The boardroom on the sixty-third floor fell into absolute silence the moment the doors slid open.
Not because someone asked for quiet—
but because Rudraveer had arrived.
Tailored black suit. Steel-cold eyes. A presence so heavy it pressed against every man seated at the polished table.
CEOs from different countries straightened unconsciously, files forgotten, throats tight. This wasn’t just a business meeting—it was a summons.
Rudraveer walked in unhurried, each step deliberate, powerful. The kind of man who
didn’t chase authority—authority followed him.
At twenty-eight, he was the youngest CEO to control a multinational empire that spanned continents—shipping, tech, real estate, arms traded legally on paper and illegally in shadows.
To the world, he was a visionary businessman. To the underworld, he was the king they bowed to or died opposing.
He took the head seat without asking.
“Begin,” he said.
One word. Low. Final.
A senior executive stuttered through a presentation, hands shaking as Rudraveer listened—silent, sharp-minded, absorbing every detail. When the man finished, hope flickered in his eyes.
Rudraveer leaned back, fingers steepled.
“You falsified numbers in Singapore.”
The air froze.
“I—sir—”
“You cost me forty-two million.” His gaze hardened.
“You have two options. Prison… or disappearance.”
No raised voice. No emotion.
The man collapsed into his chair.
Rudraveer stood, adjusting his cufflinks like he hadn’t just ended a career—or a life.
“Meeting adjourned.”
As the executives rushed out, his phone buzzed.
Brother reached college safely, the message read.
For the first time that day, Rudraveer’s jaw softened—just a fraction.
His parents had died years ago, leaving him with bloodstained legacies and responsibilities far heavier than grief.
He had built this empire from ashes—not for power, not for greed—but to ensure that his brother would never have to see the darkness Rudraveer ruled.
Behind him, his best friend Viyaan waited—watchful, loyal, the only man allowed this close.
“The shipment issue?” the friend asked.
“Handled,” Rudraveer replied, eyes turning cold again.
“And remind them—this city, this business, this world— runs because I allow it to.”
To the world, Viyaan was just another executive in Rudraveer’s multinational empire—sharp suits, sharper wit, and a reputation for making tense meetings feel human again.
Employees adored him. Clients relaxed around him. Enemies underestimated him.
Big mistake.
Because behind the humor lived loyalty forged in blood and years of shared loss.
Viyaan had stood beside Rudraveer when his parents died, when the empire was nothing but ash and ambition. He knew every secret, every sin—and chose to stay anyway.
"Smile,” Viyaan often said, clapping a terrified employee on the shoulder.
“If we’re going to work under the devil, might as well enjoy the view.”
Rudraveer tolerated only one man’s nonsense.
And Viyaan was that man.
When Rudraveer ruled with silence, Viyaan ruled with words. When Rudraveer destroyed enemies, Viyaan handled the mess with a grin and a joke sharp enough to cut deeper than a blade.
Friendly. Funny. Approachable.
But if anyone ever mistook that for weakness— Rudraveer wouldn’t even need to get his hands dirty.
Because Viyaan Sharma smiled best right before chaos followed.
THANKS FOR READING
Write a comment ...