Our Unexpected Opponent
1084 Words
The boardroom smelled like old money and silent betrayal.
Polished wood, glass water bottles, and twelve men in suits older than her. Aanya walked in, heels echoing with purpose. Her blazer was sharp, lips red, and heart pounding—but no one would see that.
She wasn’t Daddy’s little girl today.
She was the rightful heir to the Darlington empire.
“Gentlemen,” she greeted, letting her gaze sweep the room, pausing on each of their lined, skeptical faces. “Thank you for meeting me.”
The oldest, Mr. Alcott, shifted in his chair. “Your father wasn’t aware of this meeting.”
“I’m aware,” she replied smoothly. “But given what’s at stake, I think we all deserve clarity. Especially with rumors about Jeffery.”
A few glances exchanged. Tight lips. Raised brows.
Alcott frowned. “He’s your brother.”
“Half,” Aanya corrected. “By DNA, not by business. You all know who’s been running the numbers behind Darlington’s last expansion.”
“Your father believes Jeffery is—”
“My father is distracted,” she said, sharper than intended. “With his new wife, new image, and new favorite. But let’s not pretend Jeffery knows anything about organ acquisitions, trafficking smuggling shipments, or loyalty. He couldn’t tell a quarterly report from a restaurant menu.”
That earned a small cough of amusement from one of the quieter board members—Mr. Naveen, she noted.
Aanya placed a folder in front of them. Clean. Precise. Packed with evidence of her work behind the scenes over the past three years.
“Everything my father has built was meant for legacy,” she said, voice steady. “And I am that legacy. Not a pawn in some twisted game of favoritism.”
Silence stretched.
Alcott leaned back. “You’re asking us to go against your father.”
“I’m asking you to protect his camp—from being handed to someone who’ll ruin it.” She held his gaze. “I’m not here to beg. I’m here to remind you who actually earned this seat.”
Another beat of silence.
Then Naveen sat forward and tapped the folder. “Let’s say we believe you. What’s your next move?”
Aanya smiled—sharp, unyielding.
“War.”
---
He had expected a spoiled heiress.
What he saw was a woman who moved through a den of wolves and made them bare their throats.
Sebastian watched Aanya Darlington from the CCTV feed his men patched in. He hadn’t needed a reason to monitor her beyond the fact that her last name was Darlington—and that made her enemy. The daughter of Yvette Darlington, the woman who nearly burned the Fugerson name to the ground in the South District war.
But what he saw in that boardroom?
That was no pawn.
“She’s colder than I expected,” Sebastian murmured, leaning forward in his chair, eyes narrowed. “No hesitation. No fear. Just straight for the jugular.”
“She’s her mother’s daughter,” came the quiet voice behind him—Roman, one of his most trusted enforcers.
Sebastian didn’t answer. Because that wasn’t quite right.
She was more.
Something deeper. Calmer. Less volatile. More dangerous.
“She just declared war on her father,” Roman added. “That’s not just ambition. That’s personal.”
“And it makes her useful,” Sebastian muttered. “Or volatile.”
A flicker on the second monitor caught his eye. One of his men—Kai—was trailing her. Just close enough to catch her movement. He was supposed to blend in.
But Aanya stopped walking.
And turned around.
Right into the lens.
Sebastian’s brows rose.
She was looking at Kai.
No. Through him.
Like she could feel the weight of a predator behind her and wasn’t the least bit afraid.
On screen, her lips moved.
Kai froze.
Then she walked up to him. Deliberate. Unrushed.
Grabbed him by the collar, yanked him sideways into a shadowed alley between buildings—off camera.
The screen went static for five full seconds.
When the feed returned, Aanya was the only one on screen, straightening her coat like nothing had happened.
Sebastian stood.
“What just happened?” Roman asked.
“She made my man disappear,” Sebastian muttered, watching her smooth her hair and keep walking like royalty in exile. “She made me blink.”
His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Well then,” he said softly. “Looks like we underestimated our opponent.”
---
Dora was elbow-deep in grapefruit mimosas and revenge.
“I’m telling you, Aanya,” she said, dramatically flopping onto their shared couch, “if I ever see that walking ego in a three-piece suit again, I’m punching him in his Gucci-covered throat.”
Aanya, still damp from the shower and half-distracted by her phone, barely looked up. “Still talking about... ‘Mr. Walking Red Flag?’”
“I’ve upgraded his name,” Dora said, swirling her drink like a villainess. “He’s now ‘Prince Condescending the First.’ Arrogant. Smelled expensive. Looked like he swallowed a law firm.”
Aanya chuckled, finally setting her phone aside. “You did say he bumped into you. Maybe it was an accident?”
“He bumped into me like I was a stain on his marble floor. Then had the nerve to call me—get this—fiery.” Dora sniffed. “Like I’m some overly emotional drama queen.”
“You kind of are,” Aanya said sweetly, reaching for Dora’s glass.
“Exactly. But he doesn’t get to say that. Only you get to say that.”
Aanya took a sip and hissed. “Strong.”
“Like my hatred for that man.” Dora flung a cushion across the room with flair.
Aanya rolled her eyes. “You’ll probably never see him again.”
“You know how the universe works. I’ll probably marry him by accident.”
Pause.
They stared at each other.
Dora blinked. “Why do you look guilty?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“Okay, but listen—” Aanya started carefully. “Hypothetically... what if someone in your life arranged a meeting... with a potential fiancé... and forgot to tell you?”
Silence.
Then Dora stood slowly, deliberately. “Aanya.”
“It might be him.”
“Aanya.”
“I said might!”
Dora’s scream could’ve cracked crystal.
---
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