I was in the middle of a conversation with my client about an upcoming project-one that would be a major milestone for our company. The presentation was just days away, and I was working day and night to ensure it would bring the recognition and honor we deserved.

"You need to recheck this section of the presentation. I feel it could be improved," I told the client. "I want nothing short of perfection. Understood?"

"Yes, sir, I'll-"

"Excuse me, sir," my secretary interrupted, her tone polite yet urgent.

I turned my attention to her. "Yes?"

"Mr. Oberoi, the CEO of Oberoi Corporations, is here to see you," she informed me.

I gave my client a brief nod, signaling the end of our discussion. "We'll continue this later. You're dismissed."

Once the client left, I turned back to my secretary. "Allow Mr. Oberoi to come in," I instructed, and she promptly left to do so.

A few moments later, the door creaked open, and in walked Mr. Oberoi. He was my age, but far less renowned. While he'd had his share of success, he hadn't achieved the level of fame or financial power that I had.

"What brings you here, Mr. Oberoi?" I asked, not bothering to stand. My voice carried its usual edge of authority.

"Well, Ruhaan-" he started.

"Mr. Raichand," I corrected him sharply.

His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "Apologies-Mr. Raichand. I'm here to propose a collaboration between our companies for a new project. I believe it could be mutually beneficial."

I glanced at my secretary. "Bring us some tea and snacks," I told her before turning back to Oberoi. "Now, why should I partner with you? Is it because you want to piggyback off my fame?" My voice was blunt; I had no tolerance for subtlety when it came to business. Backstabbing and two-faced dealings weren't my style-I confronted people head-on.

He chuckled nervously, shifting in his seat. "No, Mr. Raichand, it's not about fame-"

"You sure?" I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. "Because it seems to me like you're after the recognition and profits that come from aligning with my name. Fame, money, my ideas... What's the point of collaborating? Why don't I just hand you my entire presentation, and you can run with it?" I smirked, mocking him.

Oberoi's face reddened. "No, Mr. Raichand, you're misunderstanding. I meant that-"

I raised my hand, cutting him off. "Enough. Drink your tea and explain yourself properly afterward. Ruhaan Raichand always ensures his guests are well taken care of."

He nodded hesitantly, accepting the cup of tea my secretary had placed before him. Silence lingered for a few moments as he took a sip, seemingly gathering his thoughts.

"You like singing, don't you?" Oberoi suddenly asked, his gaze wandering to a photo on the wall of me holding a guitar. It was from a time I preferred not to remember.

I froze, my eyes narrowing as they flicked to the picture. My jaw clenched. He didn't realize the mistake he had just made.

"Do you really like singing, Mr. Raichand?" he asked again, oblivious to the storm he had just stirred. His tone was casual, but to me, the question cut deep, reopening a wound I had tried to bury for years.

I placed my cup down deliberately, the clink of porcelain sharp in the silence. "Leave," I said, my voice deceptively calm.

Oberoi blinked, confused. "What?"

"Leave. Now." I stood up slowly, my eyes never leaving his. His expression shifted from confusion to alarm, but he still didn't move.

"I don't like repeating myself, Mr. Oberoi. This is the last time I'm saying it-get out."

"But why?" His audacity to question me made my blood boil, but I kept my composure.

I pressed the button on my desk, summoning my secretary. She entered swiftly, her posture stiff.

"Call security. Have them escort Mr. Oberoi out of my office in the next two minutes," I said coldly, already turning my attention back to my work.

Oberoi stood frozen, processing what had just happened. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. A moment later, two guards appeared.

"You're ten seconds late. I'll be deducting that from your salaries," I snapped at the guards without looking up.

They grabbed Oberoi by the arms and began leading him out.

"You'll regret this, Ruhaan Raichand!" he shouted, struggling against their grip.

"That's Mr. Raichand to you," I corrected him with a smirk. "And as for regrets, I've faced bigger threats than a man desperate for fame."

As they dragged him out, he hurled one final insult over his shoulder. "Bastard."

Later that evening, I returned home. The familiar walls of the Raichand mansion felt suffocating tonight. As I made my way to my room, a sharp voice halted me.

"Ruhaan, stop." It was my father, Vivek Raichand, standing in the hallway with his arms crossed and an unmistakable look of anger etched across his face.

I turned to face him, already knowing what was coming.

"Why did you insult Mr. Oberoi today?" he demanded.

I muttered under my breath, "That bastard."

"What did you say?" my father snapped, his brows knitting together in displeasure.

"Because he tried to pry into my personal life," I answered flatly.

"He only asked if you liked singing. What's so personal about that?" He pressed, his voice rising in frustration.

"It's personal to me," I said, my voice cold and detached. My father couldn't understand. No one could.

"Ruhaan, you've been shutting us out for too long. We're all worried about you. This behavior-it's not healthy. You can't keep treating people like this. Sooner or later, you'll push everyone away," He implored, his tone softening. He was right, of course. I had been pushing everyone away for years.

For a brief second, Dr. Sohana's face flashed in my mind-the way I had hurt her, the way I had driven her away, even though I regretted it. But this was different. Oberoi had crossed a line.

"I need to be alone, Dad," I said quietly, my voice thick with exhaustion.

Without waiting for a response, I headed to my room. Once inside, I removed my coat and tossed it carelessly into the wardrobe. Slumping onto the couch, I buried my face in my hands.

"Why is my life such a mess?" I whispered into the empty room. The silence pressed down on me, suffocating and oppressive.

Memories of the past came rushing back, flooding my mind with painful images I had tried so hard to forget. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I let them fall, each drop carrying the weight of years of guilt and self-loathing.

"It's all my fault," I choked out, my chest heaving with sobs.

I was a man who carried the burden of my own mistakes-mistakes that had cost me everything.

"I'm a curse," I whispered through the tears. "I hurt everyone I care about."

The room filled with the sound of my cries, a painful reminder of the past that haunted me every single day.

And there was no escape.

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