The scent of burning camphor, pure sandalwood, and melted ghee filled the air of the private penthouse temple. It was an oasis of ancient tradition suspended seventy floors above the chaotic, glittering skyline of Mumbai.
Flakes of ash danced in the heat of the sacred fire, landing softly on the bare, muscular shoulders of the man leading the mahamrutunjay hawan.
This was Rudransh.
To the world outside these glass walls, he was a ruthless billionaire—a corporate apex predator who bought out empires for breakfast and crushed competitors without blinking. But here, in the dim glow of the fire, he looked like a dangerous, modern-day deity. He wore nothing but a pristine white silk dhoti, his chest starkly bare, muscles rippling with every movement as he poured offering after offering into the roaring flames.
His deep, resonant voice chanted the ancient Sanskrit mantras with flawless precision. He was a devout Hindu, deeply rooted in his faith, occasionally conducting these intense hawans himself when he needed total clarity. To those who knew his dual nature, he was simply called Pandit.
But his devotion was not to be mistaken for mercy.
Just as Rudransh spoke the final mantra, a soft chime broke the silence of the temple room. His personal security chief, Mishra, stepped in, keeping his head bowed low out of sheer respect—and fear.
Sir," Mishra whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "The board members of Singhal Industries have refused to sign the acquisition papers. They say your terms are... predatory."
Rudransh didn't stop. He calmly took a final scoop of ghee, poured it into the fire, and watched the flames explode upward, casting sharp, dark shadows across his sharp jawline and piercing eyes.
He stood up slowly. At six-foot-three, his presence completely dominated the massive room. He looked every bit the alpha, a lethal mix of spiritual discipline and raw, unadulterated power.
“Predatory?” Rudransh’s voice was smooth, cool, and terrifyingly calm. He didn't sound angry; he sounded bored.
He picked up a white silk cloth, wiping the faint trace of ash from his fingers.
“Unhein kya lagta hai, Mishra? Agar main haath mein mala jhapna jaanta hoon, toh unki kismat mitti mein milana nahi jaanta?” (What do they think, Mishra? If I know how to count prayer beads, do I not know how to turn their fate to dust?)
"What are your orders, Pandit ji?" Mishra asked, breaking a nervous sweat.
Rudransh turned his dark, intense gaze toward the glass windows, looking down at the city he practically owned. A cold, ruthless smile touched his lips.
“Kaho unse... dhanda apni jagah hai, aur meri zidd apni jagah.” (Tell them... business is one thing, but my stubbornness is another.)
He narrowed his eyes as the city lights reflected in them. “Agar shaam ki aarti se pehle unhone papers sign nahi kiye, toh kal unka pura parivar sadak par bheek mangega. Pandit jab hawan karta hai toh aashirwad deta hai, par jab Pandit dhanda karta hai, toh koi lihaaj nahi karta.” (If they don't sign the papers before the evening prayers, their entire family will be begging on the streets tomorrow. When Pandit prays, he blesses, but when Pandit does business, he shows no mercy.)
Mishra swallowed hard and bowed. "Yes, Sir. Right away."
"And Mishra?" Rudransh added, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a chilling, absolute weight.
“Unhein yaad dilana... main sirf bhagwan ke samne jhukta hoon. Insaano ke liye main hi bhagwan hoon.” (Remind them... I only bow before God. For mere men, I am God.
As Mishra hurried out to execute the order, Rudransh closed his eyes, inhaling the lingering scent of the sacred fire. He was a man of absolute control, absolute wealth, and absolute devotion. He believed nothing in this world could ever shake his focus or make him stray from his path.
He had no idea that a girl named Radha was about to walk into his life—and tempt the saint into committing his greatest sin.
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