They called her India’s Corporate Princess.

Kiara Kapoor—heiress to the Kapoor Global legacy, media darling, boardroom queen in six-inch heels. I’d heard about her long before I ever met her. Everyone had.

And honestly? I didn’t care.

I didn’t have time for sugar-coated PR legends or soft-spoken legacy brats who thought the world owed them something just because their last name could buy it.

I built Singhania Industries from the ground up—no inheritance, no crutches, just sleepless nights and cutthroat decisions. I didn’t inherit power. I bled for it.

So when the board proposed a collaboration between our companies, the answer was a clear no.

Until I walked into that conference room.

And saw her.

She didn’t flinch when I entered. Didn’t soften her stance or smile for the sake of diplomacy. Her eyes met mine with an intensity that said, You don’t scare me, Mr. Self-Made Billionaire.

She wore red that day.

A color I had always associated with power. But on her, it looked like a challenge.

Elegant. Sharp. Deadly.

She sat at the head of the table like she was born there—and maybe she was. But there was something in her voice when she spoke numbers, strategy, projections... something fiery and calculated.

And that smirk—God, that smirk—when I said her plan was “ambitious at best.”

She leaned forward and said, “Only people who fear competition call ambition reckless.”

Touché.

I hated her instantly.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about her for days.

That was my first mistake.

The second?

Agreeing to the partnership just to prove I could handle her.

Turns out, I didn’t need to handle her.

I needed to survive her.

And somewhere between the business meetings, cold wars, accidental glances, and the scandal that shook every boardroom in the country—

I realized I wasn’t just losing my grip on the plan.

I was losing myself... to her.