He walked forward unhurriedly, gaze locked on her—as if the entire courtroom had faded into the background.

In his hand—

A bouquet of red roses.

As he stopped right in front of her, he extended them casually.

"Ye aapke liye, lawyer sahiba."

A few gasps rippled through the room.

Aishwarya didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Then she scoffed lightly and finally looked up at him, her voice calm but razor-sharp.

"Main gulab nahi hoon, neta ji."

She leaned back slightly.

"Main woh kaanta hoon... jo ab aapko bahut zor se chubhne wala hai."

Amar's lips curved into a slow, amused smile.

Instead of stepping back, he tilted his head, clearly enjoying the exchange.

"Aap jaise kaante ho toh..." he said smoothly,

"Main hazaar baar chubhne ko taiyaar hoon."

Aishwarya let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"Yeh bakwaas baatein kisi aur se kariye, Mr. Ahuja."

Amar leaned in just enough to invade her space—his voice dropping, dangerous and deliberate.

"Kamaal hai na, lawyer sahiba...

Dushman ban kar aayi ho," he murmured, eyes dark,

"Lekin aapko apna banana... mujhe zyada acha lagega."

Aishwarya looked at him then.

Really looked.

Her eyes were cold.

Unimpressed.

Fearless.

She straightened, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"Galatfahmi mein mat rahiye, Mr. Ahuja."

Her voice was ice.

"Main aapki dushman nahi hoon—"

She paused, letting it sink in.

"Main aapka downfall hoon."

The smile on Amar's face didn't fade.

But something in his eyes shifted.

Interest.

The judge entered, breaking the tension.

"Court is in session."

As everyone took their seats, Amar walked away, still smirking—

But for the first time in years—

Author's POV:

"Case number 147 of 2025—Maan Singh Tomar versus Amar Singh Ahuja."

The courtroom fell into a hush.

Aishwarya's grip tightened around her pen for a fraction of a second.

So it begins.

Maan Singh Tomar—a reputed businessman, sharp-minded, calculated—sat behind her, his face unreadable but tense.

Aishwarya rose calmly.

"Your Honour," Aishwarya said calmly, flipping open another file,

"the accused has repeatedly misused his political position to threaten my client, Mr. Maan Singh Tomar, into surrendering his ancestral land—land that legally belongs to him."

She slid a document forward.

"This includes recorded calls, signed affidavits, and bank trails proving forced settlement attempts."

Amar's lawyer stood again, irritation evident on his face.

"Objection! These so-called recordings are fabricated. Anyone can edit audio nowadays. Aur rahi baat land ki—**"

He scoffed.

"Mr. Tomar ek businessman hai, Your Honour. Power ke kareeb rehne ki aadat hoti hai in logon ko. Jab fayda nahi milta, toh politicians par case thok dete hain."

Maan Singh Tomar shifted in his seat, anger flashing across his face.

Aishwarya turned sharply.

"Mind your language."

The lawyer smirked.

"Sach kadwa hota hai, Ms. Oberoi.Aur waise bhi—aapke client ka record bilkul saaf nahi hai. Tax irregularities, shell companies—"

"Enough."

Aishwarya's voice hardened.

She stepped forward, eyes blazing.

"Aap yeh court hai, koi press conference nahi. Character assassination yahan kaam nahi karegi."

The lawyer laughed mockingly.

"Aap emotional ho rahi hain, lawyer sahiba. Shayad isliye kyunki aap jaanti hain—"

He paused deliberately.

"—a powerful man ko girana itna aasaan nahi hota."

A murmur spread across the courtroom.

Aishwarya inhaled sharply.

"Power se sach nahi badalta," she said firmly.

"Aur na hi dhamkiyon se kanoon."

The lawyer leaned forward, voice rising now.

"Aap jaise log hi system ka misuse karte hain. Feminism aur morality ka mask pehen kar—"

That was it.

"Objection, Your Honour!" Aishwarya snapped.

"This is highly inappropriate and irrelevant."

The judge frowned.

"Counsel, keep your arguments professional."

But the lawyer, emboldened, crossed the line.

He turned slightly toward Aishwarya, eyes cold.

"Professional?Aap jaisi lawyers ko main jaanta hoon—media trial, sympathy card, aur phir ek powerful aadmi ko villain bana do.**"

The courtroom went dead silent.

Even Aishwarya froze for a split second.

Then—

A chair scraped softly against the floor.

Amar Singh Ahuja stood up.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Every eye snapped toward him.

His lawyer stiffened.

"Sir—"

Amar raised a hand.

Silence.

He didn't raise his voice.

He didn't look angry.

Which made it worse.

"Awaaz neeche rakhiye," Amar said calmly, eyes fixed on his lawyer.

"Aur baat sirf case tak simit rakhiye."

The lawyer swallowed.

"B–but sir, main sirf defend—"

Amar finally looked at him.

And the room felt smaller.

"Defend karne ka matlab badtameezi nahi hota."

A beat.

"Aur na hi ek lawyer ki izzat par sawal uthana."

A collective gasp echoed.

Aishwarya stared at Amar—confused, shocked, irritated all at once.

Why was he doing this?

Amar turned slightly toward the judge.

"Your Honour," he said respectfully,

"agar meri taraf se koi bhi counsel court ki maryada todta hai, toh main usse endorse nahi 

karta."

The judge nodded slowly.

"Noted."

Amar's lawyer lowered his gaze, clearly rattled.

Aishwarya recovered quickly.

She straightened her spine.

"Thank you, Your Honour."

Then, without sparing Amar a glance, she continued.

"Now, coming back to facts—"

Her fingers tapped the file.

"Mr. Ahuja's political aides visited my client's residence on three separate occasions. Each time, the message was clear—"

She looked directly at Amar now.

"—sign the papers, or face consequences."

Amar met her gaze.

Unflinching.

"Consequences?" his lawyer muttered under his breath.

Amar cut him off with a look.

Aishwarya pressed on.

"My client refused. And within a week, tax raids, false FIRs, and zoning notices magically appeared."

She placed another file down.

"Coincidence? I think not."

The judge leaned forward, interest piqued.

"Defense, you'll respond after recess."

He glanced at Amar.

"Court is adjourned for lunch."

The gavel struck.

People stood.

Whispers filled the room.

Aishwarya began organizing her files when—

A shadow fell across her desk.

She looked up.

Amar Singh Ahuja stood there.

Close.

Too close.

He placed the gulab he had been holding earlier gently on her files.

"Strong arguments, lawyer sahiba," he said quietly.

"Lekin yaad rakhiye—"

She met his gaze, eyes cold.

"Main kisi ke power se nahi darti, Mr. Ahuja."

His lips curved slightly.

"Pata hai," he replied.

"Tabhi toh yeh case interesting ho gaya."

And with that—

He walked away.

Leaving behind a courtroom buzzing with tension...

And a woman who realized—

This wasn't just a legal battle anymore.

It was personal.

Meanwhile, Mumbai.

Veer stood near the balcony, city noise humming faintly below. One hand rested in his pocket, 

the other held an unlit cigarette he'd been rolling between his fingers for the last five minutes.

Behind him—

"Bhaiii," Rudra groaned for the third time, following him like a lost puppy.

"Tu mujhe ignore kar raha hai. Bata na kaun thi woh ladki."

Veer didn't turn.

Rudra crossed his arms dramatically.

"Main toh keh raha hoon, pehli baar kisi ke liye itna curiosity dekha hai maine tujhe. Naam, college, blood group—sab jaan'na hai tujhe?"

Veer finally spoke, voice calm.

"Did you find out what I asked you?"

Rudra froze.

"...Oh."

Then his eyes widened.

"Ohhh."

He let out a slow whistle.

"Bro. I genuinely thought you were joking."

He shook his head in disbelief.

"But turns out—main sahi tha."

Veer raised a brow slightly.

"About?"

Rudra smirked.

"About the fact that Veer Singh Rathore is officially interested."

Veer scoffed softly.

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

Rudra walked closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

"Give me time till evening. I'll get everything—background, family, routine, even her favorite 

coffee."

Veer turned around then.

And surprised him.

"No need."

Rudra blinked.

"...What?"

Veer met his eyes.

"I already know."