- this is phase 1, when they were 18 years old and how they met

The grand ballroom shimmered under the soft glow of chandeliers, the air thick with expensive perfume and quiet conversations. My friends and I occupied our usual spot—near the bar, where we could comfortably judge bad dance moves, exchange sarcastic commentary, and, most importantly, avoid unwanted male attention.

It should have been the perfect evening—a chance to dress up, enjoy the perks of being an Oberoi, and laugh at the desperation of social climbers.

But no.

Because Rahul Khanna, the human equivalent of a bad cologne overdose, had other plans.

"For the fifth time, Rahul," I said, my voice laced with exasperation, "I'm not interested in dancing with you." 

"But Kiara," he pressed, his attempt at a charming smile more like a grimace, "Why not? I'd treat you like a queen!" he protested, his tone too loud and his desperation bordering on pathetic "just one dance! You haven't even given me a chance." 

Lakshi rolled her eyes. "Does he not own a mirror?"

"I'm betting he doesn't own common sense either," Anushka muttered, hiding her smirk behind her glass.

"He's definitely allergic to rejection," Kritika added, her voice barely audible but dripping with sarcasm.

"For the fifth time, Rahul," I said, exasperation creeping into my tone, "I'm not dancing with you."

Rahul, as always, was oblivious. "You can't just dismiss me like this, Kiara. I'm serious about you!"

"I think his hint detector is permanently out of service," Anushka added, her tone dry as she reached for a macron.

"Someone should unplug and reboot him," Kritika muttered under her breath, earning snickers from the group. 

Rahul took a dramatic step forward, his cologne—a nauseating mix of cheap pine and too much desperation—hitting me like a physical attack. "Kiara, I've liked you for so long. I know we'd be perfect together!"

Oh no. Here it came.

The moment he had been building up all evening.

"Kiara Oberoi," he declared, his voice loud enough to attract curious glances, "will you go out with me?"

And then, as if his dramatic declaration wasn't already horrifying enough, Rahul did the unthinkable.

He dropped to one knee.

My jaw dropped. Across from me, Lakshi froze mid-sip, Anushka choked on her drink, and Kritika's fork slipped from her fingers.

My jaw dropped as my friends froze, torn between horror and hilarity. "I—I can't," I stammered, mentally scrambling for a way out. "I'm, uh... I'm dating someone else!" 

First excuse to come out of my mouth and that too I am dating someone else? I can't even make a valid and logical excuse. Once I read on pinterest that Mentally, I was a slut. Physically, I was terrified of intimacy. Spiritually, I didn't like men. I was confused.

It was written for me.

"Rahul," I tried again, my voice wavering, "please, get up. This isn't funny."

"Funny?" he said, his face a picture of wounded pride.  Lakshi raised a subtle eyebrow, immediately catching on. "Oh yeah," she mused, nudging Kritika. "Her boyfriend would not appreciate this scene."

Kritika smirked. "Definitely not. He's, like, super possessive."

Rahul narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

Shit.

I hadn't thought that far ahead.

"I'm being serious, Kiara! I'm pouring my heart out here. Don't you feel anything?"

"Mortified," I muttered under my breath, glancing helplessly at my friends. Lakshi raised an eyebrow, Kritika smirked behind her glass, and Anushka looked like she was deciding between laughing or helping.

The pressure was unbearable. My mind raced for a way out. If I rejected him outright, it would escalate. If I didn't, he'd keep going. And what if my mother got wind of this? My Uncle would give me that disappointed but calm look that was somehow worse than shouting.

"You're an Oberoi," I reminded myself. "Figure this out."

But at this point

Oh, for the love of everything holy—

"Help me," I muttered under my breath, looking desperately at my friends.

Lakshi raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my misery.

Kritika smirked, mouthing, This is your problem.

Anushka, bless her, gave me a sympathetic look and tilted her head toward Rahul, silently asking if I wanted her to step in.

I widened my eyes and gave her a look that screamed, YES, HELP ME!

Anushka nudged Lakshi, who sighed dramatically.

"Fine," Lakshi mouthed back. Then, with the most subtle of glances, she flicked her eyes toward the bar.

My gaze followed, landing on a man with his back turned to us. His broad shoulders and sharp posture were impossible to miss.

Anushka grinned and raised her eyebrows, silently suggesting, What about him?

I glared at her. "Are you insane? What if he gets to know about this?" I mouthed.

Lakshi gave me an exaggerated nod, while Kritika made a little heart shape with her fingers, barely containing her laughter.

Before I could protest, Rahul spoke again. "Why are you looking around? Kiara, I'm serious!"

My pulse spiked. The crowd was growing more curious, and my parents' potential reaction played on a loop in my head. I had to end this. Now.

People were slowing their dances to watch. A few heads turned from the buffet table, and whispers began to ripple through the crowd. I caught someone in the corner filming the whole thing. What if it ended up online?

My heart sank. What if my brother saw this? My family's golden rule was simple: You're an Oberoi. Act like one. No public drama, no scandals, no scenes. And here I was, starring in one.

"Kiara I asked who?" Rahul asked once again.

Good question. Who indeed. 

I had absolutely no idea.

Panic set in. My friends, bless their terrible souls, didn't even let me think. Lakshi raised her chin subtly, motioning toward the guy at the bar again. As if she was trying to tell me, I paved the way for you to play along with it.

"Uh... him," I said, before I could stop myself.

All our heads turned toward a guy standing by the bar, his back facing us. Broad shoulders filled out a perfectly tailored black suit, the fabric hugging his frame like it was made just for him. His dark hair was tousled in a way that seemed both careless and deliberate, like he'd just walked out of a photoshoot. 

"Oh yeah, that guy," Anushka chimed in, biting back a laugh. 

"Oh, yeah, that guy," I blurted, my voice an octave too high. "Totally dating him. Super serious. I Love Him."

As if the universe couldn't humiliate me enough, the guy turned at that exact moment.

The first thing I noticed was his face—sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that looked like they were perpetually amused by the world. His dark eyes scanned the room with a lazy kind of intensity, as if he owned everything within sight.

And then, to my utter horror, those eyes landed on me.

For a second, he just stared at me, as if he was trying to piece together what was happening. Then a smirk curved across his lips. It wasn't a friendly smirk, either—it was the kind of smirk that promised mischief.

Anushka was giggling. I was panicking. Rahul was fuming.

And Danish Malhotra—heir to the Malhotra Group, notorious troublemaker, absolute menace to my sanity—was smirking like he knew every damn secret in the world.

And worse?

He was walking straight toward me.

I was so. Freaking. Screwed.

I whispered to my friends. "He is gonna expose us. I am dead, please wear pink bikinis at my funeral."

"Good," Lakshi said, grinning.

"Not good!" I hissed, glaring at her.

When he stopped in front of me, his voice was low and smooth,I swore my knees wobbled a little. This was bad. Really bad. I closed my eyes in fear but  "Well, sweetheart," he said, raising an eyebrow, "aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"  with just a touch of humor.

Sweetheart.

I blinked. My mouth opened—no words came out.

Before I could embarrass myself further, Danish wrapped an arm around my waist.

A very solid, very warm arm.

My entire system glitched.

He pulled me closer, his touch searing through the fabric of my dress like a brand.

Oh. No. No. No.

Rahul stared at him, eyes narrowing. "You're dating him?"

"That's right," Danish said smoothly. Too smoothly.

Then, without missing a beat, he turned to me and added, "you really need to stop attracting these pests, Sweetheart."

The warmth of his hand on my hip sent a jolt through me—not that I'd ever admit it.

Rahul hesitated, clearly sizing up the guy who had casually wrapped an arm around my waist like we'd been together for years. "You're really dating him?" he asked, his tone skeptical. 

"Yeah, she is," the guy said smoothly, his smirk widening. "Isn't that right,Sweetheart ?" 

I couldn't even process the fact that he'd just called me SWEETHEART THRICE because Rahul finally got the hint and muttered something about needing to leave, his ego clearly bruised. 

Rahul scoffed. "Since when?"

"Since..." Crap. "A while."

Danish smirked. "Two months."

I whipped my head toward him.

Two months?!

His grip on my waist tightened, a silent warning to play along.

"Oh, yeah, two months," I blurted. "Totally. Very serious. Super real."

Lakshi hid her laughter behind her drink. Kritika was straight-up recording this.

Rahul wasn't convinced. "I don't believe it."

Danish chuckled. "That's a you problem, not an us problem."

Rahul bristled. "Prove it."

What?

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Rahul folded his arms. "If you're really together, then you won't mind proving it."

I was going to vomit.

Lakshi, the traitor, grinned. "Yeah, Kiara. Prove it."

Danish, the bigger traitor, leaned down—too close—his breath warm against my ear.

"Don't freak out," he murmured.

And then—

He kissed my temple.

I froze.

It was barely a kiss. Just a brief touch of lips against skin. Soft. Quick. Casual.

But my entire nervous system short-circuited.

Lakshi gasped dramatically. Kritika nearly dropped her phone. Anushka looked like she was debating between laughing and helping me escape.

Rahul's face fell.

For a second, he just stared.

Then, muttering something under his breath, he stormed off.

I could finally breathe again.

He shrugged, looking infuriatingly calm. "You're welcome," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Who asked you to play the hero?"

"Your friends did." He glanced at them, raising an eyebrow. "Though, judging by how much fun they're having, I'm starting to think this was all a setup. So..." he began, his voice smooth and low, with the kind of confidence that could disarm armies. "Do you even know me?"

I froze. Crap. My mind raced for an answer, but the blank look on his face told me he already knew the truth.

"Relax, sweetheart," he said, completely unfazed. "You dragged me into this. I just played my part."

I wanted to strangle him.

I clenched my jaw. "You're Danish Malhotra."

His smirk deepened. "And you are Kiara Oberoi."

My stomach dropped.

Of course, he knew.

The Malhotras and Oberois were on the verge of finalizing one of the biggest business deals of the decade. Our families had been circling each other for months, negotiating.

And now, I had accidentally dragged the Malhotra heir into my mess.

Perfect.

Before I could come up with some clever retort, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. "The crazy bitch of Oberoi is in relationship with the bastard son of Malhotra? I could have never imagined it."

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. "What?" I managed, the accusation catching me off guard.

He chuckled, the sound low and edged with sarcasm. "Oh, don't look so shocked. That's what they call me, isn't it? The bastard son? I'm sure you've heard the rumors."

I blinked, unsure of what to say. Sure, the tabloids were rife with speculation about the Malhotra family dynamics, but I'd never put much stock in them.

"I—I didn't mean it like that," I stammered, cursing my inability to form a coherent sentence under his scrutiny.

He straightened, his smirk softening just enough to show he wasn't truly offended. "Relax, Oberoi. I'm not actually insulted. But I do find it fascinating that you chose me, of all people, to play your knight in shining armor."

I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out.

He studied me for a moment, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. "So, Kiara," he said, his voice light but edged with curiosity, "mind telling me why I just heard you say you love me?"

I froze, my face flushing. "You—you heard that?"

"Hard not to, considering you said it loud enough for half the room to hear."

"I didn't—well, I didn't mean—"

His eyebrows rose, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "So, you don't love me?"

"No! I mean—wait, that's not what I—" I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose.

My pulse spiked. Say something, anything!

"Oh?" he said, leaning slightly closer. "You didn't mean to confess your undying love for me in front of half the room?"

I clenched my fists, trying to regain some composure. "It wasn't like that."

His smirk softened, but his eyes never left mine. "Then what was it like?"

I couldn't tell him the truth. Not with our families' deal hanging in the balance. Provoking him—or worse, embarrassing him—could ripple into a disaster I wasn't ready to handle.

Before I could retort, Lakshi clapped her hands together. "Well, this has been fun, but I just realized my grandmother is calling me." 

"You don't have a grandmother," Danish pointed out, deadpan. "She's been gone for four years." 

"Yes, well, she's still calling," Lakshi said, already backing away, "maybe it's a ghost call. You never know!" 

"I should check on her too," Kritika added, feigning concern. 

"Same," Anushka said, not even bothering to hide her grin. 

"Wait—" I started, but they were gone, leaving me alone with him. 

"Well, sweetheart," he said, his tone teasing as he crossed his arms, "care to explain why you dragged me into this mess?"

"Not really."

"Not an option."

I blinked, scrambling for an excuse. "I, uh... I think I hear my mom calling me." 

His smirk widened. "Your mom isn't even here." 

"Right, well, she's calling me telepathically," I said, backing away. "Gotta go. Bye!" 

"Next time we meet," he called out, "you'd better have an explanation." 

"Next time?" I stared after him, my pulse hammering, thinking it was over—that I was safe for now. But just as Danish began to walk away, as if he finally saw that I am uncomfortable but he paused mid-step, turned slightly, and threw a smirk over his shoulder. 

"Oh, by the way," he said casually, his tone so light it almost didn't register how loaded his words were. "Don't worry about your mother hearing about this little... confession." 

"What?" I blurted out, a sinking feeling forming in the pit of my stomach. 

He turned back to face me fully, his hands slipping casually into his pockets. "The security cameras? The recordings from tonight? They'll all be wiped before anyone even leaves the venue. So no angry Oberoi family meetings in the morning. You're welcome, by the way." 

My mouth fell open, my brain scrambling to process his words. "Wait—you—what? How do you even—" 

"Have access to the venue's security system?" he finished for me, his smirk deepening. "That's classified. Let's just say I have my ways." 

I stared at him, completely thrown off-kilter. "You... hacked the security system?" 

"Something like that," he said smoothly, clearly enjoying my reaction. 

"You didn't even know what was going on until a few minutes ago!" I protested. 

"And yet here I am, saving your reputation," he said, his tone mockingly sweet. "Efficient, aren't I?" 

I blinked at him, completely dumbfounded. This was no ordinary heir to a corporate empire. This was... something else entirely. 

A  devilish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, and Oberoi," he said, his voice smooth and lazy, but laced with teasing malice, "don't fall further in love with me because of this little rescue. No dramatic gestures, alright? Like writing me love letters with your blood or something equally ridiculous."

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

He raised a brow, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just saying. Wouldn't want your pretty ass to be in pain over me. Can't have the entire Oberoi empire mourning their heiress because of a harmless misunderstanding."

I blinked at him, torn between outrage and disbelief. "Are you always this arrogant, or is tonight special?"

"Special, just for you," he replied smoothly, the grin on his face infuriatingly charming.

"Why would you even do that?" I asked, folding my arms and narrowing my eyes. 

His smirk softened into something resembling amusement. "Because, Oberoi, if your parents find out about this, it could jeopardize the deal. And believe it or not, I'd rather not deal with the fallout of a scorned Oberoi patriarch." 

I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. He hadn't done this for me; he'd done it for himself. Of course. Why else would the heir of the Malhotra Group lift a finger to help me? 

"And let's be honest," he added, his voice dropping an octave. "It was entertaining." 

My jaw clenched. "You're unbelievable." 

"Thank you," he said, flashing a grin so infuriatingly charming it made my blood boil. 

For a moment, I considered arguing with him, pushing back, but then his eyes gleamed with something sharper—something darker, like he was already several steps ahead of me. 

"Anyway," he continued, his tone now nonchalant as he glanced at his watch, "next time we meet, don't forget—you owe me an explanation. For now, let's consider this my good deed of the evening." 

He turned on his heel and started to walk away again, but before disappearing into the crowd, he stopped once more, looking back at me. 

How many times is this guy gonna go forward and take three steps back like a fucking yoyo?

"Oh," he said, his voice just loud enough to carry over the music. "You might want to consider being a bit more selective about who you 'fall in love' with next time." 

I clenched my fists, willing myself not to throttle him in the middle of the ballroom. "I owe you for this," I said grudgingly, trying to inject sincerity into my voice despite the heat rising in my cheeks.

He raised a hand, cutting me off effortlessly. "The only thing you owe me," he said, leaning slightly closer, "is an explanation." His voice dropped an octave, making the air between us feel heavier. "If you're going to fake date me, sweetheart, you should at least get my favorite color right. Until the next time, sweetheart."

And with that, he straightened, gave me one last knowing smirk, and walked away, disappearing into the sea of glittering gowns and tuxedos.

I stared after him, equal parts relieved and rattled. My friends crept back to my side, their expressions a mix of glee and mischief.

I barely noticed my friends reappearing from their strategic hiding spots until Anushka whispered, "Who the hell is that guy?" 

Lakshi smirked. "Danish Malhotra. The Malhotra heir. Apparently, our girl here just confessed her love to him." 

"Shut up," I snapped, shooting them a glare. 

"Hey, no judgment," Kritika said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Honestly? I kind of ship it." 

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "This is a disaster." 

"Oh, it's not a disaster," Lakshi said cheerfully. "It's the start of something epic." 

"Sweetheart," Anushka whispered, barely containing her laughter. "That's what he called you. Sweetheart. I can't believe it."

"Shut up," I snapped, glaring at her.

Lakshi nudged me with her elbow. "He's kind of... perfect, though, isn't he? Handsome, rich, a little dangerous? Honestly, Kiara, if I didn't know better, I'd think you actually had a thing for him."

"I don't!" I said quickly, my voice a little too loud.

Kritika grinned. "Sure, sure. But don't worry, we'll keep your secret."

"It's not a secret if it's not true!" I hissed, my cheeks burning. I glared at her, but the faint smirk on her lips mirrored the one Danish had worn as he walked away, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she might be right.

But despite their teasing, I felt a flicker of relief. Danish Malhotra might have rescued me tonight, but that was the end of it. We moved in different circles. I had no business with him, and he certainly wouldn't waste his time on me.

At least, that's what I told myself as I watched his figure vanish into the crowd, his parting words echoing in my mind.

Until the next time, sweetheart.

What was that supposed to mean? And why did it feel like a promise?