Anika adjusted the mic.
Her palms were slightly cold — not from fear, but from pressure.
She could feel his eyes on her.
Arman Khurana hadn't moved.
He stood near the center table, arms crossed, watching her like she was a business proposal he was about to reject.
She ignored him.
"Good evening everyone," she began confidently.
"I'm Anika Kapoor, founder of AK Interior Concepts—"
Her voice was steady.
Clear.
Professional.
Slides appeared on the giant LED screen behind her — modern architectural concepts, sustainable luxury designs, 3D visuals.
Murmurs of appreciation spread through the room.
She explained her vision.
Spoke about blending affordability with elegance.
Spoke about innovation without exploitation.
Arman's expression didn't change.
But his jaw tightened when he heard the word self-made.
After ten minutes, she reached her final slide.
"And with the right investment, this concept can redefine corporate spaces in this city."
Polite applause followed.
Before the host could speak—
A slow clap echoed through the hall.
Everyone turned.
Arman Khurana.
Clapping.
But not impressed.
Mocking.
He walked toward the stage, confidence dripping from every step.
Anika's heart thudded once.
But she didn't step back.
"Interesting," Arman said smoothly, taking the mic from the stand without asking.
"Very… ambitious."
The crowd laughed lightly.
He turned to the screen.
"These projections," he continued, "are based on estimated numbers, not confirmed contracts."
Anika stiffened.
"They're market-researched."
"Market-researched?" he repeated, amused. "Or optimistic guessing?"
A ripple of whispers spread.
Her throat tightened.
But she refused to crumble.
"If you have a question, ask it directly."
He stepped closer.
Close enough for only her to hear his next words.
"You embarrassed me."
Her chin lifted.
"You insulted me."
He smiled faintly.
Then turned back to the audience.
"As someone who runs a multi-billion business, I suggest investors think twice before trusting presentations built more on passion than practicality."
It was subtle.
Strategic.
Devastating.
A few investors exchanged glances.
Phones came out.
Interest shifted.
Anika felt it.
The room slipping away from her.
Her opportunity.
Her moment.
Ruined.
Because of ego.
She grabbed the mic back.
"With all due respect, Mr. Khurana," she said steadily, though her pulse raced, "great empires weren't built by doubting ideas. They were built by believing in them."
A few people nodded.
Arman's eyes darkened.
"You believe you can compete with established firms?" he asked quietly.
"I don't compete," she replied.
"I create."
Silence.
The tension between them was no longer professional.
It was personal.
The host awkwardly stepped in to move the event forward.
Anika stepped down from the stage.
She kept her back straight.
She wouldn't cry here.
Not in front of him.
As she walked past Arman, he spoke softly — only for her.
"You should've apologized properly."
She stopped.
Turned slightly.
"And you should learn humility."
Then she walked away.
Arman watched her exit the hall.
For the first time in years…
He felt challenged.
But he told himself this wasn't about attraction.
This was about control.
And Anika Kapoor had just threatened it.
So he did what he always did.
He decided to break her.