Cold Billionaire

Chapter Title: The Silence Beneath the Chandelier

The hall shimmered with the grandeur of old money and new ambition. Golden chandeliers hung like captured constellations, their crystal arms scattering flecks of light across velvet drapes and marble floors. A thousand candles flickered within tall glass sconces, perfuming the air with warm notes of sandalwood and rose. Musicians played softly in the background, their violins weaving an elegant thread through the murmur of conversation and the faint clink of crystal.

Amid the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, Arjun stood motionless. His sharp jaw was set, his dark eyes fixed on the approaching figure across the grand hall. The collar of his charcoal suit sat perfectly against his throat, the cufflinks at his wrists gleaming like restrained fire. But his composure was an illusion—beneath it ran a current of restlessness, a storm he could no longer contain.

She was walking toward him.

Aanaya.

Her hand rested lightly on her father’s arm, her steps measured yet heavy, like someone walking through the weight of her own choices. The soft rustle of her pale gold saree whispered through the silence that followed her. Intricate zari embroidery caught the light like liquid sunlight, but her face—beautiful, serene, haunted—remained untouched by its glow.

Arjun could see it in her eyes even from afar: she was not happy. She never was when she pretended too well. And like always, her pride and stubbornness had won the battle over her heart.

“She’ll cause a storm,” he thought bitterly. “She always does—when the truth could have saved her.”

He had seen this before. Once, she’d refused to speak her feelings—and that silence had destroyed everything.

And now, it was happening again.

As Aanaya and her father reached the gathering of families waiting near the gilded dais, Arjun’s pulse echoed in his ears. The light around them seemed to bend, as if the world had narrowed to this one cruel moment.

She stopped near him. Her eyes flickered, meeting his for a fleeting heartbeat—just enough to break something inside him that he had pretended was already broken.

He forced himself to stand tall. To not speak. To remember what had come before.

Flashback

The scent of roasted coffee beans hung thick in the air, wrapping the small café in a comforting warmth that made time seem slower. It was late afternoon—the golden hour when sunlight spilled lazily across the wooden tables, glinting off porcelain cups and sugar spoons.

Arjun sat at his usual corner table, restless fingers drumming against his phone. He checked the time for the fifth time in ten minutes.

They’re late.

His lips curved into an impatient smirk. “My two lovelies,” he muttered under his breath.

He’d been waiting for almost half an hour now, though impatience didn’t dull the anticipation flickering in his chest. He glanced toward the door just as a familiar voice called out—soft, playful, and entirely hers.

“Arjun!”

He turned.

Aanaya stood there, framed in the warm light that spilled through the glass door. Her long hair cascaded down her back, her face still glowing from the rush of the day. She wore a casual white kurta with faded blue jeans, the simplicity of her attire no match for the brightness she carried within her.

“Oh, finally,” Arjun said with mock irritation as he rose and pulled her into a quick hug. The faint scent of jasmine from her hair brushed against his senses.

“Sorry for the delay,” she said, smiling up at him. “I had a lecture in college that went on forever.”

“No problem,” he said, though his eyes softened in the way they always did when she was near.

“So—coffee?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

They took their seats by the window. Sunlight kissed her face, drawing out the glimmer in her brown eyes. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers delicate and nervous in a way he didn’t notice yet.

“Waiter!” Arjun called out, raising a hand.

The young man hurried over. “What would you like to order, sir, ma’am?”

“One cappuccino for the lady,” Arjun said easily. “And one hot chocolate for… another lady, who’s coming soon. Bring me an Americano later.”

Aanaya’s brows lifted. “Still remember my favorite?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling. “Some things you don’t forget.”

She looked down at the table for a moment, the corner of her lips twitching into a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“So,” she began softly, “what was the important thing you wanted to tell me?”

Before Arjun could answer, the café door chimed again.

He turned and saw Piya walking in.

She moved with quiet grace, her hand brushing along the edge of a table as she felt her way forward. Her eyes, though beautiful, were unseeing—a soft gray veil clouded their depths. Piya had lost her vision in an accident years ago, but she carried herself with such quiet dignity that one almost forgot the absence.

Arjun rose immediately and crossed the room. “Hey,” he said warmly, taking her hand. “You found the place perfectly.”

Her lips curved. “Your directions were good enough.”

He led her to the table.

“Aanaya, meet Piya Agarwal. Piya, this is Aanaya,” he said, introducing them with a proud smile.

“Hello,” Aanaya said, her voice polite but a little too quiet.

“Hello,” Piya replied, turning her head toward her.

Arjun’s chest swelled slightly as he spoke the words that had been burning on his tongue for weeks.

“Aanaya, meet my girlfriend—and the love of my life, Piya. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

He expected laughter, teasing, perhaps even excitement. But instead, a silence fell between them, sharp and sudden.

Aanaya’s smile froze, her expression faltering for only a second before she caught it.

“That’s… wonderful,” she murmured.

The waiter appeared then, setting down their drinks—cappuccino, hot chocolate, and Americano.

As he reached to place the cup near Aanaya, her hand brushed the saucer, and the hot chocolate spilled over the table, splashing across Piya’s sleeve.

“Oh no! I’m so sorry,” Aanaya gasped, rising instantly. “I’ll—let me clean it up.”

“It’s alright,” Piya said softly, but Aanaya was already gone, fleeing toward the washroom.

Arjun exhaled, bewildered. He dabbed at Piya’s sleeve with a napkin.

“Arjun,” Piya said after a moment, her tone careful. “Why did she sound… disturbed?”

He hesitated. “No, nothing like that.”

“She didn’t have a problem when she saw that I can’t see, did she?”

Arjun stilled.

Her blindness had always been a wound for her, one she hid behind a smile.

“No, Piya,” he said quietly. “She doesn’t.”

But even as he said it, the doubt lingered.

He couldn’t shake the image of Aanaya’s eyes—how the light in them had dimmed the moment he’d called someone else his love.

Back to the Present

The music softened into a low hum. Aanaya stood now beside her groom, Ranveer Shekhawat, the only son of industrial magnate Rudra Shekhawat.

Ranveer looked every inch the heir he was meant to be—tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that held the calm assurance of privilege. His black sherwani was embroidered in gold thread, the fabric catching light with every subtle movement. He extended his hand toward her with a charming smile that felt practiced, rehearsed, perfect for the cameras flashing in the background.

Her father guided her hand into his.

Arjun’s breath caught, the motion cutting into him like glass.

The hall erupted in polite applause. Champagne glasses chimed. A murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd—about how perfect the couple looked, how destiny had smiled upon them.

But Arjun saw none of that. He saw only the slight tremor in Aanaya’s fingers before they met Ranveer’s. He saw how her smile faltered—just enough that only someone who knew her too well would notice.

He had once been that person.

She turned slightly, her eyes scanning the hall—and for a moment, they found his.

A thousand unspoken words passed between them, buried beneath layers of pride, regret, and something that still burned quietly between them.

Then she looked away.

The ceremony continued, but Arjun no longer heard it. The chandeliers above him blurred into streaks of gold and white as his memories spiraled backward, dragging him toward everything unsaid.

He remembered the way she had laughed once, so freely that it had made him believe in forever. He remembered the last time she’d cried—alone, refusing his comfort, whispering that silence hurt less than goodbye.

Now she was here, repeating history in a gown heavy with jewels and sorrow.

He wanted to walk away. He wanted to shout, to stop this masquerade. But he couldn’t. The roles were already written; all that remained was the performance.

A waiter passed by carrying a tray of champagne. Arjun took a glass, the crystal cold against his fingertips. He tilted it, watching the bubbles rise and vanish.

From the dais, the priest began chanting. Aanaya’s voice joined faintly when prompted, her words trembling at the edges.

Every syllable felt like the toll of a bell—slow, inevitable.

The world applauded when the couple exchanged rings. Flashbulbs erupted like small explosions of light.

Arjun placed the untouched glass on a passing tray and turned away.

He couldn’t bear to watch her smile for the crowd.

Outside, the evening air was cool and quiet. The mansion gardens stretched endlessly under the stars—pathways lined with white roses, their petals trembling under the soft breath of the wind. The distant laughter from inside faded into something hollow.

Arjun stopped beneath the old oak tree by the marble fountain. The reflection of the chandeliers inside the hall danced across the rippling water, turning the surface into a painting of broken light.

He closed his eyes.

The scent of roses was sharp in the air, mingling with the faint trace of her perfume that lingered on his suit from when she had brushed past him earlier.

He could still hear her father’s voice, proud and content. He could still hear Ranveer thanking the guests, his confidence effortless.

And beneath it all, he could still hear her silence.

A door creaked softly behind him.

He didn’t turn—but he knew that sound.

Her heels clicked lightly against the stone path.

For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

When he finally did, his voice was low. “Congratulations.”

Her breath hitched. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” he said quietly.

She looked away, her eyes glistening under the moonlight. “It’s done, Arjun.”

“Is it?” he asked, his tone almost a whisper. “You think saying yes makes it done?”

Her lips trembled. “It has to be.”

He laughed softly, but there was no joy in it. “You said the same thing last time.”

The wind stirred her saree, making the gold embroidery shimmer like fire.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t remind me.”

“You reminded me,” he said, meeting her gaze. “By walking down that aisle again, pretending you’re fine.”

She took a step closer, her voice breaking. “You think I had a choice?”

“Yes,” he said. “You always did. You just never wanted to admit it.”

Her silence was answer enough.

The garden lights flickered, throwing shifting shadows across their faces. He could see the struggle in her eyes—the ache, the pride, the fear.

And for a fleeting second, the world went quiet.

Only the sound of the fountain filled the air, each drop echoing like the ticking of a clock marking the end of something unnamed.

Then, with the kind of strength only heartbreak could give, Aanaya turned away.

“Goodbye, Arjun,” she said.

He didn’t stop her this time.

He watched her walk back toward the golden light spilling from the mansion doors—back to her destiny, her silence, her unspoken truth.

And when she was gone, he whispered the words she would never hear.

“I still remember your favorite.”

The hall roared with laughter once more when she reentered, her smile painted perfectly again. Ranveer raised his glass to her, proud and oblivious. Her father beamed. The photographers clicked endlessly.

And yet, beneath the grandeur—the chandeliers, the silk, the murmured congratulations—the air trembled with something fragile, invisible, and unbearably human.

Something that not even the weight of gold could hide.