The city bowed to Veer Adhrit Singhania every morning.

Not because he asked it to—
but because it had learned to.

By the time the sun climbed over the glass-and-steel skyline, Singhania Group Headquarters was already awake. The building stood tall, dominating the heart of the business district like an unshakable truth. Inside it, power moved quietly—measured footsteps, hushed conversations, decisions worth millions made over a single look.

And at the center of it all was Veer.

He walked through the revolving doors with the kind of presence that made people straighten unconsciously. Not loud. Not rushed. Just inevitable. His charcoal suit was crisp, his expression unreadable, his gaze fixed forward. Assistants followed two steps behind, tablets in hand, schedules memorized.

“Good morning, sir,” echoed around him.

He acknowledged none of it—not out of arrogance, but habit. Veer Adhrit Singhania did not waste energy on pleasantries. He reserved it for control.

The elevator doors slid shut, sealing him inside the steel silence. As the numbers climbed, so did the weight on his shoulders. Board meetings. Overseas acquisitions. A leaking internal report that still hadn’t revealed its source. His mind was already ten steps ahead, calculating outcomes, preparing consequences.

For the world, Veer was ruthless.

For the industry, he was untouchable.

For his family, he was the heir who carried legacy like a crown and a curse.

The elevator opened to the executive floor.

Glass walls. Minimalist interiors. A space designed to intimidate. His cabin waited at the far end—private, controlled, impenetrable. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Only then did his shoulders drop—just a fraction.

Because here, no one could see the man beneath the power.

He loosened his cufflinks slowly, methodically, as if control extended even to how he breathed. His desk was spotless. Too spotless. Not a single photograph, not a single personal artifact.

Except one.

A small, slightly crooked drawing pinned discreetly inside a drawer he never left open.

Veer pulled the drawer out now.

Crayons. Uneven lines. A tall man holding the hand of a little girl beneath a sun drawn far too big for the page.

“Papa & Me.”

His fingers paused.

The cold in his eyes softened—not completely, never completely—but enough for the man beneath the CEO to surface.

Anvi.

Six years old. Intelligent. Observant. Quiet in a way that wasn’t shy but thoughtful. She didn’t speak unless she had something meaningful to say. She didn’t ask for things she didn’t need. And she looked at her father like he was the safest place in the world.

She was the only reason he came home on time.
The only reason he ate.
The only reason the darkness inside him never fully won.

A knock broke the moment.

“Sir,” his assistant said carefully, “the board meeting has been moved up. And… Anvi is here.”

Veer’s head lifted instantly.

Here.

He closed the drawer and straightened. “Send her in.”

The door opened again, and the room changed.

Tiny footsteps padded across the polished floor. A small figure stepped in, dressed in a simple pastel dress, hair neatly braided, eyes bright with curiosity. Anvi looked around the vast office like she owned it—which, in a way, she did.

“Papa,” she said softly.

Veer crouched without hesitation, ignoring the expensive suit, the authority, the image. He opened his arms, and she walked into them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re early,” he said quietly.

“You forgot your lunch,” she replied, holding up a small lunchbox with serious accusation.

A corner of his lips curved.

“You came all this way for that?”

She nodded. “Food is important.”

He rested his forehead briefly against hers. “So are you.”

No one else saw this version of him.
No one else ever would.

Because Veer Adhrit Singhania did not belong to softness.

Except when it came to his daughter.

And somewhere beyond the glass walls of power and silence, a woman lived a life entirely unaware that the man she once changed forever was raising their light alone.

Fate had not finished writing their story.

It had only just begun.