Eid Mubarak ✨

-• hatred •-

Yuvraaj Singh Chauhan

On the flight back to Jaigarh, I'm served with a glass of wine and a bunch of magazines. I look through the wide variety of options. Forbes, Vogue, Muse, Femina, Harper Bazaar, and several other. But not a single copy of Icon. If it's not already clear, the magazine is so full of jejune and uninteresting substances that it isn't even worth keeping on an hour short commercial flight.

I shuffle through the stack of magazines, pulling out Muse.

For the next twenty minutes, I flip through the forty pages magazine, trying to see what's so interesting about it that has the netizens in chokehold. But except for beauty tips, a few interviews and photoshopped, flashy pictures of men and women in fancy clothes, I find nothing noteworthy.

"What's so interesting about this?" I ask my secretary.

She doesn't have to look inside to figure out the answer, pointing at the cover in a split of a second. "Elina Parker."

"Who's she?"

Zoya grabs her phone from her jeans pocket and opens one of the social media apps. Then she types Elina Parker in the search box, drawing up a profile page of the said woman.

"21 Million followers?" I lift an impressed brow. "What does she do?"

"She's...... Uhm, she's an influencer."

I blink. "What does that mean?"

Zoya sits straight, strangely uncomfortable with the conversation. "She, uh, she influences people."

"That's a job?"

"It's a sort of profession in the entertainment industry now, yes."

"Well, wha- what does that entail? Like what are the necessary skills?"

Zoya scratches the corner of her left eye, breaking our eye contact to look down at the magazine. But it doesn't look like she's trying to find an answer in it, it's more like she knows the answer, but doesn't know how to articulate it. Which is surprising, since Zoya is a very straightforward woman. That's one of the many reasons why she has been by my side for over fifteen years.

"She records the glimpses of her daily life, they're basically called vlogs nowadays. And she writes blogs, oh and.... she promotes sustainable fashion. She also gives out beauty tips." Zoya lists out, before ending it with, "And she's a daughter of a very famous veteran actor of the movie industry. He's a big deal in both Bollywood and Hollywood. His father was too. They're like... They're like GOATS."

My brows crunch in bewilderment. "Goat. Goat as in the animal?"

"Oh, no," Zoya shakes her head. "GOAT as in greatest of all times. It's an acronym."

"So that's it?" I look down at the magazine cover. "She's just a product of nepotism?"

"In a nutshell." Zoya nods. "But she's a good person -"

"Yeah, half the world is. She's famous because her dad is famous." I say, realising why the demographics of her popularity are at an all-time high. "This is just a faux." I rattle the magazine in annoyance. "It's flashy, it's superficial and it's highly unrealistic. And this is what people love to read? This ranks in top three around the world?" I shake my head in disbelief.

"I'm sure there must be something -"

"Humor me, then." I demand.

Zoya sighs. "I'm - I'm not the right person to talk to about this, Boss. Let's wait until the relocation is through and we can have a meeting with the Chief Editor of Icon and the team."

I slap the magazine on the table top, leaning back on the seat. I didn't really care about Icon until I saw the humiliating deplorable conditions it has prominently sunk in. My mother was a fashion icon, hence the name, and she wanted to establish an independent fashion line, including lifestyle magazines, our own luxury fashion brand, extravagant ramp walks, basically every hulabaloo you need to become a significant part of the entertainment industry. Unfortunately, after her death, I didn't care about her indulgences, so I barely paid attention to Icon and everything related to it.

I made a mistake.

This is no longer just beating Muse.

This is about restoring Icon to its previous glory. The entire fashion line needs a complete rebranding. And I'll be starting with the Icon Magazine. No subsidiary under Chauhan Industries will suffer an unsuccessful fate, no matter what sector they deal with.

When I had reached the Mumbai office of Icon, I was repulsed.

Boxed in a room of 1800 sqft, the place was the last thing one would expect a fashion magazine office to be. The colors were chipping off the walls, the desks barely held on for their dear lives, and the employees? They couldn't give a dime about what they're working on, let alone make it worthy of publishing. And the way they had scrambled to stand straight upon seeing me, shocked, idle faces staring at me in fear and trepidation as I had taken a tour of their so-called "office", ashamed that it is directly linked with the Chauhan Industries.

Relocation is necessary.

Rudra has trained Arush well, and he's handling his responsibilities really efficiently. He proved that in my absence. His disaster management skills are almost up to my standards. But I can't entirely rely on him to take care of the whole conglomerate. We dwell mainly in construction and real estate, and sometimes, it can get highly competitive, especially with the big giants from the first world countries. I have to take care of the Icon on the side, and bring it back on the top, as it was when my mother was alive. I'd be most definitely ridiculed for it, because Yuvraaj Singh Chauhan paying attention to the subsidiary that's running in loss instead of cutting it off? Insane. And I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have a competition.

Apparently, until Sara joined Muse around ten years ago, it was as low in the pits as Icon is now, but she brought it back up. If she can do it, it should be piece of cake for me. And I really, really want to knock that woman down from her high horse. I want to see her get defeated by me. I can't lose to her the second time. Once was more than enough.

I deboard the flight at six in the evening. My Maserati picks us up and I slide in. Zoya slinks inside next to me. "To Esther Headquarters." I tell the driver. Zoya glances at me, then sits back poised.

The drive lasts for about forty five minutes. Zoya takes the lead, keeping the elevator open for me. I walk inside, she presses for the twenty second floor and stands back next to me. The neon numbers on the panel above the doors ascend, stopping at twenty two before the metal doors open with a slick.

At the reception, Rachel stands in attention at the sight of me.

"Your boss?" I inquire, my voice reverberating across the room with a profound impact, turning multiple curious heads around.

"In the conference room," she points with the end of her fountain pen.

I head to the conference room, knock once and push the door open. The man at the head of the table looks over his shoulder, annoyed in the first glance, before the irritation fades at the sight of me. He pinches the bridge of his nose. My jaw works tightly.

"We'll continue this later. You're dismissed."

A flurry of employees in vivid outfits scatter, pens click, laptops close, coffee cups are squashed and disposed, and multiple pair of feet scurry outside the conference room, the door swinging close after the last one disappears.

I remove my suit jacket, fold it neatly, and leave it nestled in the hands of my secretary.

Rudra gets up from his chair, taking a cautious step back. "We can talk this out."

I click my tongue. "You're a month late."

"Yeah, well, it takes time."

"For what?" I roll up my sleeves.

"Look, man, I'm your sister's husband. And she loves this face, okay. You don't want to get into her bad books, do you?" He chuckles nervously. "Zoya, stop him yar." His ebony eyes flicker to my secretary in a quick motion.

"Stop resisting." I wheel the chair back, the last obstacle between me and him. "You'll make it painful for yourself."

"You sound like a convicted criminal."

"I'm about to act like one." I swing a punch on the motherfucker's face. His body whips to the side. I grab him by the collar and straighten him up. "Why the fuck did I not know about her?"

He meets my eyes. Licks the bleeding cut on the corner of his lips. Chuckles derisively. "Because you're demented." He snaps, throwing my hands off him. "You guys are divorced. Stay away from her."

"Oh, you've suddenly got the guts to answer back to me now. That's a surprise. But I'm not really fond of your progress." I drag his chair near the table and settle down, sitting with my legs crossed as I tap my fingers on the mahogany desk. "Did you forget what I've done for you?"

He stands straight and fixes his crumpled shirt. "Look, Yuvraaj, I owe you, alright. And I'm not refusing that. But keep Sara out of this-"

"I remember telling you exactly the same thing when you blackmailed my sister!" I spit out.

"I was a kid-"

I scoff.

"Okay, fine, I was wrong. We both know I was wrong. So why are you making the same mistake?"

"Mistake?" I narrow my eyes at him.

"Let her go, man. You never really loved her, did you?" He asks rhetorically. I clench my jaw and look away. "You're just pissed that she left you. Which is ridiculous, Yuvraaj. You-"

"What's ridiculous is her putting a loaded gun to my head and ordering me to sign the divorce papers!" I get up, enraged at the memory, pacing back and forth to compose myself. He stands stunned, speechless at the revelation. I stop in front of him. "What's ridiculous is her threatening to kill me if I didn't let her go. That's what's ridiculous, Rudra." I enunciate. "She shot me."

His eyes go wide.

"Here." I point to my waist. "She intentionally shot me so the bullet grazed my skin. Then she threatened to put it through my skull if I didn't give her what she wanted. That's what's ridiculous." I say through clenched teeth. "I'm wrecking that woman. That's a promise. You want to be her brother? Protect her from me? Be my guest. But you know it too, Rudra, I'm the best ally to have, and the worst enemy to make." Patting his shoulder one last time, I storm out of his office.

Zoya follows me in a jiffy. We make it back to my car and pull off the premises. She drops me off at the palace, and then drives herself home.

I throw the door of my room open and walk in, slamming it shut after me, heading straight inside the bathroom. Stripping off my clothes, I turn on the shower knob and duck my head beneath the cold water.

The moments from the temple flash behind my closed lids. I don't know how I missed her distinct scent in the temple, it had always been the first thing about her to capture my attention. She was right there. Right next to me. I could have cuffed her wrist with my hand and dragged her to a secluded place, cornering her in the dark until I could see a flicker of fear in those golden hues. She never looked at me with fear. Never.

But when I saw her, so up close, everything else but surprise was lost on me. I didn't expect to meet her there, and I did not expect her to end up right next to me as we prayed to the God. I wasn't planning on stopping at the temple. But it was Tuesday and I rarely go to Mumbai with time on my schedule to spare on anything else but the meetings, so I had a chance, and I took it.

I should have reacted faster.

Looking down at the scar running across my torso, I feather an index over it and exhale a deep breath. The memory burns through me. She had been so unhesitant when she pulled that trigger, not an ounce of doubt in her eyes. I grind my teeth together, agitated at the memory.

Turning off the shower knob, I pluck out the towel from the hanger and wrap it around my lower half, heading into my walk-in wardrobe to put on something comfortable.

Then I join my siblings for dinner. It's mandatory, an unsaid rule in the household to have at least one meal together. It had been insufferable before Taranya came, her arrival flipped our lives upside down, and it started from the dinners we shared with her. She is the light of this palace, now brightening someone else's home. I know my remaining siblings miss her. We've descended back into the old silence that we're not used to anymore.

"Arush,"

He lowers his spoon in the plate and gives me his entire attention.

"There'll be a shift in work dynamics between us coming Monday. You'll have to take care of a lot of things. We're almost done with the resort project, and are getting started on Phase two for Metrorail. I'll need you to lead that, will you be okay?"

He looks at me unsurely. "Why?" A nervous swallow of his throat. "I mean, are you going somewhere -"

"No, I'll be at the office. And I'll be there whenever you need me. I'll also take care of the remaining subsidiaries, but you'll have to focus on the Construction."

He clears his throat. "I- I've recently started to understand how things work -"

"Bhai, he's already overworked." Vivaan cuts in. I look at him sternly. Doesn't faze him. "He had to handle a lot when you were in the custody. Cut him some slack."

"I don't have time. Do you guys know we've a fashion magazine that we issue out every month?" I ask the men.

"Yeah, I knew of it." Agastya mutters. "It's still there? I haven't seen it in the market for, like, ten years."

"Well, apparently, it's still being published, just that nobody cares. The entire fashion subsidiary is suffering greatly. No one's buying our products at the stores. Every marketing gimmick is proving to be a failure. A brand affiliated to us is not successful, and I cannot stand that."

"Then cut it off." Vivaan states.

"Just like that?" I raise a bemused brow at him. "And what about the employees? Lay them off? What about their families? They've been a part of Chauhan Industries for over twenty years. I can't just cut them off."

"Why now?" Vivaan leans in curiously.

I clear my throat.

"If it evaded your attention for over a decade, how did it catch your eye now?"

"Did you know Muse is ranked first in the Asia?" I ask the boys. "I read their last month's edition. It's nothing great. They don't deserve it. We do."

"Muse, right." Vivaan nods.

"What?"

"That's where Sara Bhabhi works."

Yuvaan stops eating, now paying us attention. My jaw clicks. "Not your bhabhi."

His gaze drops to my ring, again, as if to prove a point. "Sure. Take that off first and maybe I'll consider taking you seriously."

I reach for the ring and slide it off halfway before I hesitate. I don't know why. I hate the woman. I hate her with passion. But the fact that she made me divorce her with a gun on my head pisses me of so much. This ring is the only proof that we were once together, that my anger, my rage is not irrational. She deserves what's coming to her.

"I'll take it off when I'm done with her." I pin his eyes with mine.

"And what are you planning to do with her?" He asks nonchalantly.

My lips tilt at the corner, in a subtle smirk. I let the question hang.