Episode 1

​The humidity of a Mumbai morning didn’t care about Ananya’s big day.

​Ananya stood in front of the cracked full-length mirror in her bedroom, tugging at the collar of her crisp white cotton kurta. It was the "intern uniform"—simple, professional, and safe. She reached for the concealer on her dresser, her fingers hovering over the tube.

​“Ae, Kaali Kalooti, kitna bhi laga le, chamkegi nahi.” (Hey, Blackie, no matter how much you apply, you won't shine.)

​The ghost of a schoolyard taunt from ten years ago echoed in her ears. Her hand trembled slightly. She stared at her reflection—her dusty, deep cocoa skin tone, the sharp features she usually hid behind her hair, and the eyes that looked like they had seen too many battles for a twenty-one-year-old.

​"Anu! If you spend one more minute staring at yourself, the local train won't wait for your 'Lawyer Entry'!"

​The door creaked open, and Kabir leaned against the frame, a half-eaten paratha in his hand. At twenty-four, her engineer brother was a whirlwind of energy. He noticed her frozen hand and his expression softened instantly. He walked over, ruffling her hair and ruining her neat braid.

​"Don't start with the 'I'm not pretty' face," Kabir said, his voice dropping the teasing tone. "You’re going to Raichand Enterprises to win cases, not a beauty pageant. Besides, if any of those South Bombay snobs say a word, you tell me. I’ll bring Ishaan Bhai and his stethoscope to check if they have a brain."

​Ananya managed a small smile. "Ishaan Bhai is a pediatrician, Kabir. He’d probably just give them a lollipop and tell them to nap."

​"Exactly! Because they’re babies compared to my sister," Kabir grinned. "Now move! Mom has packed enough tiffin to feed the entire legal department."

​Meanwhile, at Raichand Towers...

​Thirty floors up, the air was filtered and smelled of expensive sandalwood and cold ambition.

​Advait Raichand didn't look at the sunrise. He looked at the data on his tablet. At thirty, he moved with the precision of a man who knew exactly how much every second of his life was worth.

​"The new batch of interns starts today, sir," his assistant, Meera, said breathlessly as she struggled to keep up with his long strides toward the boardroom.

​Advait didn't slow down. "Filter them. I don't want the ones who are here for the 'Raichand' tag on their Instagram. I want the ones who can actually read a contract without getting a headache."

​"There's one girl, sir... Ananya Sharma. Topper from her University. She's—"

​"I don't care about her name, Meera," Advait interrupted, his voice cold and flat. "Check her background. If her father has a net worth under ten crores, she’s probably just here hoping to catch a rich husband. They all are."

​He stepped into the boardroom, the glass doors closing behind him like a silent verdict. He didn't believe in luck, he didn't believe in "hard-luck stories," and he certainly didn't believe in anyone who didn't have a price.

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