The ballroom of Mumbai's Grand Taj Palace Hotel shimmered like a gilded cage, its crystal chandeliers scattering light across a sea of sequined gowns and tailored suits. The air hummed with the clink of champagne flutes and the whispered calculations of the elite. At the center of this orchestrated chaos stood Ishani Rathore, her emerald-green gown pooling around her like frozen waves, the diamond choker at her throat a deliberate shackle of her own making.

Click. Click. Click.

The cameras were relentless, their flashes etching her image into a thousand hungry lenses. She could already see the headlines: Ice Queen Melts? Ishani Rathore Drops Bombshell at Economic Summit.

"Ms. Rathore!" A reporter from Business Today shoved a microphone toward her, his eager grin at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Your company, Astraea Innovations, has topped the Fortune 500 list for two consecutive years. Forbes has dubbed you the Most Eligible Bachelorette—again. What's the secret to your success?"

A hush fell over the crowd.

Ishani's lips curved, the smile not reaching her eyes. "Betrayal."

The reporter blinked. "I—pardon?"

She leaned in, close enough for the scent of her jasmine perfume to sting his nostrils. "You heard me. Get cheated on. Watch the person you love cheat with your only friend on your third anniversary. Let him lock you in a basement for a year when you try to leave." Her voice was a velvet-wrapped dagger. "Then crawl your way out, and rebuild yourself from nothing."

The silence was deafening.

A nervous titter broke from the crowd. Surely, she's joking?

But the scars peeking above her gown's neckline told another story.

Kriti, her ever-loyal CFO, materialized at her elbow, her grip firm. "That's enough for tonight."

As they swept through the parting crowd, the whispers chased them like ghosts:

"They say Arjun Mehta still sends her roses every week."
"Did you see the marks on her back at the Maldives photoshoot?"
"No wonder she's called the Ice Queen."

The limousine door slammed shut, sealing them in blessed silence. Kriti exhaled. "Ishu, was that necessary?"

Ishani stared out at the neon-lit city, her reflection a ghost in the glass. "He asked for the truth."

"I'm tired of fighting for myself. I want someone to fight for me."

"Careful for what you wish. Who knows if the Gods are listening."