Inside the boardroom, Ravi leaned in slightly, his brows furrowed. Tension sat heavy on his shoulders. He looked toward Rudra, who hadn't said a word in the last sixty seconds—just watched the room like a chessboard.
"Can I?" Ravi asked softly, voice low but steady. "What if I offer you fifty million?"
Gasps were barely contained around the room.
Rudra, still unreadable, finally nodded.
"And I'll buy every remaining share," he added, his voice like velvet steel. "At double the current market price."
The room went silent. Power, not panic, now hung in the air.
But before anyone could respond—
The door opened.
Dev Singhaniya walked in.
His entrance was calm but arresting. A quiet storm. He was dressed immaculately, a light grey Nehru jacket over crisp white, holding a glass of water like he had all the time in the world.
Everyone stood.
Dev gave a small smile, the kind that said: I already know more than you think. "Double price?" he asked lightly. "What's being sold?"
Rudra turned. "Dad, you're coming in late today."
Dev didn't blink. "It's my office. Why would I be late to my own meeting?"
Aarav smirked. "You knew already, didn't you?"
Rudra followed, voice dry. "So you know they're trying to sell their shares."
Dev nodded, sipping his water. "Yes. I've known for days. I let it play out."
Murmurs began again.
"I'm here to make something clear," Dev said, turning back to the board. "Anyone who wants to sell their shares—can. We won't stop you."
("Koi bhi apne shares bechna chahta hai, toh bech sakta hai. Hum rok nahi rahe.")
Rudra's jaw twitched. "But Dad—"
Dev raised a hand, silencing the room.
"But," he continued, "if you choose to sell outside the company—Rajawat or anyone else—don't expect exit benefits or future dividends. That clause still stands. Sell out, and you're cut off."
("Agar kisi ne bahar sell kiya, toh exit package bhool jao. Yeh clause valid hai.")
Ravi stood. "Sir, Mr. Mehta wants to sell his 15% for forty-five million. I'm ready to buy it for ninety."
Mr. Mehta blinked. "You? Ninety million?"
Ravi's voice didn't rise. "Yes. Right now. Full cash clearance."
Aarav stood beside him. "And I'll buy the rest. The empire stays in the family."
Dev walked to the head seat. Calmly sat down. Leaned back. His gaze swept over the stunned board.
"You raised them well," muttered one of the quieter old members.
Dev didn't deny it. "They've raised this legacy better than I ever could."
To legal, he said, "Prepare the contracts. Final offers are now open. Sell smart. Or don't sell at all."
Author's POV
In that room—there were no boys. No assistants. No stand-ins.
There were heirs. And a father watching his sons prove that they weren't just born into legacy—they could protect it, expand it, and defend it with precision.
This wasn't business as usual.
This was Singhaniya blood in motion.
✒➳➳➳➳➳ඞ➳➳➳➳➳➳
The tension in the boardroom wasn't just atmospheric—it was thick enough to slice. And under that suffocating weight, power was changing hands, not by force, but by presence. Quiet, direct, and absolute.
"...But if they cooperate with us," Dev continued, not raising his voice once, "then we allot the shares as per Singhaniya policy. On our terms. Not theirs."
("Agar cooperation milega, toh shares unhi ko milenge jo apne hone ka saboot denge.")
He turned slowly, letting the gravity of his words settle. Then without skipping a beat, he nodded toward the board.
"Any issues?"
No one dared speak.
Ravi rose to his feet. His voice was respectful, but his words? They struck like metal.
"Sir, Mr. Mehta has expressed desire to sell his complete 15% stake for 45 million."
Gasps fluttered around the room.
"I'm prepared," Ravi continued, unblinking, "to purchase the full share. For ninety million. Double his asking."
The table shook—not from movement, but from shock.
Mehta's face twisted—he hadn't expected the soft-spoken Ravi to speak at all. Let alone steal his plan right from under his nose.
"Double?" Mehta repeated, nearly stammering.
Ravi didn't blink. "In full. Clean transfer. Cash or wired."
Aarav leaned forward, both arms folded. "And I'll take the remaining 30% of the departing members' shares. The rest of you may choose to stay or follow him out."
Silence returned. But it was a different kind now. It wasn't tension—it was resignation.
Dev took a sip from his glass. "You've raised them well," murmured one of the quieter board members to him.
Dev chuckled softly, not breaking eye contact with Mehta. "No. I just let them learn the fire by walking through it."
He stood up, fully taking the room.
"Legal team," Dev commanded, voice now colder, more surgical, "prepare full documentation. Those choosing to exit—sign your transfer. Those staying—prepare to prove your loyalty."
Legal advisors rushed in with files and portable printers. An entire mobile station was wheeled in.
The doors stayed shut.
Inside, war was being resolved with signatures.
Rudra finally rose for the first time since his father entered. His hands behind his back, his posture straight, his tone dangerously calm.
"You wanted to sell to Rajawat, Mehta," he said, now walking slowly across the boardroom. "You planned it. Behind closed doors. You underestimated your own company."
He stopped beside Mehta's chair.
"And you forgot," Rudra whispered, "that this table doesn't just host businessmen. It's built for legacy."
He pulled a file from his suit, placed it gently on the table.
"This clause," he said, tapping the page, "states any shareholder who sells externally forfeits all rights to exit bonuses, post-sale equity gains, and is blacklisted from Singhaniya partnerships permanently."
("Bahar bechoge, toh kuch bhi nahi milega. Sirf regret.")
Mehta's throat dried up.
Ravi slid the contract across to him. "Sign now. Or leave with nothing but your regret."
Aarav's smile was now a full-blown grin. "Also, we've already informed Rajawat. Told them you were bluffing. So that door's closed too."
A pin-drop silence fell as Mehta picked up the pen.
His hand hovered, then slowly scribbled his name.
Other defectors followed like dominoes.
Dev turned back to the Singhaniya crest on the wall. The emblem of power. Of pain. Of protection.
He faced the board once again.
"I will never stop you from leaving," Dev said. "But I will stop you from disrespecting what we built. That's not negotiation. That's survival."
He turned toward Rudra, Aarav, and Ravi.
"You've earned this," he said. "This empire is now officially protected. By sons. Not soldiers."
Author's POV
The boardroom that morning didn't witness a meeting. It witnessed succession.
Ravi had stepped out from the shadows. Aarav had dropped his smile and put down strategy. Rudra? He had been king since the beginning—but now, even the doubters bowed.
And Dev? He saw what every empire builder dreams of:
Not just heirs.
But warriors.
Not just loyalty.
But legacy.
Outside, the staff waited. Inside, the Singhaniyas had drawn the line.
And from this moment on, no one would ever think of this empire as inherited.
It had been fought for. Earned. Owned.
✒➳➳➳➳➳📑➳➳➳➳➳➳
The silence that followed the deal felt thicker than the plush velvet carpeting under their feet.
In the grand Singhaniya Boardroom—glassed walls, chandeliers dripping gold, and a table longer than some small kingdoms—the storm had passed. But its aftershocks still pulsed beneath the polished surface.
The traitors were walking out, one by one.
And Rudra Singhaniya?He wasn't done yet.
As the claps and congratulatory handshakes wrapped around Ravi and Aarav—who'd just locked in 45% ownership between them—everyone else in the room knew one thing clearly now: This empire had heirs. And they weren't just names on paper. They were men who knew how to defend their throne.
"Good work, Mr. Ravi."
"Impressive, Aarav sir."
One by one, the Singhaniya board loyalists leaned in with proud smiles, gentle nods, and firm pats on the back.
Ravi, still adjusting to the idea that he now officially held 25% stake in Singhaniya Hotels, simply bowed his head. His voice calm but clear.
"Sirf kaam kiya, reward mil gaya. That's all," he said modestly.(I just did my job, and got rewarded.)
Aarav gave him a side-eye. "If that was just work, I should be worried about my seat."
"Maybe you should," Ravi replied smoothly.
They both chuckled—but the undertone? Sharp. Competitive. Unshakably bound in blood, but now also in business.
Behind them, Rudra remained seated.
His fingers drummed the polished wood once. Light. Precise. Measured.
He didn't smile. Didn't clap.
He simply looked straight ahead… toward the man trying to walk out the door with dignity still intact.
Mr. Mehta.
The lead conspirator. The man who had tried to sell 45% of Singhaniya Hotels to Rajawat Corp in secret. The man who underestimated the blood running through Singhaniya veins.
"Mr. Mehta."
Rudra's voice sliced across the air. Calm. Flat. Cold.
The room fell silent.
Even the distant sound of staff in the corridor seemed to vanish.
Mehta paused, hand still on the handle of the glass door. Two of his supporters—also former shareholders—hesitated beside him. Their backs straightened, stiff with fear.
"You can't leave like this, Mr. Mehta," Rudra said, still seated.
His voice didn't rise. But the weight behind it?
Thunder wrapped in silk.
"Dukh hota hai…" Rudra added, slowly standing.(It's sad…)
He adjusted his suit. Brushed invisible lint off his blazer. Took a single step forward.
"…jab koi apna, peeche se vaar kare."(…when someone from your own tries to stab you in the back.)
Mehta turned, trying to hold his ground, but his eyes betrayed him. The man who'd been in the family boardroom for fifteen years looked visibly smaller in front of Rudra Singhaniya—thirty-one, sharp as a diamond blade, and three steps ahead of everyone else in the room.
"You thought we wouldn't find out," Rudra said, walking around the boardroom table now. "You thought the boys were too green. Too young. Too naive."
He glanced at Ravi and Aarav.
"But here's the thing," he said, stopping just in front of Mehta, their faces inches apart. "You forgot this isn't just a business for us."
Rudra's voice dropped.
"It's blood. It's name. It's legacy."
"And this legacy?" He tilted his head slightly, the smile never reaching his eyes. "You don't just walk in and try to sell it to the highest bidder."
A pause. Mehta didn't speak.
"And for next time…" Rudra added, voice low but ice-cold, "plan better."
Mehta's lips twitched. Maybe with the urge to defend himself. Maybe to run. But Rudra wasn't done.
"Next time, when you try to break this family, this business, this legacy…" he said, his tone turning lethal now, "come stronger. Be smarter. Because this time? You walked away with nothing. Next time?"
"You won't walk at all."
Gasps echoed around the room. Even the junior staff standing discreetly outside the glass doors felt the air drop several degrees.
Rudra finally stepped back, dismissing him with a flick of his hand.
"Get out of my building."
Mehta hesitated.
"Now."
One word.
Sharp.
Deadly.
Final.
The three men walked out with humiliation trailing behind them like a storm cloud.
The doors shut with a soft thud.
A silence settled again, but this time—it was respect. Everyone could feel it. Rudra hadn't raised his voice, hadn't thrown a chair, hadn't lost his cool. But he'd asserted one truth:
The Devil sat at the head of this empire—and his name was Rudra Singhaniya.
If Aarav was the fire, and Ravi was the foundation, then Rudra was the storm—the eye, the silence, and the destruction that followed. The kind of man who didn't have to say "I own this room." You simply knew.
He didn't threaten with drama. He threatened with certainty. There was no if. Only when.
He turned to the rest of the board.
"You all can stay," Rudra said, voice calm again. "As long as you remember: Singhaniya Hotels belongs to the family. Not the highest bidder."
He took his seat again, slowly, letting his presence fill the room.
"If you stand with us—you grow with us."
Dev, who had been silent all this time, watching, finally smiled. The kind of proud, sharp smile a king wears when he sees his heir handle the sword better than he ever did.
"You raised them well," one of the senior board members whispered to Dev.
Dev leaned back. "No," he said. "They raised themselves. I just taught them where to strike."