going on with Zayn, she didn’t expect another one on her desk, so as she realised she had been set up, she just gave up. There was no fight; she was wise enough to know that it was either the 78-carat crown or her life, and for such huge some, her attackers wouldn’t have to hold a conference to decide to kill her, so she just let them take everything that had meant the world to her.The memory stayed with her, and she remembered it as fresh as if it were happening now. She and her crew had been going to the Triumph Hall on East Lane for the Oscars ceremony. When asked to bring her crown, she knew it was a bad idea. Of course, she acknowledged that it was such a huge event that all eyes were on her. For it to be hosted in India, it would be a shame if she couldn’t witness it. In the same way, it would be disrespectful to her country for her to show up without her identity, the crown. Near home, she and Vivi sat b

It had been four days since her encounter with Myra, and Isha couldn't deny that she felt like the most stupid person on the planet. The funny part was she knew she had no right to be angry like the guy was in a relationship with someone else. Officially, he belonged to Myra, but then she couldn't get the picture of him being in bed with her. It disturbed her in ways she didn't expect.Her hurt was too much. It nearly crushed her, but she needed to keep moving, which she did. She stopped picking up his calls and just avoided him generally. She tried looking at the good side, like him not dying, which was good, right?As usual, the Yadavs had a get-together dinner, and it was something they frequently did, something to boost their political involvement and expand their territory. Today, she was to serve, and she tried as much as she could to keep calm when she saw Zayn seated among the VIPs. Of course, he had been invited; he was considered one of the most influential people in the coun

The plan was to go unnoticed and so she did just that. Myra was in joggers and a sports bra, with dark glasses to hide her identity. Her hair was tied in a small ponytail that bounced as she walked into the gym. She glanced around for a while and then saw Isha at the corner working the treadmill. She walked up to the receptionist and flashed a smile.“A month, please. What’s the cost?” she asked.“Rs 1000” the receptionist replied. “Name please.” She asked as she received cash from Myra and began filling out the registration form on the system.“Abitha Solan” she lied.Things had gone down with Zayn; she had recognized the name as soon as Zayn mentioned it, who could easily forget the girl at the engagement party? Zayn didn’t have an answer to the question she asked that night and he was a terrible liar so she immediately interpreted what was going on, and she wasn’t wrong. He had sat there all night while she went into the room and man had she cried, she was hurt and didn’t think she

Uptown Delhi was the most beautiful place in India, and as they held hands, taking photos, she could see all the possibilities she had always dreamed of coming to pass. They got to a serendipity restaurant called the unicorn sundae and were back in the streets, diverting into the little tracks leading to the lake.To both their surprise and satisfaction, the lake was empty. The water was a runoff of the downfall at the end of the city, and they knew it was safe. The government kept it clean.“Hold on!” Zayn shouted as he raced behind her, struggling to get through the shrubs that lay around.Isha giggled. “Keep up, CEO.” She yelled in return. As she got to the edge of the stream, she took off her oversized polo shirt, which was his actually, and the shorts she wore joined it. She did a twirl in her optional cloth state just before his arrival.He joined her, pulling away from his dress and walking to meet her. His hands circled her waist, and he pushed her to himself. She felt him hard

The Currency of Public Awe and the Value of Private Truth.The Boeing 747, once a mere vessel of geopolitical intrigue and contraband gold, now rested at a proud, new-life angle beside National Highway 24, a shimmering, impossible beacon. Six months of furious, world-class refurbishment had transformed the retired Star Airlines relic into the 'Aero-Lodge,' Basti’s premier and most surreal motel. Its massive, segmented aluminium skin gleamed under the Indian sun, its portholes reborn as luxury-suite windows, and the surrounding 20-acre plot was a riot of manicured lawns and reflective water features. The metamorphosis was complete.It was inauguration day, a spectacle orchestrated by Rubi’s genius for narrative and funded by Rachna’s cold, financial alchemy. The sheer public success was overwhelming: thanks to a relentless, global marketing campaign that positioned the Aero-Lodge as 'innovation and heritage,' the rooms were boo

The Currency of a Stolen Night and the Brazilian Bargain.The air in the Nagpur Delegation Lounge was thick with the scent of high-grade mahogany, aged single-malt, and the electric tension of political finance. Outside, the new 200-acre Bong Aircraft Plant site had been ceremonially cleared, a potent symbol of Minister Savita’s restored, untouchable power. Inside, the final, labyrinthine negotiations for the adjacent “satellite land”—the true engine of the new dynasty—were underway.Lara felt a low, constant hum of adrenaline under her skin. She had flown in under the pretence of a 'logistical oversight meeting,' a cover Roberts, her partner, had helped fabricate. Her true objective was no longer a mere 'golden parachute,' but a piece of the architecture. She was not just defecting; she was auditioning for a permanent seat in the Kingmaker’s court. She needed more than just stock options; she needed an untraceable, undeniable currency. That currency,

Sanctuary in Betrayal and the Weight of a Stolen Crown.The first hints of the Basti dawn, a pale, dusty yellow, were just beginning to stain the edges of the horizon when Lara stirred. She was a woman who always woke with the immediate, crystalline clarity of a corporate vice president. Still, this morning, the clarity was clouded by the heavy, satisfying weight of the man beside her. Rahul. The name, which had been a strategic objective just hours ago, was now a private, throbbing secret nestled in her core.She shifted, his arm tightening automatically around her waist, and she felt the memory of their entanglement—the urgent, breath-stealing passion of the night before, a wild deviation from the life she shared with Roberts, a complete obliteration of the political trap she'd intended to set. The act had not been a tactical win, but a profound, personal surrender.Lara turned her head to look at him. His face, unmasked by t

The Allure of the Asset.Karen’s suite was dark, scented faintly with the expensive perfume she had worn and the lingering, primal musk of their recent intimacy. Lara slipped inside, the silence amplifying her heart’s thunderous beat. The room was a museum of Karen’s victory and Rahul’s betrayal.Lara went to bed. It was a king-size, a vast, tempting arena. She lay down, pulling the covers to her waist, the black lace of the chemise a stark, fragile contrast to the white linen. She let the mask of Karen’s ambition settle over her features, channelling the CEO’s ruthless certainty. She was the lure. She was the trap.

The Treachery of the Mirror and the Cold Logic of Desire.The air in the Basti hotel room, a standard corporate suite, felt thick and charged, a sharp contrast to the brutal heat of the salvage site below. After their tense, conspiratorial meeting with Karen, Nina and Lara had retreated, their temporary release of physical tension in the shower having only sharpened their minds. They lay now, draped across the king bed, the silk of Lara's robe and Nina's borrowed camisole creating a soft, shifting landscape against the crisp white sheets. Their bodies were close, a silent, comfortable complicity born of shared fear and newfound, desperate ambition.Lara was running a thoughtful finger along the satin trim of her robe, her gaze distant, fixed on the ceiling where the shadows played. "She was glowing," s

Seduction and Strategy in Corporate Shadows.Later, the air conditioning whirred quietly in Carlos and Nina’s room. They were entwined on the bed, a single sheet pulled haphazardly over them, their breathing synchronised. Carlos was propped up on an elbow, gently stroking Nina’s back, his gaze distant, lost in the intricate web of Rachna’s power. Nina lay against him, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, the contentment of their shared intimacy a temporary balm against the anxieties of the day.The silence was abruptly shattered by the sharp, secure ping of Nina’s phone on the nightstand.Nina groaned, reaching for it reluctantly. It was Lara. An urgent text followed by an immediate call.Carlos watched as Nina pressed the phone to her ear, her expression quickly morphing from placid contentment to sharp apprehension.“Lara? What is it? I thought we were done for the night.”Lar