22-12-2025, 04:31 PM
Chapter 12 – The Stranger's Gaze (Rohan's Perspective)
As Nivi and Prem looking at each other inside party hall after Rohan left… The same night outside party hall. Outside gate 20 ft away. Rohan. sat in the back of his Mercedes, the city lights of Chennai blurring past the tinted windows like streaks of neon fire. The driver was silent as always — professional, discreet, knowing better than to interrupt when the boss's mood darkened.
He was pissed.
Not the explosive kind that made him raise his voice or slam fists — Rohan didn't do explosive.
Quiet, simmering anger that built like pressure in a sealed vault.
His wife — beautiful, sharp-tongued, the daughter of that powerful Kerala politician — had chosen to stay back in their ancestral home with the kids and her sprawling family.
No fights. No screaming matches or ultimatums. Just a calm, unyielding preference. She loved her place, her roots, the influence and comfort of her father's world.
Her demand had always been simple: "Come back to Kerala. Build everything here. With us."
Rohan, born and raised in Chennai, his business empire deeply rooted in this city's soil — real estate developments, premium party halls, silent but substantial shares in tech firms — had never dared uproot it all.
Weekly visits became the compromise
.
Private flights down, forced smiles for the kids, polite dinners with in-laws, and duty in bed when she allowed it — mechanical, distant.
Off late, almost a year now, even that heat had gone cold.
She was demanding — more time, more presence, more surrender to her world.
He grew distant, resentful.
So he found the heat elsewhere. Women.
It started casual.
Models — stunning, high-maintenance, expecting fat envelopes for a single night of no-strings passion.
He paid gladly — bodies perfect, performances professional.
Then forbidden ones — the wife of a mid-level colleague who eyed his watch too long, or a sharp staffer from one of his companies who "accidentally" brushed against him in meetings.
Only those already tempted by the money, the power, the thrill of secrecy.
He never chased emotions. No attachment. No repeats unless convenient.
Sometimes a challenge — the tough ones who played hard to get, acted indifferent.
He loved breaking them slow — the chase, the surrender, the quiet power of making them crave what they pretended to resist.
But Nivi?
Three times in one day.
Morning — the scooty bump into his parked car. Her panicked beauty as she glanced back — fair skin flushed, saree fluttering, curves catching light before she sped away.
He'd forgotten it almost immediately — minor annoyance.
Then the party hall monitor — his own property. Graceful in silk saree, fair skin glowing under lights, moving with quiet confidence among guests.
Invitation close — soft voice, warm eyes thanking him, guilt in her smile.
Not ordinary.
Coincidence? Three encounters?
Coincidence?
Three encounters in hours?
In a city of millions?
He leaned back in the seat, city lights reflecting in his eyes.
Sharp businessman — coincidences were opportunities.
Or warnings.
But her face lingered.
Not just beauty.
Something else.
Quiet fire.
He pushed the thought down.
For now.
In just five minutes, everything crossed his mind as he watched the couple — fighting for their dignity, standing together in the face of humiliation, while his own wife demanded something he couldn't afford to give.
His mind reeled at the coincidence of encountering this woman three times in a single day. She was gorgeous, no doubt, and he thought Prem was lucky. But more than the couple themselves, he was irritated by Aaravind's behavior.
No one could say it was none of his business — because what Aaravind was doing might impact his own business.
Because unknown to Aravind Rohan is the largest shareholder of his company..
Sharp businessman — information always at his fingertips, every detail cataloged, every connection mapped.
Largebase Solutions — 39% his shares, a silent investment he'd made years ago through layered trusts, content to let others run the day-to-day while dividends flowed.
He knew every face in his vast entities, every key player who mattered — from boardroom executives to the quiet influencers behind scenes.
He'd reviewed the annual reports, glanced at org charts, but never needed to interfere.
Until now.
Aaravind the CFO — photo on the company website, professional headshot with that same smug half-smile.
Face he recognized instantly.
The man he'd slapped at his own party hall just hours ago.
Threatening a couple — that young husband and his beautiful wife — over some personal vendetta, old college grudge by the looks of it.
Abusing company power, funds, reputation for revenge.
As Nivi and Prem looking at each other inside party hall after Rohan left… The same night outside party hall. Outside gate 20 ft away. Rohan. sat in the back of his Mercedes, the city lights of Chennai blurring past the tinted windows like streaks of neon fire. The driver was silent as always — professional, discreet, knowing better than to interrupt when the boss's mood darkened.
He was pissed.
Not the explosive kind that made him raise his voice or slam fists — Rohan didn't do explosive.
Quiet, simmering anger that built like pressure in a sealed vault.
His wife — beautiful, sharp-tongued, the daughter of that powerful Kerala politician — had chosen to stay back in their ancestral home with the kids and her sprawling family.
No fights. No screaming matches or ultimatums. Just a calm, unyielding preference. She loved her place, her roots, the influence and comfort of her father's world.
Her demand had always been simple: "Come back to Kerala. Build everything here. With us."
Rohan, born and raised in Chennai, his business empire deeply rooted in this city's soil — real estate developments, premium party halls, silent but substantial shares in tech firms — had never dared uproot it all.
Weekly visits became the compromise
.
Private flights down, forced smiles for the kids, polite dinners with in-laws, and duty in bed when she allowed it — mechanical, distant.
Off late, almost a year now, even that heat had gone cold.
She was demanding — more time, more presence, more surrender to her world.
He grew distant, resentful.
So he found the heat elsewhere. Women.
It started casual.
Models — stunning, high-maintenance, expecting fat envelopes for a single night of no-strings passion.
He paid gladly — bodies perfect, performances professional.
Then forbidden ones — the wife of a mid-level colleague who eyed his watch too long, or a sharp staffer from one of his companies who "accidentally" brushed against him in meetings.
Only those already tempted by the money, the power, the thrill of secrecy.
He never chased emotions. No attachment. No repeats unless convenient.
Sometimes a challenge — the tough ones who played hard to get, acted indifferent.
He loved breaking them slow — the chase, the surrender, the quiet power of making them crave what they pretended to resist.
But Nivi?
Three times in one day.
Morning — the scooty bump into his parked car. Her panicked beauty as she glanced back — fair skin flushed, saree fluttering, curves catching light before she sped away.
He'd forgotten it almost immediately — minor annoyance.
Then the party hall monitor — his own property. Graceful in silk saree, fair skin glowing under lights, moving with quiet confidence among guests.
Invitation close — soft voice, warm eyes thanking him, guilt in her smile.
Not ordinary.
Coincidence? Three encounters?
Coincidence?
Three encounters in hours?
In a city of millions?
He leaned back in the seat, city lights reflecting in his eyes.
Sharp businessman — coincidences were opportunities.
Or warnings.
But her face lingered.
Not just beauty.
Something else.
Quiet fire.
He pushed the thought down.
For now.
In just five minutes, everything crossed his mind as he watched the couple — fighting for their dignity, standing together in the face of humiliation, while his own wife demanded something he couldn't afford to give.
His mind reeled at the coincidence of encountering this woman three times in a single day. She was gorgeous, no doubt, and he thought Prem was lucky. But more than the couple themselves, he was irritated by Aaravind's behavior.
No one could say it was none of his business — because what Aaravind was doing might impact his own business.
Because unknown to Aravind Rohan is the largest shareholder of his company..
Sharp businessman — information always at his fingertips, every detail cataloged, every connection mapped.
Largebase Solutions — 39% his shares, a silent investment he'd made years ago through layered trusts, content to let others run the day-to-day while dividends flowed.
He knew every face in his vast entities, every key player who mattered — from boardroom executives to the quiet influencers behind scenes.
He'd reviewed the annual reports, glanced at org charts, but never needed to interfere.
Until now.
Aaravind the CFO — photo on the company website, professional headshot with that same smug half-smile.
Face he recognized instantly.
The man he'd slapped at his own party hall just hours ago.
Threatening a couple — that young husband and his beautiful wife — over some personal vendetta, old college grudge by the looks of it.
Abusing company power, funds, reputation for revenge.
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