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Sanya Mathur was not just any woman—she was the kind of woman who turned heads effortlessly, the kind whose presence commanded attention without her having to utter a word. She lived in a world where beauty was power, and she wielded it like a queen. Tonight was no different. The party awaited, and she had to be the most unforgettable person in the room.
Stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush white robe, she exuded effortless elegance. Her damp hair cascaded over her shoulders, droplets of water glistening against her flawless skin. The scent of vanilla and orchids clung to her, rich and indulgent, a reminder that she surrounded herself only with the finest things in life.
Sanya Mathur’s room is the epitome of luxury—an extravagant blend of opulence and whimsy, reflecting her spoiled yet clueless personality. The massive space is bathed in soft golden lighting, highlighting the grandeur of its high ceilings adorned with intricate gold-leaf moldings. A shimmering chandelier, dripping with Swarovski crystals, hangs at the center, casting a dreamy glow over the plush surroundings.
The walls are a regal shade of blush pink with gold paneling, accentuated by enormous floor-to-ceiling mirrors framed in delicate carvings. A grand four-poster bed, draped in sheer silk curtains and covered with the softest velvet bedding in shades of ivory and rose, dominates the room. The headboard is an elaborate masterpiece—handcrafted, tufted, and encrusted with subtle diamond-like embellishments.
One side of the room boasts an enormous walk-in closet, more like a personal boutique, lined with designer outfits, shelves stacked with luxury handbags, and an entire wall dedicated to shoes. The other side has an opulent vanity table, cluttered with high-end makeup and perfumes, their crystal bottles gleaming under the soft glow of ornate sconces.
A chaise lounge, upholstered in rich satin, sits by a large French window draped with cascading silk curtains, offering a breathtaking view of the mansion’s sprawling gardens. A Persian carpet, so plush it feels like walking on clouds, covers the marble flooring.
Despite its elegance, there are touches of Sanya’s playful obliviousness—frivolous décor choices like a life-sized stuffed unicorn in one corner, a ridiculously large teddy bear on the bed, and a neon sign above the vanity that reads Queen of Everything.
The room, much like Sanya herself, is excessive, dazzling, and a little over-the-top—an enchanting mix of sophistication and absurdity.
She took her seat before the grand vanity, where an array of luxury beauty products awaited her. Skincare came first—each serum and cream applied with a precision that spoke of habit, of knowing she was meant to shine. The mirror reflected her face, already striking, yet she knew how to elevate it further.
Makeup was an art, and Sanya was the artist. A flawless base, sculpted cheekbones, eyes lined with the perfect flick of eyeliner—sharp enough to cut through the dullness of the ordinary. Her lips, painted a deep, sultry red, were a statement in themselves. Everything about her look was designed to captivate, to leave an impression that lingered long after she walked away.
Then came the most crucial decision—the outfit. Her walk-in closet, a kingdom of designer labels, held endless possibilities, yet she stood before it, tapping her manicured fingers against her chin in mock frustration. Finally, she reached for a wine-colored gown, smooth as silk, its every fold draping around her like it had been tailored for a goddess. She paired it with diamond studs, a delicate bracelet, and gold heels that clicked against the marble floor with each confident step.
As she descended the grand staircase, the soft rustle of her gown accompanied each graceful step. Her mother looked up first, eyes gleaming with admiration, while her father got up from sofa,
"You look stunning, beta,"
he said, pride evident in his voice.
"Like a princess."
Sanya smirked, tilting her chin slightly, basking in the compliment.
"Not a princess, Papa,"
she corrected with playful arrogance.
"A queen." .
Devansh Mathur, her father, chuckled at her arrogance but nodded approvingly.
“Tonight might be an important night for you. Just be yourself.”
She rolled her eyes slightly. She knew what he meant—tonight, she was meeting Abhishek Singhania, a potential suitor her parents had chosen. The idea of an arranged marriage didn’t particularly excite her, but she had agreed to meet him out of respect for her father. Besides, she didn’t mind the attention.
Beside her, sixteen-year-old Sanvi, her younger sister, watched everything with an air of responsibility that Sanya lacked. Despite the age gap, Sanvi often acted more mature than her elder sister, something that irked Sanya to no end.
“Don’t embarrass us, Sanya Di,”
Sanvi muttered as she climbed into their luxurious car.
Sanya gasped dramatically.
“How dare you! I am elegance personified!”
Sanvi only gave her a pointed look, while Shivani chuckled as the driver pulled away from their mansion, taking them to the grand venue where the evening awaited.
As expected, the party was extravagant. Chandeliers loomed overhead, casting warm golden light that reflected off the polished marble floors. Waiters in crisp white uniforms moved effortlessly through the crowd, balancing silver trays of expensive champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Laughter and the soft murmur of conversations filled the vast ballroom, where Delhi’s most influential families gathered under one roof.
Upon entering, their family naturally scattered—Devansh found his business associates, Shivani joined a circle of women deep in gossip, and Sanvi slipped away to meet her teenage friends.
Sanya, however, found herself standing alone, sipping a glass of orange juice. While she loved parties, she didn’t particularly enjoy these stiff, formal gatherings where everything felt so… predictable.
She had barely taken a few sips when her father’s voice called her back.
“Sanya, come here. Meet Mr. and Mrs. Singhania. And this is their son, Abhishek.”
Sanya turned, already mentally preparing herself, only to be met with the sight of a tall, well-dressed man standing beside his parents. Abhishek Singhania had sharp features and an air of quiet confidence, his neatly combed hair and tailored suit making it evident that he was the perfect definition of "eligible bachelor."
"Hello," she greeted politely, offering a small smile.
"Hi," Abhishek replied, flashing a courteous but distant smile.
Polite introductions followed. She learned that he had completed his MBA abroad and was now handling his family’s business empire. He, in turn, asked about her fine arts degree, and while he nodded with interest, Sanya could tell he wasn’t particularly invested in the conversation.
There was no spark.
Their parents, eager for them to connect, urged them to talk privately. Moving toward the bar where the crowd was thinner, they settled into a more relaxed conversation. But just as she thought they were finally going to have an actual discussion, a voice interrupted them.
"Abhi! There you are!"
A woman in a body-hugging black dress appeared, her manicured fingers wrapping possessively around Abhishek’s arm. Her heavily kohled eyes barely acknowledged Sanya, and the strong scent of her expensive perfume clung to the air around her.
Natasha.
Sanya recognized her instantly—one of those entitled socialites who thrived on gossip and drama.
Before she could react, Natasha pulled Abhishek away. He barely gave Sanya a glance before following her.
Sanya stood there, staring at their retreating figures, her fingers tightening around her glass. The audacity! Not only had that woman completely ignored her, but Abhishek hadn't even bothered to excuse himself properly.
Typical.
With nothing else to do, she leaned against the bar, sipping her drink and observing the crowd. That was when the commotion near the entrance caught her attention.
A collective hush fell over the room. Heads turned. Conversations stilled.
Someone had arrived.
He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that exuded wealth and authority. His dark hair was neatly styled, his strong jaw adorned with a light stubble that only enhanced his dangerously handsome features. Every step he took was deliberate, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
A beautiful woman clung to his left bicep, laughing at something he said, her long, manicured nails tracing slow circles on his arm.
Sanya felt her mouth go dry.
Who is that?
For a moment, she forgot where she was, her thoughts drifting to places she knew she shouldn’t entertain. But just as quickly, she snapped herself out of it.
Focus, Sanya. Your parents are probably finalizing your marriage with Abhishek, and here you are, drooling over a stranger.
She shook her head, turning away quickly—only to collide into someone.
A gasp. A splash. A collective murmur from the nearby guests.
Sanya looked up, horrified.
A glass of red wine had toppled onto the dress of none other than Natasha.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
"You idiot!"
Natasha shrieked, looking at the stain in horror.
"Do you even have eyes?"
Sanya bit the inside of her cheek.
"I—I'm sorry, it was an accident—"
"Sorry? Sorry?! Do you have any idea how expensive this dress is?"
Natasha’s voice rose, attracting even more attention.
Sanya clenched her fists. She had been trying to control her temper, but this woman was crossing the line.
"Listen, I said I’m sorry,"
Sanya said, her voice sharper now.
"Maybe if you weren’t standing so close like a leech, this wouldn’t have happened."
Natasha gasped dramatically.
"How dare you—!"
Sanya, however, had had enough. She signaled a waiter carrying champagne. Taking a glass from the tray, she smiled sweetly—before throwing its contents directly onto Natasha’s face.
A collective gasp filled the hall.
Natasha shrieked, hands flying to her dripping face.
"You—!"
"You were thirsty, right?"
Sanya said innocently, tilting her head.
"You looked like you needed a drink."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Even some of Natasha’s own friends failed to hide their amusement.
Just then, a deep chuckle echoed from behind her.
Sanya turned—and her breath hitched.
It was him. The man who had stolen everyone’s attention the moment he walked in.
His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned against the bar, watching the scene unfold. There was something almost… dangerous in the way he observed her, as if he were committing her to memory.
A slow, knowing smirk curled on his lips.
For the first time that evening, Sanya felt a different kind of unease.
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