Adultery of ceo MAYA

[Naruto411]

The Gulfstream touched down on a private airstrip carved into the lush edge of the family’s island—a sprawling emerald jewel floating in the Andaman Sea, veiled by mist and ringed with turquoise waves crashing against jagged cliffs. The estate loomed ahead, a castle that defied ordinary—its spires piercing the sky, walls of white marble veined with gold, every arch and window a masterpiece of art. The lawn stretched four kilometers, a manicured expanse of rolling green dotted with fountains sculpted as mythical beasts—dragons spitting water, phoenixes frozen mid-flight—each blade of grass seeming to bow under the weight of the family’s wealth. Peacocks strutted lazily, their iridescent tails fanning out, while a fleet of silent electric buggies hummed along paths lined with rare orchids and ancient banyan trees.

Arjun stepped off the jet, his duffel slung over his shoulder, the cement-colored pants and white shirt wrinkled from the flight, a stark contrast to the grandeur around him. The air smelled of salt and frangipani, the sun dipping low, painting the castle’s turrets in hues of amber and rose. Two figures waited at the grand entrance—his grandfather, Vikram, a towering man with silver hair and a cane carved from ebony, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s; and his grandmother, Leela, petite and regal in a silk sari, her white bun gleaming like a crown. His mother had died years ago, a quiet loss etched in the castle’s stillness, while his father roamed the globe, overseeing the empire’s sprawling tendrils—tech, shipping, shadow deals—leaving Arjun as the heir apparent, the only child of this ultra-rich dynasty.

“Nanaji, Naniji,” Arjun greeted, bowing slightly, his voice warm as he clasped their hands. Vikram’s grip was firm, Leela’s soft but steady, her smile crinkling her eyes. They ushered him into the grand hall—vaulted ceilings painted with frescoes of celestial battles, chandeliers dripping crystals like frozen rain, floors of polished obsidian reflecting every step. A long teak table groaned under a spread of delicacies—spiced crab, mango lassi, gold-dusted sweets—served by staff in livery who moved like ghosts.

Over dinner, he regaled them with tales of Mumbai—the cab rides, the chaos, the lounge. “I worked as a driver,” he said, sipping a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light. Leela’s spoon paused mid-air, her eyes widening. “A driver? Arjun, with all this?” She gestured at the hall, her bangles jingling. Vikram chuckled, a deep rumble. “Let the boy live, Leela. He’s got our blood—can’t sit still.”

Later, as Leela retired to her chambers—her silk sari whispering as she climbed the spiral staircase—Arjun and Vikram settled in the study, a room of dark wood and leather, walls lined with books older than empires, a massive window overlooking the lawn’s endless stretch. The fire crackled in a hearth carved with lotus motifs, casting shadows over Vikram’s weathered face. “Tell me more,” the old man said, leaning on his cane, his voice a gravelly invitation.

Arjun grinned, sprawling in an armchair, the whiskey glass dangling from his fingers. “There’s this woman—Maya. And Ruby, too.” He recounted Ruby first—the lounge, her crooked teeth on his dick, the fifty-lakh check, her washroom plea. “Said I’ve got birth rights to her body, even with her wedding coming. Crazy girl.”

Vikram’s brow furrowed, his cane tapping the floor. “Birth rights, huh? Careful, boy. Children outside marriage—bastards, they’re called—get treated as branches, not the trunk. You need to marry, Arjun. Someone to carry our name, keep the line pure.” His tone was firm, an elder’s wisdom laced with caution. “Think twice before you scatter seeds.”

Arjun laughed, a sharp, easy sound, swirling the whiskey. “Maybe I’ll marry Maya, then. She’s got a husband already, but I’d bet my jet he’s gay—probably drooling over his clerk instead of her. She’s too good for him anyway.” He leaned forward, his grin fading, his voice dropping with a reverence that surprised even him. “She’s a fucking force, Nanaji. Runs a solar empire—smart as hell, sees numbers and markets like they’re a game she’s already won. Pitches like a queen, no fear, just fire. Even when she stutters, she owns it—turns it into power. And the way she moves…” He paused, eyes glinting, remembering her naked under the focus light, her pussy dripping, her laugh wild. “She’s not just some fling. She’s got this… strength. Deserves the world, not that limp excuse she’s tied to.”

Vikram studied him, the firelight dancing in his sharp eyes, a faint smile tugging his lips. “Sounds like you respect her, not just bed her. But a married woman? I’d say no—too messy. Still, it’s your life, Arjun. My opinion’s just dust if you don’t want it.” He tapped his cane again, leaning back. “Just don’t let her husband’s shadow dull what you see in her.”

Arjun nodded, sipping the whiskey, the burn grounding him. “She’s not dulled by anything. That’s why I like her—maybe love her, who knows.” He smirked, half-joking, but the words hung there, heavier than he’d meant. The castle loomed around them, art and wealth a silent witness, as he stared out at the lawn, Maya’s fire flickering in his mind across the sea.