Chapter 2

...The Aroras...

The Arora name wasn’t new to Dehradun.

Years ago, before expanding internationally, the Aroras were already one of the strongest industrial families in the region. At the center of it all stood Abhimanyu Arora — a man known for discipline, authority, and old-school business values. He built the foundation of the Arora empire from the ground up.

His elder son, Sanjay Arora, was ambitious. Unlike his father, he believed in global expansion. Years ago, he moved to Italy after marrying Eliana Moretti Arora, an Italian woman from a powerful background.

Eliana wasn’t just wealthy.

She was the daughter of a well-known mafia lineage in Italy.

The marriage wasn’t just romantic — it was strategic. Business networks expanded. Influence deepened. Their empire grew rapidly across Europe. Machinery, luxury exports, strategic investments — their reach stretched far beyond India.

Sanjay and Eliana have two children:

Ayaan Arora (29) – calm, composed, observant. The future face of the empire.

Zoyi Arora (25) – intelligent, socially sharp, and more expressive than her brother.

Meanwhile, Sanjay’s younger brother Ajay Arora stayed in India, handling domestic operations. His son, Zayn Arora (31), has always been active in Indian business circles.

Now, at Abhimanyu Arora’s insistence, Sanjay has returned.

Not just for a visit.

For good.

The Arora headquarters would now operate from Dehradun.

And tonight’s party wasn’t just a welcome.

It was a declaration.

...Mahi’s POV...

University felt longer than usual that day.

Anu was walking beside me, going on about some professor’s mood swings, but my mind kept drifting back to what Mumma said in the morning.

“The Aroras are returning.”

When we reached the parking area, she grabbed my arm.

“You’re coming to the café, right?”

“I can’t,” I sighed. “Family party. Some big industrialist return thing.”

She widened her eyes dramatically. “Rich people problems.”

I rolled mine, but I was already thinking about what the night would look like.

By the time I reached home, the sky was turning golden.

Maggie was waiting in my room with options laid out on the bed.

Soft fabrics. Subtle shimmer. Nothing too loud.

“What’s the vibe?” she asked.

“Elegant,” I said. “Not desperate.”

She laughed under her breath.

As she helped me get ready, I stood in front of the mirror longer than usual. Not because I was nervous. Just… curious.

The Aroras had always been a distant name in business conversations. Italy. Mafia ties. Expansion. Strategy.

Now they were here.

When I walked downstairs, Mihir bhaiya adjusted his watch, already in a perfectly tailored suit. Papa looked calm as always. Mumma looked graceful, as if she belonged in any high-profile gathering without trying.

The drive to the Arora mansion was quiet.

As we entered their estate, it was clear they hadn’t returned quietly.

The mansion stood tall, lit with warm golden lights. Security was tight. Luxury cars lined the driveway. Staff moved with precision.

This wasn’t show-off wealth.

This was controlled power.

Papa immediately spotted Sanjay Arora. They greeted each other with familiarity — old friends reconnecting after years.

After a few minutes, Papa gestured toward me.

“This is my daughter, Mahi.”

Sanjay uncle studied me for a second before smiling politely. Beside him stood Mrs. Eliana Arora.

She was striking. Not loud. Not overly expressive. Just… observant. Like she noticed everything without reacting.

I greeted them respectfully.

Then I felt someone step beside me.

“Hi. You must be Mahi.”

I turned to see Zoyi Arora.

She didn’t carry the intimidating aura I expected. She was warm. Curious. Easy to talk to.

The music was soft. Conversations blended into a low hum. Crystal glasses clinked gently. Everything felt controlled, elegant.

Papa was busy catching up with Sanjay uncle, talking about business expansions and old memories. Mumma stood beside Mrs. Eliana Arora, discussing culture, Italy, and the shift back to India.

Mihir bhaiya had already moved toward a group of businessmen, slipping naturally into business conversations.

And I was standing with Zoyi.

She wasn’t intimidating like I expected. She was warm, curious, and surprisingly easy to talk to. Within minutes, we were discussing university life, shifting countries, and how different India feels after living abroad.

The Arora mansion didn’t feel chaotic.

It felt organized. Intentional.

Like every light, every flower arrangement, every guest had been carefully chosen.

Tonight wasn’t dramatic.

It was strategic.

And I could tell this return to India meant something big — not just for them, but for families like ours too.

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