Ruhi Sharma:
Dear Diary,
23rd November, 2025.
I’m back in Jaipur.
It feels strange writing that. Like I never really left, but everything has changed.
I was in Mumbai with my sisterfor her college. My parents didn’t want her living alone, so I went along too. It wasn’t a big decision—more like something that just happened.
I don’t think people really know me. Not properly, at least. So here it is, honestly—
I’m Ruhi Sharma. Yes, that Sharma-ji-ki-beti. An ambivert. Quiet on some days, loud in my own head on others. Books are my comfort place. When things get too much, I listen to music.
Well about my family,i live with my parents,grandparents and my two elder siblings—Ayansh and Maanvi. They annoy me a lot, protect me, and somehow keep me grounded all at once.
I’m not perfect, I mess up. A lot. I do things without thinking and then deal with the consequences later. Sometimes I laugh it off, sometimes it hits harder than I expect. But I’m learning.
Right now, I don’t know what this return to Jaipur means. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
I guess I’ll find out.
Talk to you later, dear diary.
Let’s see what Jaipur has waiting for me here.
— Ruhi 🌷
Avyaan Singh Rathore:
Beneath the Rathore Palace existed a floor that served no royal ceremony.
It belonged to Avyaan Singh Rathore—
Chairman and CEO of Rathore Global Enterprises.
The basement office was a perfect mix of legacy and authority: black stone walls from the old palace, a steel-and-glass desk imported from Europe, security screens glowing softly behind it. The Rathore insignia loomed above—not a logo, but a warning.
Avyaan sat behind the desk, calm, eyes scanning numbers on the screen. No one entered uninvited. No one dared.
A man was brought in and forced to kneel.
“Kunwar sa,” the man stammered, voice shaking, “I… I made a mistake.”
Avyaan didn’t look up.
“Explain,” he said softly, almost bored.
The man gulped. “I acted without approval—without your consent—”
Avyaan lifted his gaze. The silence that followed spoke louder than any roar.
“This is not a meeting,” he said slowly, standing. “This is a verdict.”
He walked around the desk. Each step measured, echoing against the stone floor.
“As your CEO,” he said, stopping right in front of the man, “I could terminate you.”
A pause.
“As the Kunwar of Jaipur,” his voice dropped, colder, “I can erase your existence in this city.”
The man crumbled. “Please… Kunwar sa…”
Avyaan leaned slightly forward, resting one hand on the desk.
“I do not negotiate with those who confuse ambition with betrayal.”
He tapped the security panel once.
“Cancel his credentials. Freeze his accounts. Ensure he leaves Jaipur before sunrise.”
The screen flashed green.
Order executed.
Avyaan returned to his chair, reopened the file, and adjusted his cufflinks.
Above ground, Rathore Global’s shares would rise by morning.
Below ground, a man had just learned—
In the Rathore empire,
the CEO’s signature
and the Kunwar’s command
were the same thing.
Well, Avyaan Singh Rathore did not raise his voice. He did not need to. Discipline followed him like a shadow, and ruthlessness like a promise.
Despite being the Prince of Jaipur, he had a strong profile in the underworld. He was the leader of the most powerful mafia gang – OBSIDIAN.
In a royal mansion, Avyaan’s room was a space where no one could enter except for Avyaan himself. His room was fully black and on the front panel of his work desk in the black marble was a Sanskrit shloka carved in it, calligraphed in faint gold ink:
“निर्दयः सः बलेन शासति, प्रज्ञया विजयते, मौनेन च सर्वान् कम्पयति।”
Which meant,“Ruthless in rule, victorious through wisdom, and terrifying all through silence.” These words were not just decoration. They were a WARNING.
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