Party invite

The ballroom was a symphony of crystal chandeliers and the clinking of expensive champagne flutes, a playground for the elite. Nithyamathi moved through the crowd like a shark in silk, her eyes constantly darting, assessing the watch brands, the necklines of the women, and the density of the clusters of men.

She held your arm in a grip that was deceptively gentle, a subtle warning not to stray too far from her orbit.

You felt like a mannequin, dressed in an exquisite, heavy designer lehenga that cost more than some people made in a year. You were the bait, perfectly staged. But the air inside was stifling, the scent of heavy perfume and insincere laughter making your head spin.

With a low murmur about needing air, you slipped away, weaving through the French doors and into the quiet, cool sanctuary of the garden.

Back inside, Nithyamathi was losing her patience. Her "targets" were proving to be either already married, too old, or—most annoyingly—too stingy. She sipped her drink, scanning the room with predatory intent, when a sudden ripple of electricity moved through the crowd.

The music didn't stop, but the energy shifted.

A hushed, reverent silence seemed to follow the man walking through the grand entrance. He was tall, dressed in a sharp, impeccably tailored suit that seemed to cut through the opulence of the room like a blade.

Nithyamathi leaned in, her ears pricking up like a hunting dog. Behind her, a group of socialites were fanning themselves, their voices breathy with excitement.

"It’s Mr. Kim... Kim Shan," one whispered. "The tycoon from Korea. They say his conglomerate is expanding into our sector. He’s brilliant, ruthless, and absolutely devastatingly wealthy."

Nithyamathi watched him, her eyes narrowing. She saw the way he carried himself—a man who owned everything he touched. But then, the whisper continued, carrying the detail that made her breath hitch.

"Such a tragedy, though. He lost his wife only a few months ago. Left behind with two little ones—twins. He’s been inconsolable, they say."

Nithyamathi’s heart didn't break for him; it soared. A widower. A man with children who needed a mother—or, more accurately, a nanny and a status symbol. He had no wife to compete with, no mother-in-law to override her influence, and his wealth was practically untouchable. The fact that he had twins meant he was desperate for stability. He was, in her twisted calculation, the perfect investment.

Her mind raced, already discarding the previous candidates. Five crore was a pittance compared to the Kim legacy. She smoothed her hair, her face rearranging itself into an expression of calculated, mourning grace. She needed to find you—to present you as the "pure, quiet" girl who had survived a tragedy of her own, a mirror to his own loss.

Outside, unaware that your life had just been sold to a stranger in the next room, you wandered toward the fountain. The cool water misted against your face, and for a fleeting second, you looked down into the dark, reflective pool.

The face looking back at you—young, beautiful, and utterly hollow—felt like someone else’s.

You reached into your small velvet clutch and touched the notebook you’d stolen from your room. Your fingers traced the jagged, frantic handwriting again. 'I can't stay here anymore. She's bargaining with my life.'

Suddenly, the heavy glass doors swung open.

Nithyamathi’s silhouette appeared against the golden light of the ballroom, her expression one of predatory triumph. She didn't call out to you; she simply walked toward you, her heels clicking against the stone path like a countdown.

"Priya," she purred, her voice dripping with an artificial sweetness that made your skin crawl. "Come here, darling. I have found someone you simply must meet. A man of… substantial interests."

She grabbed your hand, her nails digging into your skin, and began pulling you toward the ballroom, effectively ending your moment of peace.

As you were dragged back toward the light, you spotted a man standing on the veranda above—Mr. Kim. He was staring out into the darkness, away from the crowd, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. Even from this distance, you could see the absolute, crushing loneliness in the set of his shoulders.

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