The Glass Wall

The magic of Paris has a strict expiration date. For Ankita, it was printed on a boarding pass: Charles de Gaulle to Mumbai, 10:00 AM.

She stood outside the entrance of the Ritz, her suitcases loaded into a waiting van. The morning was grey and drizzly, the city returning to its moody self, as if mourning her departure.

Or perhaps, she was just projecting.

"You look like you’re heading to a prison, not a film premiere," Aryan’s voice cut through the damp air.

He was leaning against a stone pillar, hands in the pockets of a beige trench coat. He looked tired, but in that devastatingly attractive way that suggested he had spent the night thinking about something important.

"It feels like prison sometimes," Ankita admitted, pulling her coat tighter. "Golden handcuffs. I go back to schedules, interviews, expectations."

"And no mysterious logistics managers to buy you coffee?" Aryan stepped closer, ignoring the bustle of the hotel porters.

"None," she said, a sad smile touching her lips. "I don't think there's anyone like you in Mumbai, Aryan."

She hesitated, then reached into her purse and pulled out a small slip of paper. "Here. It’s my private number. Not my manager’s. Just... mine."

Aryan took the paper as if it were a signed contract worth billions. He stared at the digits, his thumb brushing over her handwriting. The guilt twisted in his gut. He had her real number, but she didn't even have his real name. To her, he was just Aryan.

"I have a confession," he started, the urge to come clean almost overwhelming him. "Ankita, I’m not exactly who—"

"Ma'am! We have to leave now to beat the traffic!" her assistant called out from the van, looking stressed.

The moment shattered.

Ankita looked at him, her eyes wide and expectant. "You’re not what?"

Aryan looked at her—innocent, hopeful, and completely unaware that she was falling for one of the most powerful men in the business world. If he told her now, right before she left, she would panic. She would think he played her.

He forced a smile, masking the CEO with the charmer. "I’m not... a morning person. I’m actually barely awake right now."

Ankita laughed, the tension dissolving. "Me neither."

She stepped forward, rising on her tiptoes. For a breathless second, Aryan thought she might kiss him. Instead, she pressed her cheek briefly against his. She smelled of vanilla and rain.

"Find me," she whispered. "If you ever come to India. Find me."

"I won't have to look hard," Aryan murmured as she pulled away. "You’re going to be everywhere."

She climbed into the van. The door slid shut. As the vehicle pulled away into the Parisian traffic, Ankita looked back through the tinted glass. Aryan was still standing there, a solitary figure in the rain, watching her go until the car turned a corner and he was gone.

Three Months Later - Mumbai, India

The humidity hit Ankita the moment she stepped out of the dubbing studio. Mumbai was a sensory assault—horns blaring, the smell of street food and exhaust, the sheer mass of people.

"Ankita! Ankita! Look here!"

"One photo, ma'am! Just one!"

The paparazzi were waiting. Her debut movie, The Parisian Dream, hadn't even been released yet, but the trailer had dropped yesterday. It had gone viral instantly. Overnight, Ankita had transformed from a nobody into "The New Face of Romance."

She lowered her head, shielding her eyes with oversized sunglasses, and let her bodyguards shove a path to her car.

Once inside the safety of the air-conditioned SUV, she slumped back, closing her eyes. Silence. Finally.

She fumbled for her phone. She opened her messages.

Ankita: Just finished dubbing. My throat hurts. Mumbai is loud today.

She stared at the screen, waiting. Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Aryan: Drink warm water with honey. And remember, you’re louder than the city when you want to be.

Ankita smiled, the knot in her chest loosening. For three months, this text thread had been her lifeline. They messaged every day. Long, rambling texts about her fears, his "boring office drama" (which usually involved him vaguely complaining about 'stubborn old men' who were actually his board members), and late-night voice notes.

She was falling in love with a man thousands of miles away. A man she couldn't mention to her parents or her manager because a rising star dating a "random office guy" didn't fit the narrative.

Ankita: I miss Paris.

Aryan: Paris misses you. I miss you.

She hugged the phone to her chest. She didn't know that on the other end of that connection, the setting was very different.

NK Group Headquarters - Top Floor

Aryan sat in a chair that cost more than a luxury car, staring at his phone with a softness that terrified his employees.

"Sir?"

Aryan snapped his head up. The softness vanished, replaced by the icy, razor-sharp gaze of the CEO.

Standing in front of his massive glass desk was his Marketing Director, Mr. Mehra, looking nervous.

"The proposal, Mehra," Aryan said, his voice clipped. "I don't have all day."

"Right. Yes, sir." Mehra fumbled with a remote. A projector screen descended. "As you know, the NK Group is launching its new 'Eternal' diamond collection next month. We need a face. Someone fresh. Someone who embodies elegance but also... fantasy."

Mehra clicked a button. A picture flashed onto the screen.

It was Ankita.

It was a still from her upcoming movie—the scene in the Louvre courtyard where she looked like a heartbroken queen.

"Her name is Ankita," Mehra explained. "She's a newcomer, but the buzz is incredible. Her image fits our target demographic perfectly. However, she's very new... it might be a risk."

Aryan leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. He looked at the giant image of the woman he had held in his arms in the rain.

He had promised not to interfere. He had promised to be just "Aryan."

But he was tired of texting. He was tired of the distance. And he was tired of hiding.

"It’s not a risk," Aryan said calmly.

"Sir?"

"She’s perfect." Aryan stood up, walking to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Mumbai skyline. "Draft the contract. Offer her double the standard endorsement fee. Make her the Brand Ambassador."

"Double? But sir, her agent will—"

"I don't care about her agent," Aryan interrupted, turning back with a wolfish grin. "I want her signed exclusively to NK Group. And Mehra?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Ensure the contract requires her attendance at the Annual Gala next week. The one where I will be officially introduced as the Group Chairman."

"Of course, sir."

Aryan looked back at his phone. He typed a quick reply to Ankita.

Aryan: Something tells me we’ll be seeing each other sooner than you think.

He hit send. The game was changing. It was time to bring Cinderella to the castle, even if it meant smashing the glass slipper.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***