Mine Yes! : Forced to be yours Mr.Devil

Author's Note:

Dear Beloved Readers,

I can't express how much your support means to me. Every word, every thought you share helps breathe life into this story. If you've been following along but haven't yet shared your thoughts, I'd be so grateful if you could take a moment to do so. Your comments, your feedback, your encouragement—these are what keep the story moving forward, growing stronger with each chapter.

I write not just for myself, but for all of you. Without your love and engagement, this journey wouldn't be the same. It's your thoughts that make this story feel real, that keep it alive in my heart and in yours. Please continue to share your feelings with me, because every little gesture of support keeps the passion behind these words burning.

You are the reason I keep writing.

Let's keep this story alive together—because it's ours, not just mine.

With all my heart,

~PENOLA.S

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The meeting room carried a charged atmosphere. The hum of the air conditioning did little to drown out the weight of discussions that had just concluded. Rudra Singhaniya sat like a fortress at the head of the long mahogany table, his dark eyes fixed on the open file before him. The air around him was calm, yet his presence dominated the room. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, every syllable carried the gravity of his authority.

At the opposite end, Ravi Singhaniya lounged in his chair, an air of effortless confidence about him. "That was... something," Ravi remarked, his voice breaking the silence. His tone was casual, even amused, as he rolled his chair slightly away from the table and stretched his arms behind his head.

Rudra didn't respond immediately. Instead, he flipped through another page of the file, his sharp eyes scanning the details. "Potential isn't enough," he said, his voice low but firm. "The execution needs to be flawless. Anything less is unacceptable."

Ravi chuckled, shaking his head. "Brother, you're too harsh. You do realize not everyone operates like you, right? People need to breathe."

Rudra finally looked up, fixing Ravi with a piercing stare. "Breathing is a luxury in this business. Weakness invites failure, and failure invites destruction. I won't allow that—neither in this company nor in this family."

The intensity of his words left little room for argument, but Ravi was Ravi. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "You sound like Dad," he teased, though there was a hint of respect in his voice.

Just then, the door to the boardroom opened, and Aarav walked in. His strides were purposeful, his phone clutched in his hand. "Brother," he began, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "Dad just messaged. He needs us at the estate."

Rudra's brows furrowed slightly, his attention finally shifting from the file. "What's it about?"

Aarav slipped his phone into his pocket, his expression unreadable. "He didn't say much. But there's more. Tomorrow night—Rajwant's hosting a party. Word is, the hidden son is going to make an appearance."

Ravi straightened in his chair, his curiosity instantly piqued. "The hidden son?" he echoed, his tone intrigued. "Now that's interesting. Rajwant's family doesn't do anything without a reason. If he's bringing out this 'hidden son,' it's a move—and a bold one."

Rudra's expression hardened. "If that's true, it changes everything. This isn't just a party; it's a power play. We'll need to be prepared."

Aarav nodded. "I'll handle the arrangements. For now, I'll head to the estate and see what Dad wants." He paused, then added, "You two better be ready for tomorrow. Rajwant isn't the kind of man to make idle gestures."

With that, Aarav turned on his heel and left the room, his sharp features set in determination.

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Back in the main office, the atmosphere was noticeably lighter, even as the team hummed with focused energy. Sunlight poured through the blinds, casting gentle beams across desks cluttered with coffee mugs, stacks of reports, and stray pens. The air carried the faint aroma of brewed coffee and the subtle tension of impending deadlines. Yet amidst it all, there was an undeniable sense of camaraderie, as if the shared workload somehow knitted the team closer together.

Janvi was deeply engrossed in her work, her fingers flying across the keyboard in a steady rhythm. Her screen displayed a detailed spreadsheet peppered with Kunal's notes, red-inked remarks in the margins that she was methodically addressing one by one. Every so often, she paused, her lips pursed in concentration as she reread a particularly tricky section. The soft glow of her desk lamp framed her face, highlighting her determined expression. This wasn't just about completing the task—it was about doing it right.

Beside her, Anaya sat cross-legged in her swivel chair, her laptop balanced on her knees. Her coding interface was open, a cascade of lines running down her screen as she scrolled through the problem at hand. Her eyes were locked in laser focus, her mind methodically unraveling the tangled logic. Occasionally, she muttered to herself, jotting down quick notes on a yellow sticky pad stuck to the edge of her desk. Her workspace was organized chaos—random printouts and markers scattered about—but she thrived in it.

The two women shared a quiet synergy. Though they worked on different tasks, their mutual understanding and easy banter filled the space with an understated warmth. Anaya's occasional murmurs of "Got it!" or "Why won't this work?" were often met with a raised eyebrow or a playful remark from Janvi. Likewise, when Janvi sighed or muttered under her breath, Anaya would glance over with a teasing smile, saying, "Another Kunal special?" Their connection was easy, unspoken, the kind that made long hours bearable.

Janvi glanced up as the sound of polished shoes on the tiled floor grew louder. Aarav strode past their desks, his confident gait impossible to ignore. He cut an impressive figure in his tailored suit, his dark hair swept back in a way that accentuated his sharp features. His expression was as composed as ever, but there was something in his demeanor—a slight tightness in his jaw, a fleeting shadow in his eyes—that hinted at the weight he carried. His commanding presence seemed to ripple through the office, drawing glances and quiet murmurs from those who noticed. Yet, as always, Aarav appeared unaware—or perhaps indifferent—to the attention.

Janvi leaned closer to Anaya, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Did you see Aarav just now? He looked... different."

Anaya didn't immediately respond. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard, finishing a line of code before she finally looked up with a smirk. "Aarav always looks like that. Intense, brooding, mysterious... It's practically his trademark."

Janvi flushed slightly, shaking her head. "No, it's not that. He just seems... preoccupied. Like there's something big going on."

Anaya leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as her smirk softened into something more thoughtful. "That's the Singhaniyas for you. They're like the Atlas of the corporate world—carrying the weight of their legacy, their business empire, and God knows what else on their shoulders. Whatever's on Aarav's mind, it's probably something we can't even begin to imagine."

Before Janvi could respond, Kunal approached their desks, his usual brisk efficiency evident in his purposeful stride. He held a neat stack of papers in one hand and a sleek black folder in the other. Kunal was always impeccably organized, his presence as reliable as the clock on the wall. He didn't waste time on pleasantries, diving straight into business.

"Janvi," he said, extending the stack of papers toward her, "these reports need to be rechecked and resubmitted by the end of the day. There are some errors that need correcting—minor, but they need to be perfect for the presentation tomorrow."

Janvi straightened in her chair, accepting the papers with a quick nod. She flipped through them, her eyes scanning the notes. "Got it. I'll get started right away."

Kunal turned to Anaya, handing her the black folder. "Anaya, this coding file has been flagged as high priority. There's a bug that's been causing delays, and we need it resolved ASAP. Can you take a look?"

Anaya grinned, her enthusiasm breaking through her usual calm demeanor. "Absolutely. Let's see what kind of challenge you've got for me." She opened the folder and glanced at the code printout inside, already analyzing the problem in her mind.

Kunal gave a brief nod, his expression a mix of gratitude and expectation, before moving on to his next task. His departure left a brief silence in his wake, broken only by the clicking of keyboards and the distant murmur of conversations across the office.

Anaya turned to Janvi with a playful grin, her tone light despite the looming workload. "Looks like we're both going to be buried in work today. What do you say to a coffee break later? We'll probably need it more than ever."

Janvi's lips curved into a smile, her earlier nervousness easing as she fed off Anaya's confidence. "Definitely. But only if you promise to share whatever magic you're working on in that folder."

Anaya laughed, tapping her keyboard as she dove back into her work. "Deal. But don't be surprised if I bore you with the details of nested loops and bad syntax."

Janvi chuckled, her fingers resuming their rhythmic dance across the keyboard. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

As the day wore on, the hum of the office became a steady backdrop to their efforts. The weight of deadlines and high-stakes projects was palpable, but so was the sense of shared purpose. Each keystroke, each checked report, and every solved bug was a step closer to their collective goal. It wasn't just another day at work—it was a testament to the quiet resilience and determination that drove them all forward, one task at a time.

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Certainly! Here's an even more dramatic and elegant version, heightening the stakes and infusing more intrigue into the scene:

The grand ballroom of the Rajawat estate was a masterpiece of opulence and timeless elegance. Towering crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a golden glow, their light refracting off gilded mirrors and polished marble floors. The scent of exotic florals filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of aged wine and fine cuisine. The guests—titans of industry, socialites, and dignitaries—moved gracefully through the space, their conversations a symphony of ambition, gossip, and anticipation. Tonight was more than a celebration; it was a spectacle, orchestrated by the Rajawat family to dazzle, impress, and perhaps unsettle.

The Singhaniyas made their entrance just as the clock struck ten, fashionably late and perfectly calculated. Aarav led the way, his sharp features a mask of composed confidence. Dressed in a classic black tuxedo with subtle silk accents, he moved with the effortless poise of a man who was used to commanding a room. Rudra followed closely, his piercing gaze sweeping the space with the precision of a hawk. Dev and Ravi flanked them, their tailored suits and calm demeanor exuding the quiet power that had become synonymous with the Singhaniya name.

As they crossed the threshold, conversations stuttered to a halt, and the soft hum of murmurs replaced the cheerful chatter. Heads turned, eyes narrowed, and whispers filled the room.

"Is that Aarav Singhaniya?" a woman in a sequined gown whispered, clutching her diamond-studded clutch.

"And Rudra. My God, they're all here," her companion replied, leaning in. "Ten years ago, no one knew who they were. Now look at them—tech innovators, international hoteliers. They've built an empire out of nothing."

"Not out of nothing," another voice chimed in. "Out of sheer ambition. That's the Singhaniya way. You have to admire it."

"And fear it," someone else added, their voice low. "They don't rise—they conquer."

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The Singhaniyas' rise to power had been meteoric, a masterclass in strategy and innovation. From disrupting the tech industry to redefining luxury hospitality, their ventures had redefined success in less than a decade. But the whispers weren't just about their achievements tonight—they were about the tension that simmered between the Singhaniyas and their hosts, the Rajawats.

Standing at the far end of the room, Arjun Rajawat observed their arrival with an inscrutable expression. At thirty-four, he was the head of Rajawat Industries, a man of calculated charm and formidable intellect. He was impeccably dressed, his crisp white shirt offset by a deep navy suit that matched the quiet intensity of his gaze. Beside him stood his wife, Meera, radiant in a flowing midnight-blue gown that seemed to shimmer as she moved. Meera's beauty was the kind that turned heads effortlessly, but her eyes betrayed a sharpness that suggested she was far more than just a graceful accessory.

Arjun's smile was polite as the Singhaniyas approached, but the air between the two families was charged with history. Once, the Rajawats and Singhaniyas had been more than allies—they had been friends, almost family. But that was a lifetime ago, in the era of their fathers. The deaths of the senior patriarchs had dissolved the bond, leaving a rivalry that now defined their interactions.

"Aarav," Arjun greeted, extending his hand. His tone was cordial, his smile practiced.

"Arjun," Aarav replied, matching his demeanor with an equal measure of detachment. Their handshake was firm, more a silent battle of wills than a gesture of warmth.

Around them, the whispers grew louder. Guests speculated about the delicate balance of power in the room, their voices tinged with curiosity and excitement.

"Did you hear?" one guest murmured. "The Rajawats and Singhaniyas used to be close. Now they're competitors. Entertainment and tech versus tech and luxury—two empires battling for supremacy."

"It's fascinating, isn't it?" another replied. "Arjun Rajawat and Aarav Singhaniya—they represent a new generation, but the shadow of the past still looms over them."

As the orchestra paused, signaling an impending announcement, the tension in the room thickened. Arjun stepped onto the small stage at the center of the ballroom, his presence commanding immediate attention. The murmurs faded into silence as he adjusted the microphone, his gaze sweeping the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice smooth and confident, "tonight, we gather not just to celebrate the successes of Rajawat Industries, but to look forward to the future."

A subtle shift in the room's energy indicated the audience's growing anticipation. Everyone knew this wasn't just another business gala. Tonight held something more—a revelation that had been the subject of speculation for weeks.

"As many of you know," Arjun continued, his tone steady, "I have a younger brother. A man of immense talent and insight who has chosen, until now, to remain out of the public eye. Tonight, I am proud to announce that he will be joining me in leading Rajawat Industries into its next chapter."

Gasps rippled through the room, followed by a cascade of murmurs. Arjun's younger brother was something of an enigma, his identity a closely guarded secret that had fueled countless rumors. Now, it seemed, the mystery was about to be unveiled.

The grand doors at the far end of the ballroom opened, and every head turned as a figure emerged. The room held its collective breath, the tension so thick it was almost tangible. The man stepped forward, his face shadowed by the soft light, but his presence undeniable.

At the back of the room, the Singhaniyas remained composed, their expressions unreadable. Aarav's sharp eyes watched the unfolding moment with a mixture of interest and calculation. This wasn't just a revelation—it was a move on a chessboard, and he was already contemplating its implications.

For the Rajawats and the Singhaniyas, this night was far more than a celebration. It was a battleground of legacies, a stage for rivalries old and new. And as the guests leaned in, hungry for the next twist, it was clear that the story of these two families was far from over.

To Be Continued…