Chapter 1 : The Clash

Mira Kapoor stood in the glass-walled conference room, her palms pressed flat on the sleek mahogany table. The city skyline glittered behind her like a promise — or a threat, depending on how you looked at it. She could feel forty pairs of eyes on her as she delivered the last lines of her pitch, voice steady, chin held high.

The big client — a luxury lifestyle brand — sat at the far end, nodding appreciatively. Mr. Khanna, her boss, looked smug. Mira allowed herself the smallest smile. This was hers. She had worked through weekends and caffeine-fueled nights to get it perfect — the tagline, the visuals, the hook that would win them the account and push her one step closer to the promotion she’d been chasing for three relentless years.

She clicked to the final slide: a bold splash of color, the slogan in her signature crisp font. Silence lingered in the room, the kind that always came just before applause.

And then he cleared his throat.

Rohan Malhotra. The new senior manager — recruited from a rival firm everyone whispered about. He’d been here for exactly five days, and Mira already hated the way he walked like he owned the place, how he sat through meetings with his arms folded, eyes half-lidded like he was endlessly bored by everyone else’s brilliance.

“Interesting,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His voice was low and smooth — the kind that made junior executives straighten their ties nervously. “But isn’t it a bit… predictable?”

Mira’s smile froze. She turned slowly, laser-focused on him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Rohan tapped the table lightly with his pen, completely unfazed by the tension crackling in the air. “The tagline is catchy, but the campaign feels like something any mid-tier agency could pull off. We’re not mid-tier, are we?”

A few people shifted uncomfortably. Mr. Khanna cleared his throat but said nothing. Mira’s pulse thudded in her ears. She forced her voice to stay calm. “The client specifically asked for something aspirational yet relatable. This hits both notes. If you have a better idea, please, by all means — enlighten us.”

A faint smile curved at the edge of Rohan’s mouth. He rose from his chair and walked to the screen, plucking the clicker from her stunned hand. Without asking.

“Imagine this instead,” he said, changing slides with an infuriating calm. “Same product — but let’s tap into the idea of desire and exclusivity, not just aspiration. People don’t want to feel like everyone else can have it. They want to feel chosen.”

He spoke in measured words, punctuating each point with a look at the client, then back at the team. The bastard was good — she hated that. He talked about luxury psychology, niche branding, scarcity appeal. Words Mira knew well — words she’d deliberately avoided because the client’s brief hadn’t asked for them.

When he finished, the room was quiet. The client leaned forward, intrigued. Mira wanted to throw the damn clicker at his head.

“So,” Rohan said, turning to face her. “What do you think, Mira? Should we play it safe — or play to win?”

She clenched her jaw so tightly she thought her teeth might crack. “I think hijacking someone’s presentation mid-way is spectacularly unprofessional.”

Rohan didn’t flinch. He only smiled that infuriating, polite smile. “We’re all on the same team. Best idea wins, right?”

Mr. Khanna interjected quickly, sensing the temperature in the room. “Thank you, Mira. And thank you, Rohan. We’ll… combine both directions and regroup tomorrow.”

The meeting dissolved in awkward murmurs. The client looked pleased — no idea they’d just witnessed a silent battle. Mira gathered her laptop, fingers trembling with rage. She could feel Rohan’s eyes on her as she stalked toward the door.

Outside the conference room, he caught up with her in two long strides. “Don’t take it personally,” he said, tone maddeningly reasonable. “It’s just business.”

She spun around, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Listen, Mr. Malhotra — you might have charmed your way in here with your fancy ideas and your smug attitude, but I’ve built my reputation in this place with actual work. Try to steal my spotlight again, and you’ll find out just how ‘professional’ I can get.”

He looked down at her finger, then back up, eyes glittering with something that might have been amusement — or challenge. “Noted.”

She pushed past him, shoulders squared. Behind her, she heard him chuckle — soft, dark, and promising trouble.

Mira didn’t know how, or when, but she promised herself this: she would win. And if it meant crushing Rohan Malhotra on her way to the top? So be it.

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