I am Zain Syed Raza, heir to an empire built on legacy, wealth, and power. My name carries weight across boardrooms and palaces alike. There is no room for weakness in my world, no place for distractions, and certainly no space for emotions. My life is structured, designed to keep everything under control—perfectly calculated, perfectly in order.

The only thing I value more than my business empire is my family’s name, a legacy that spans generations, rooted in royalty and tradition.I have no parents. They are gone, leaving behind their wealth and title for me to shoulder. But I don’t dwell on them; their absence only hardened me further. I was raised by my grandfather, the great Syed Raza, a man who shaped me into the CEO and the man I am today. Under his guidance, I learned that emotions, friendships, and love are liabilities—weaknesses that can destroy even the most powerful.

Now, at 28, I am the head of one of the largest conglomerates in the country. Billions flow under my signature, and industries rise or fall at my word. And yet, through all of this, I remain solitary. My world consists of business meetings, balance sheets, and strategic moves. People think they know me, but no one truly does.

I have no use for friends or lovers.That was my reality until today.I wouldn’t have attended my grandfather’s annual gathering if it weren’t for the weight of obligation. A traditional affair, a way to remind the world of the power and influence of the Syed Raza family.

I despised these events—filled with small talk and handshakes with businessmen pretending to be old friends. But my dadu insisted. “It’s important to keep connections alive, Zain,” he’d always say.

“These are the people who built the empire you now control.”

And so, I find myself here, standing in the opulent halls of the Syed Raza estate, the ancestral home I grew up in.

 Chandeliers hang above us, their light casting a golden hue on the marble floors. Businessmen, their wives, and their children mill about, exchanging pleasantries and empty words. I nod and acknowledge those who approach me, but my mind is elsewhere—until I see her.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t supposed to happen. Yet, the moment she stepped through the grand entrance of our estate, time ceased to exist.

Inayat Qureshi.

I had never heard her name before, and yet, the very sight of her pulled me into something I couldn’t explain. She was unlike anyone else in the room—an enigma in the sea of tailored suits and designer gowns. She stood out, not for the reasons others did, but because she didn’t care to.

She wore a simple grey sweatshirt, oversized, as though she couldn’t be bothered with the fashion codes everyone else followed. Her jeans hung loosely, paired with a fresh set of Nike Jordans. It was as if the rules of this world, my world, didn’t apply to her. She walked into the room like she owned it, even though she barely acknowledged the people around her. It was as though she existed in her own world, and everything else, including me, was irrelevant.

Yet, in her indifference, she was the most captivating woman I had ever seen.

She didn’t need makeup, didn’t need the polish that others applied so desperately to be noticed. Her beauty was effortless—her skin glowing, her features delicate but strong. And those eyes… God, those eyes. Large, dark, and filled with a depth that seemed to hold entire worlds. One look from her, and I felt myself unraveling.

It was as if the air shifted, the noise of the room fading into a distant hum, and for the first time in years, I couldn’t think. My world, which had always been so clear and controlled, stopped. Everything—business, power, logic—disappeared in that moment, and all I could see, all I could feel, was her.

I’ve never believed in love at first sight—it’s a weak sentiment, a concept for those who don't understand how life really works. But this… this wasn’t love. It was something far more dangerous. It was an obsession that took root the instant my eyes fell on her.

As I watched her, I couldn’t help but notice how she moved, completely unaware of the attention she garnered. Every other woman in the room paled in comparison, despite their efforts to shine. She didn’t care, didn’t need to care. It wasn’t arrogance—it was something deeper, something that made her untouchable, unknowable.

My grandfather stood near her, introducing her to a group of men I vaguely recognized as long-standing business associates. She is the granddaughter of one of them. I caught a hint of her name through the conversation—Inayat Qureshi—but I didn’t need to hear the details. I was too focused on the way she held herself, the way her laughter barely touched her lips, as if everything around her was a distant joke.

I moved closer, wanting to catch her attention, but not knowing why. I hadn’t felt this way in years—this pull, this need to be near someone I didn’t even know. And then, for the briefest moment, she glanced up. Our eyes met.

Her gaze was sharp, curious, but almost instantly dismissive. And that was what did it—she didn’t care who I was. She didn’t know, or she didn’t want to.

I, Zain Syed Raza, the man who controls industries, whose name alone causes people to tremble, was nothing to her.

For a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in her eyes recognition, perhaps—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a cool indifference. She didn’t smile. She didn’t avert her gaze out of respect or awe. She simply looked away, as if I didn’t exist.

I felt a surge of something unfamiliar. Anger? No, it was more than that. It was a need to know her, to understand why she was so different, so unaffected by the world that I ruled.

I moved forward, each step deliberate, never breaking eye contact with her. She didn’t flinch as I approached. In fact, she seemed… bored.

“Inayat Qureshi,” I said, my voice steady, though I felt something new stir inside me—something dark, something obsessive. “I’m Zain Syed Raza.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into the smallest, most uninterested smile I’ve ever seen. “I know who you are.”

Her voice was soft but firm, and in that moment, I knew—I needed her. I didn’t just want her, I needed her in a way I hadn’t needed anything in a long time.

“You don’t seem impressed,” I said, surprised at the amusement in my own tone.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall. “Should I be?”

That was it. The moment the fire ignited. My world, which had always been so precise, so controlled, was now spinning out of my grasp.

I had to have her.