His forbidden queen

Chapter 2

The Rajwansh Empire Headquarters was a monument of glass and steel that pierced the Delhi skyline like an arrogant needle. As the private elevator climbed to the top floor, Raya Singhaniya looked at her reflection in the polished brass mirror. She smoothed the lapels of

her sharp emerald-green blazer. It was a power color—the color of authority, calculated growth, and absolute control.

When the elevator doors chimed and slid open, she was met by an expanse of minimalist, white-on-white luxury. It was gorgeous, but as she walked across the marble floor, she found it utterly hollow. The corporate design reflected the man who owned it: massive,

pristine, yet entirely sterile. It was designed to make visitors feel small.

Raya, however, walked with the slow, unhurried grace of a predator entering a new hunting ground.

“Ms. Singhaniya,” a young assistant in a crisp suit said, her voice trembling slightly. “Mr. Rajwansh will see you now. Please follow me.”

Instead of being led to a waiting lounge, Raya was ushered directly through a pair of double-height mahogany doors.

Trinay Rajwansh sat behind a massive desk carved from a single slab of petrified dark oak. The floor-to-ceiling glass windows behind him showcased a panoramic view of the city, wrapping him in Delhi’s afternoon light. He didn’t look up immediately. He was signing a document, his hand moving with a practiced, heavy authority.

Raya didn’t wait. She walked across the vast office, her stilettos making sharp, rhythmic clicks against the floor. Instead of sitting in the plush leather chair opposite his desk, she walked straight to a tripod holding the physical architectural model of his project, The Rajwansh Horizon.

“If you’re trying to establish dominance by keeping me waiting, Mr. Rajwansh, you should know that my time is billed by the minute,” Raya said, her voice smooth and conversational. “And currently, my minutes are worth more than your silent power plays.”

“I have a habit of speaking when I see something that requires immediate correction,” Raya countered. She pointed a manicured finger at the model’s central entryway. “Who designed this layout? They’ve treated a heritage restoration project like a modern airport terminal. This central arch is entirely out of proportion. It’s sterile. It has no soul.”

Trinay’s eyes narrowed. “That layout was designed by an award-winning architectural firm from Milan. It is clean, symmetric, and structured.”

“It is a high-end mausoleum,” Raya said flatly, finally turning to face him. She walked over to his desk, unbuttoned her blazer, and slid her heavy leather portfolio directly over his immaculate desk, stopping inches from his folded hands. “Symmetry is the refuge of designers who lack imagination. Your empire stands for legacy, Mr. Rajwansh. But this project? It looks like an expensive bank. People shouldn’t just look at your wealth—they should feel it.”

Trinay slowly stood up. His 6’2” frame towered over her, but Raya didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, her hazel eyes locked onto his dark ones. The air in the room grew thick with tension.

“No one dictates terms to me in my own office,” Trinay said, taking a deliberate step around the desk, invading her personal space. “You are remarkably arrogant.”

“I am expensive, Mr. Rajwansh. And I am right,” Raya replied, her voice dropping to a cool, steady register. “You can hire a designer who will nod politely, collect your millions, and build you a beautiful, boring monument to your ego. Or you can hire me, get out of my way, and actually build a masterpiece that will define your legacy for the next century. The choice is yours. My team will expect your decision by five o’clock.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the double doors, leaving her portfolio resting on his desk.

Trinay stood in the silence of his office, his chest rising and falling slowly. He looked down at the dark leather binder she had left behind. With a slow, calculated movement, he opened it. Inside were hand-sketched designs utilizing rich emerald marble, hand-carved stone reliefs, and custom gold detailing that seemed to pulse with life on the page. It was

breathtakingly brilliant.

A dark, genuine smile spread across Trinay’s face.

He walked over to his desk and picked up the intercom. “Sanjay. Call Singhaniya Designs.

Tell them we accept her terms.” He paused, his smile widening. “And double her asking fee. Tell her it’s a retainer for her arrogance. I want to see how she handles real pressure.”

Trinay’s fountain pen stopped. He slowly capped it, set it down, and raised his head.

Up close, his dark eyes were incredibly sharp, framed by a hard, aristocratic jawline.

He leaned back in his chair, evaluating her with a cold, analytical gaze.

“You have a habit of speaking before you are spoken to, Ms. Singhaniya,” Trinay remarked, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

To be continued.....