《 1 》

Waking up in the morning.

Nothing special about it. Everyone does it.

But the thing is-every day, life hands you a chance.

Some people grab the motherfucker by the throat and rip destiny open.

Others let it rot on the table because they're too damn lazy to move.

Me? I'm somewhere in between.

Too obedient to disobey, too restless to be still.

Filling in the empty gaps in my story-or letting someone else do it for me.

Most days, I can't tell the difference.

I'm Anvita Ramaswamy.

Elder daughter of Devraj Ramaswamy.

Twenty-four years old.

Heir to his empire.

Or, as people like to whisper behind closed doors-his illegal syndicate.

That's what I know.

Or maybe... that's what they want me to know.

---

I rose from the bed and made my way toward the washroom.

My bare feet padded across the cold marble.

A full-length mirror stared at me like an old enemy.

I stared back.

Same eyes. Same lips. Same face.

But the reflection?

Sometimes... I don't even recognize her.

Is this really me?

Or a version of someone I'm being forced to believe?

I kicked the thought out of my mind like I always do.

No time for existential breakdowns.

---

The shower rained over me like a fake monsoon.

It never washes anything away.

When I stepped out, there it was again-

A small white pill. Sitting on a plate on my coffee table like an old friend I never invited.

I don't know what it does.

I've been taking it for... months? Years?

I can't even recall.

My father told me to.

And when I asked him why-he gave me a vague smile and said,

"It helps with the headaches, beta."

But I don't get headaches.

At least... I don't remember having them.

Still, I swallow it like clockwork.

No questions. No rebellion.

Just a quiet nod to the man who raised me.

---

Dressed in a blue tailored suit . Which complement my body . And a watch which appa gift me it's a rose gold watch I love wearing it even tho I have hundreds of them but this one is special.

Same routine. Same silence.

Father at the head of the table.

His empire tucked beneath his fingers as he scrolled through the headlines.

To his left sat my little sister.

Twelve years younger.

Innocent. Bright. Oblivious.

She ate her idlis like a child with no care in the world.

Father always told me to protect her.

Every single day-like a mantra.

"You must protect her, Anvita."

I never asked why.

I just nodded.

Today was no different.

"You're late again," he said the moment I sat down.

I smiled. "Morning to you too."

He didn't look up.

Didn't need to.

His words held enough weight to crush nations.

---

I ate quietly, until he spoke again.

"You're coming to the office with me today."

My fork paused mid-air.

"Office? Why suddenly?"

"One day, you'll handle it all. You already know how. But you don't act like it."

His eyes finally met mine.

"Time to start acting."

I forced a smile.

"Practical knowledge over theory. Got it."

He nodded. "Exactly."

No room for arguments.

Not that I ever offered any.

I don't question him.

Even when I want to.

Even when something inside me screams that this isn't normal.

---

As we dropped off my sister at school and continued toward the office, the car was thick with silence.

Then he said, "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not," I replied instantly. But maybe I was.

"You're my daughter, Anvita.

That's all the power you'll ever need.

You could walk into any room and own it.

Today, you'll attend a board meeting with me."

His voice was sharp. Not comforting-just... commanding.

"Understood?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, even if a part of me wanted to say no.

---

The city blurred outside the window.

Buildings. Traffic. People who didn't know who I was.

People who didn't have to take pills they didn't understand.

People who weren't born into a world of shadows and half-truths.

But me?

I was Anvita Ramaswamy.

Daughter of a king.

Prisoner of a crown.

And I was about to step into the very heart of an empire I wasn't even sure belonged to me.

I step out of the armored car, its bulletproof frame gleaming like the shell of a beast bred for war. That's exactly what it is-our second skin, our shield, a necessity in the world we belong to. A world where enemies sprout from shadows, born not only from betrayal but sometimes from mere existence. Half of them, we don't even know by name. Some? We don't even know they exist.

The road beneath my heels feels like marble-smooth, cold, ready to echo whatever weight I choose to place on it. The world recognizes who I am, not because I've proven myself yet, but because of my surname. Because I am a Ramaswamy.

The car slows to a halt in front of a skyscraper that cuts through the clouds like a blade. The building doesn't need to roar for attention-it simply exists. Dominates. Watches. Alpha. That's what they call it. Fitting, really. The tallest in this part of the city. A throne among structures. It stands still, yet commands everything around it to move.

My father steps out first.

As always.

He walks ahead of me, and I follow-not out of submission, but because it's his battlefield for now. I'll claim my own soon.

Security opens the door with military precision. They nod their heads low as my father passes. Their silence isn't fear-it's respect. Earned. Not borrowed.

I walk behind him, spine straight, eyes ahead. I'm in a tailored navy-blue suit that hugs my curves and screams 'command,' not 'compliance.' The world wants women like me to smile politely, to soften corners. But I'm all edges. All blade. Let them bleed.

As we near the escalator, his secretary joins. His secretary-Mihir-joins us. That moody fucker never talks unless spoken to. And even when he speaks, I wish he wouldn't. Cold eyes, fake smile, and always pretending like he's doing the world a favor just by existing.

The three of us ascend in silence. You could hear a pin drop. No idle chatter. No empty thoughts. Just the hum of a machine carrying two kings and one soon-to-be queen to the war table.

My father stares ahead, jaw clenched slightly, the crease between his brows deepened in thought. Plotting. Calculating. Maybe remembering something no one else is allowed to recall.

He's a beautiful man. Objectively. But beyond that, he's powerful-and power always looks good, doesn't it? His age shows in the corners of his eyes and in the dark crescents beneath them, but it adds something. Gravity. Legacy. He could hand off everything to a hundred men who'd obey him blindly. But he doesn't. He leads, not because he must, but because he won't settle for less than perfection.

I still have so much to learn from him.

The elevator opens to the top floor. The air feels different here-rarefied. Sharper. As if only a certain kind of soul can breathe it without choking.

This is no longer the public building. This is the kingdom. The throne room. The floor that doesn't show up on blueprints unless you know what you're looking for. People don't wander here. They're summoned.

The secretary disappears behind one of the side doors. My father and I walk through another.

The boardroom is massive, longer than it is wide, all stone and steel, but warmed by subtle lighting and dominance. The table stretches across the room like a runway, with chairs arranged like guards in formation. Men sit at the table. All men. And me.

Anvita Ramaswamy.

The single woman in a sea of tailored power and testosterone.

Do they intimidate me?

Not even a little.

Let them whisper. Let them side-eye and mutter and wonder what a woman is doing here. I'm not just any woman-I'm his daughter. And that alone is enough to rip open doors and shatter glass ceilings. But more than that, I know what I'm capable of. And today, they'll get a taste.

My father walks to the head of the table. Every single man stands.

He lifts a hand. They sit.

He looks at me.

"This is Anvita," he says, his voice calm but cold enough to snap bone. "My daughter. She'll be joining us from today."

A murmur goes through the room. One of them, an old man with a silver beard and the eyes of a fox, leans to whisper something to the man beside him. Another chuckles under his breath.

I catch it.

So does my father.

"What was that?" His voice is quiet. That kind of quiet that storms live in.

The man straightens. "Nothing, sir."

"Good," my father replies. "Because if I had heard something, I would've assumed you were questioning my judgment. And we both know where that leads."

The silence after that is beautiful.

He proceeds with the meeting, and I listen, taking mental notes. Strategy. Expansion. Investments. Control.

When it ends, the men leave, some with stares heavy enough to bruise. But I don't flinch. I meet every one of them with eyes that say: "Try me. I dare you."

My father gestures for me to follow. Down a quiet corridor lined with glass and secrets, he stops at a door right next to his own. Gold letters glint on the frosted surface:

Anvita Ramaswamy

He turns to me. "Your office. If you need anything, ask me."

Just like that, he walks into his cabin and shuts the door.

I stand there for a moment. Then push open mine.

It smells like leather and ambition. Clean. Sharp. My desk is already filled with files. Red folders, blue folders, black ones. I dive in, scanning numbers, decoding proposals. Some of it is new. Some, I've seen before during my private training. But all of it is layered with power. I like it.

An hour later, I have a question. Just a minor clarification.

I walk over to his office. The door's ajar.

Then I hear it.

Voices. Raised.

One of them is his. The other?

My stomach twists.

Him.

My father's half-brother. The snake in a suit. His blood, but never his equal. A man I detest with every cell of my body. Because I know what he's done. The whispers I've heard growing up weren't all lies. The empire cracked once-years ago-and I know who stood behind it, smiling with blood on his hands.

He's here. Again.

Why does my father keep letting him in?

The argument inside escalates. I hear phrases like "not your decision," "don't push me," "this isn't your empire to break." But I don't walk away.

I press my ear to the door.

"You're making a mistake," the man hisses.

"She's not yours to manipulate," my father fires back. "Don't even think of using her."

"Oh, come on, devraj . She's just a girl playing boss. You think she's ready?"

"She's more ready than you ever were."

I don't realize I've pushed the door open until both of them turn.

My father's eyes soften when he sees me.

His half-brother's lips curl.

"Speak of the devil," he mutters.

I don't blink. "You called?"

My father sighs. "Anvita. You needed something?"

"Just a clarification on the Istanbul portfolio."

He nods. "Wait outside. I'll be right there."

I glance at the other man. "You should leave. Before you get escorted out."

He laughs. "Your tongue's sharp for a girl who hasn't earned her throne yet."

"My crown isn't up for discussion. And your expiration date passed a decade ago."

That wipes the smile off his face.

I shut the door behind me and walk back to my office, heart pounding-but steady.

This is the world I was born into.

And I'm going to rule it.

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