Penthouse

TRISHA

Without another word, I followed. There wasn’t exactly a choice, not with the way Vihaan’s guards moved like shadows around us, silent yet suffocating. The elevator ride was eerily smooth, the soft hum of its ascent barely audible over the rapid beating of my heart. I was hyper-aware of every sound, every breath. Ria remained blissfully unconscious, her head resting against Avika’s shoulder, while I stood rigidly, my arms crossed as if that could shield me from the absurdity of this situation.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a hallway that screamed wealth. The marble floor gleamed under the warm lighting, and the sheer size of the corridor alone could house half of our dorm. The walls were adorned with dark, abstract paintings, their chaotic strokes mirroring the storm in my mind. Guards flanked the entrance, their expressions unreadable as they stepped aside to let us through.

A pair of massive double doors swung open to reveal a room so extravagant that for a moment, I could only stare. The suite was enormous, bigger than the entire hostel floor we stayed on. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, the twinkling lights reflecting off the sleek black furniture. The air smelled of rich leather, faint cologne, and something else—power.

One of the guards entered, carrying neatly folded clothes, his gaze carefully averted as he placed them on a plush chair by the window before silently retreating. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, I turned, ready to lock it.

But before I could, Vihaan was there.

Standing just inside the threshold, his presence was a force in itself. The first two buttons were undone, the fabric stretched slightly across his broad chest. His stance was relaxed, hands shoved into his pockets, but there was nothing casual about the way his gaze pinned me in place.

“You should rest,” he said, voice deceptively smooth, as if he hadn’t just hijacked our night and dragged us into his world.

I lifted my chin, unwilling to show weakness. “We didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” he agreed, his lips curving slightly. “But you needed it.”

I scoffed. “If this is another one of your twisted power plays—”

“Think whatever you want, Trisha.” His gaze flickered over my face, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “But don’t waste your energy fighting what’s already done. Find a solution instead.”

My fingers clenched around the door handle. “And I suppose your penthouse is the solution?”

“Take it or leave it,” he said easily, tilting his head slightly. “But you don’t have many options, do you?”

His words hit harder than they should have. I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to meet his gaze with steady defiance before I slammed the door shut in his face.

The lock clicked into place, but it did nothing to calm the unease crawling under my skin.

I turned to find Avika already settling Ria onto the enormous bed, gently removing her sandals. She shot me a look, one that clearly said ‘we’ll talk about this later’ before she grabbed the clothes left for us.

I hesitated before picking up mine. The fabric was soft, undoubtedly expensive, and as I pulled on the oversized t-shirt and loose pants, an unsettling thought took root—these weren’t just clothes from a guest room.

They were meant for us.

As if someone had anticipated our stay.

Shoving the thought aside, I curled up on the bed, the cushions swallowing me whole. The city lights outside stretched endlessly, but inside, trapped within these four walls of luxury, sleep came uneasily.

Because no matter how soft the bed, sleep didn’t come easy in a place that felt too foreign, too suffocating in its opulence.

I drifted in and out of consciousness, the silence of the penthouse unsettling. It wasn’t the kind of silence I was used to—the comforting quiet of my room back at the hostel, where the distant hum of life outside was always present. This was absolute, thick, and pressing.

But exhaustion eventually won, and at some point, I slipped into a restless sleep.

Until a retching sound cut through the air.

I bolted upright, the haze of sleep disappearing instantly.

“Ria?” My voice was hoarse as I turned towards her bed, only to find it empty.

The sound came again, unmistakably from the bathroom.

Avika and I rushed toward the door, pushing it open without hesitation.

Ria was hunched over the sink, her body trembling as she emptied the contents of her stomach. Her skin looked ghostly pale, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. I crouched beside her, rubbing slow circles on her back while Avika grabbed a towel, wetting it under the tap before pressing it gently to her face.

“You okay?” My voice softened as she leaned against the counter, eyes closed, breaths uneven.

“Yeah,” she rasped, nodding weakly. “Just… the drinks. I guess I overdid it.”

I sighed. “What did I tell you? Two drinks max, but no, you had to—”

“Trisha, please,” she groaned, covering her face. “I feel like death. Lecture later.”

Avika helped her stand, wrapping an arm around her waist as we guided her back to the massive bed. The sheets were cold, untouched, making it obvious she hadn’t even slept properly before her stomach decided to betray her.

I reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, ready to hand it to her—only to find it empty.

My patience snapped. “Of course,” I muttered under my breath. “A place this big, filled with useless bodyguards, and no one thought to keep water in the room.”

Avika stifled a tired chuckle. “You do realize they aren’t hotel staff, right?”

I ignored her, already turning toward the door.

“I’ll get water,” I announced, reaching for the handle.

Just as I was about to step out, a weak grip caught my wrist.

Ria, barely awake, blinking up at me in confusion. “Where… where are we?” she murmured.

For a moment, I hesitated.

Then, with a forced smile, I gently patted her hand. “Ask Avika. I’ll be back.”

And with that, I stepped into the dimly lit hallway, bracing myself for whatever fresh hell this night had in store.

The cold marble floor chilling my bare feet. The penthouse was eerily silent, the kind of silence that pressed against your skin, thick with unspoken words and unasked questions.

I walked cautiously down the dimly lit hallway, eyes scanning for anything resembling a kitchen. The place was massive, a maze of expensive wood and glass, the kind of luxury that screamed power and untouchability. It felt foreign, unnatural.

As I turned a corner, I almost collided with a wall—except it wasn’t a wall. It was a man. A bodyguard, dressed in all black, standing stiff like a statue.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s the kitchen?”

The man didn’t react for a moment, his dark eyes studying me before he finally gave a slight nod and turned, motioning for me to follow. I did, though every step made me more aware of how out of place I was here.

When we reached the kitchen, I hesitated at the entrance. It was sleek, minimalistic, and larger than the entirety of my dorm room. Stainless steel appliances gleamed under the warm glow of the pendant lights, and the island in the center looked like it had never been used.

I moved towards the sink, grabbing a crystal-clear jug from the counter. As the water filled, the silence got to me. I needed to say something—anything—to break it.

“So, your boss,” I started, watching the water swirl. “Is he always this unbearable, or does he have special settings for different occasions?”

The bodyguard, to my utter disappointment, didn’t react. Not even a twitch. I sighed dramatically, muttering, “Figures. The man’s probably trained you all to be as lifeless as him.”

I turned off the tap and spun around—only to stop short, heart slamming into my ribs.

Vihaan Singh Oberoi stood just a few feet away, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms laced with veins. The dim lighting threw sharp shadows across his face, accentuating the sharpness of his jaw and the cool detachment in his stormy eyes.

How long had he been standing there?

His lips curved ever so slightly, a smirk laced with something unreadable. “Please,” he said, voice smooth, deep. “Don’t let my presence stop you. I’d love to hear more about my… settings.”

My grip on the jug tightened. Of course. Of course, he had to be here.

I squared my shoulders, tilting my chin up. “Eavesdropping isn’t very gentlemanly.”

His smirk deepened as he pushed off the doorframe, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. “And yet, you had no problem discussing me in my own home.”

My pulse stuttered as he closed the distance. The air between us crackled, tense, heavy. I refused to step back, to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.

“Just making an observation,” I said, forcing my voice to stay even. “One I’m sure plenty of people would agree with.”

His gaze flickered to the jug in my hand. “You came for water. And yet, you stayed for a conversation about me.”

I huffed. “Trust me, you’re the last person I want to think about.”

His head tilted slightly, studying me like he was peeling back layers, trying to see what lay beneath. I hated how easily his presence swallowed the space around me, how he seemed so unaffected while my skin burned with the weight of his stare.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, voice dangerously low.

I exhaled sharply and stepped around him, making sure my shoulder barely brushed against his as I moved past.

“Good,” I shot back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than waste time here.”

I didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t dare look back.

Because for some inexplicable reason, I knew he’d still be watching me.

The weight of his gaze clung to my skin like an unwelcome shadow, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. With measured steps, I exited the kitchen, my grip tightening around the cold handle of the water jug. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the soft hum of the chandelier-lit hallway as I made my way back.

The moment I stepped into the lavish guestroom, Ria let out a groggy but dramatic exclamation, her voice laced with disbelief. “We are actually in the penthouse of one of the richest men in the world. Do you guys even realize?”

I scowled, shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary. “Yeah, and I hope you realize that we were practically kidnapped into coming here.” My voice was sharp, edged with irritation as I stalked towards the bed, placing the jug on the side table.

Avika let out a tired sigh, running a hand through her messy hair as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Trish, don’t start. You know we had no other option.”

I muttered under my breath, something incomprehensible but most definitely profane, as I grabbed a glass and filled it with water. The coldness seeped through my fingers as I handed it to Ria, who was watching me with amusement dancing in her tired eyes.

“You’re fuming like a tea kettle,” she remarked before taking slow sips.

“And you’re talking way too much for someone who just threw up,” I shot back, crossing my arms as I leaned against the headboard.

Ria chuckled, placing the empty glass on the nightstand. “Admit it, Trish, the place is nice.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh yes, let’s just ignore the fact that the man who owns it probably thinks he can control the world. Classic rich men syndrome.”

Avika groaned, pulling the blanket over herself. “Can we not do this now? I need sleep, and so do you.”

I exhaled heavily, rubbing my temple. Maybe she was right. There was no use overanalyzing everything right now.

“Fine. But tomorrow, we’re leaving the second the sun rises,” I grumbled before sliding under the plush covers.

The bed was undeniably soft, but unease still clung to me like a second skin. My mind refused to quiet, replaying every single moment of the night—the unsettling encounters, the suffocating presence of Vihaan Singh Rathore, the way he had watched me as if I were something to be unraveled.

Grounding myself in their presence, I let out a slow breath, the rhythmic rise and fall of Avika and Ria’s chests soothing the restless hum in my veins. The night had been long, unnerving, and filled with encounters I wished to forget. But for now, they slept, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing inside me.

Morning arrived too soon, sunlight creeping through the grand windows, golden streaks spilling onto the marble floors. I groaned, forcing myself up, stretching the stiffness from my limbs. The luxury around me still felt suffocating, the air too rich, the silence too weighted.

“Utho, it’s morning.” I nudged Ria, who buried her face in the plush pillow.

“Bas do minute aur…” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Avika, ever the morning person, was already freshening up in the lavish ensuite bathroom.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair before dragging myself to wash up. The cold water helped shake off the remnants of an uneasy night. Once dressed in our own clothes, we made our way to the lift, eager to leave behind this unsettling opulence.

Just as we stepped out of the lift, a broad-shouldered guard in a crisp black suit stepped in front of us, blocking our exit. His face was unreadable, eyes hidden behind dark shades.

“Boss is calling you all.” he stated simply.

I stopped short, irritation prickling beneath my skin. “Hame unsee milne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai. Hum ja rahe hain.” (We have no reason to meet him. We are leaving.)

Turning on my heel, I strode forward, only to realize Avika and Ria hadn’t followed. Instead, they were whispering excitedly amongst themselves.

“Guys?” I prompted, brows furrowing.

“Trisha, tu dekh toh le kaisa lagta hai uska ghar. Itna bada hai!” Ria’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. (Trisha, at least see what his house looks like. It’s huge!)

Avika nodded, mischief dancing in her expression. “And let’s be honest, thodi der aur rukne mein kya jaata hai? ” (And honestly, what’s the harm in staying a little longer?)

I shot them a glare. “Tum dono serious ho?” (Are you two serious?)

Before I could argue further, Ria grabbed my hand, practically dragging me behind the guard, who had already begun leading us through the penthouse. The hallways were pristine, stretching endlessly, the muted scent of expensive cologne clinging to the air. Every corner spoke of power, control, and something darker lurking beneath the polished exterior.

And then we reached it—the dining room.

The moment we stepped inside, my breath hitched. The room was massive, an elegant chandelier hanging above a long ebony dining table set with an extravagant spread of food. And at the head of it, Vihaan Singh Oberoi sat, effortlessly commanding the space with his presence alone.

His dark eyes lifted, pinning me in place with an intensity that sent an uninvited shiver down my spine. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt, the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. Casual, yet somehow still exuding untouchable authority.

"You all finally decided to come” he said, voice smooth, unhurried.

Avika and Ria, completely unaffected by the tension thrumming in the air, beamed. “Good morning!” Ria chirped, sliding into a chair with far too much ease.

I, on the other hand, remained frozen. My instincts screamed at me to turn around and leave, but the smug curve of Vihaan’s lips told me he already knew I wouldn’t.

"Sit,” he instructed, gesturing to the seats.

I met his gaze head-on, chin tilting defiantly. “Hum bas ja rahe the.” (We were just leaving.)

His smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in his gaze—something sharp, knowing. “Toh ab ruk gaye ho.” (But now you’ve stopped.)

Damn it.

Before I could formulate a response, Avika pulled me down into the seat beside her, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Bas ek meal, Trisha. Phir nikal jaayenge,” she whispered. (Just one meal, Trisha. Then we’ll leave.)

I exhaled slowly, my fingers tightening around the edge of my chair as I prepared myself for whatever game Vihaan Singh Oberoi was playing, I wanted no part in it.

The clinking of silverware against fine china filled the massive dining hall, but the suffocating weight of his presence made it hard to even swallow. Ria and Avika, oblivious to the silent war raging across the table, were too busy chattering between bites, directing questions toward the man who barely spared them a glance.

“Yeh jagah toh ekdum hotel jaise lag rahi hai! Mujhe toh sapna lag raha hai ke hum yahaan hain!” Avika exclaimed, her eyes still roaming the luxurious expanse of the penthouse dining room. ("This place feels just like a hotel! I still feel like I’m dreaming that we are here!")

Ria giggled, sipping the fresh orange juice served in a crystal glass. “Aur dekho na, kaise ek dum billionaire logon jaisi feeling aa rahi hai.” ("And just look, it totally feels like we belong among billionaires.")

Vihaan, however, remained silent. His attention never wavered, not from them, not from anything else—only from me. His sharp, piercing gaze stayed locked onto me as if he were studying every move I made, as if he could hear every thought inside my head.

I focused on my plate, cutting through the fluffy omelet, forcing myself to eat, to act like his presence wasn’t burning through me. The rich flavors of the meal barely registered; all I wanted was for this nightmare to be over.

Avika, still undeterred, tried once again. “Waise, Mr. Oberoi, yeh sab aap kaise handle karte hain? Itni badi company, itna naam, aur phir bhi aap kaam ke alawa time nikalte hain?” ("By the way, Mr. Oberoi, how do you handle all this? Such a big company, so much fame, and yet you still find time beyond work?")

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even pretend to acknowledge her question.

Ria let out a nervous laugh, nudging Avika. “Lagta hai Oberoi sir zyada baat nahi karte.” ("Looks like Mr. Oberoi isn’t much of a talker.")

Still, silence. Only the ghost of a smirk played at his lips as he swirled his black coffee, his fingers tapping lightly against the porcelain cup. But his eyes—those cold, unreadable eyes—never left mine.

I had enough.

“Bas. Khaana khatam ho gaya. Chalna hai.” My voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. ("Enough. We’re done eating. We need to leave.")

Avika and Ria shared a glance, disappointment flickering in their eyes, but I didn’t care. Whatever fascination they had with this man, I wanted them to shake it off. Now.

I pushed my chair back and stood up, fixing them with a hard look. “Let’s go.”

Vihaan leaned back in his chair, the smirk deepening, as if amused by my command. As if I was nothing more than a challenge he was enjoying far too much.

I ignored him.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked towards the exit, my posture stiff with irritation. Every moment in Vihaan Singh Oberoi’s presence felt like an unnecessary test of patience, and I had no interest in playing whatever game he was orchestrating. The sooner I was out of here, the better.

Behind me, I heard the subtle scrape of a chair being pushed back. Even without looking, I knew it was him. The sheer force of his presence was suffocating. But I refused to acknowledge it. My steps remained firm, each stride pulling me closer to the door and away from this world of polished power and silent control.

Just as I reached for the handle, a deep voice sliced through the air. “Take them back.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order.

I paused, my fingers tightening over the door handle. Of course. Because a man like Vihaan Singh Oberoi wouldn’t let us simply walk away, would he? I turned slightly, catching the slight movement of his hand as he gestured toward one of his guards.

“Nahi chahiye aapki madad. Hum khud chale jayege ." (We don’t need your help. We’ll go on our own.) My voice was sharp, unyielding.

Avika, however, had other ideas. “Are you insane? Ria can barely walk. We’re taking the ride.”

Ria, still looking pale from last night’s aftereffects, nodded weakly. “Haan, Trisha. Please.” (Yes, Trisha. Please.)

My jaw clenched. There was no real choice in the matter. My pride was no match against Ria’s exhaustion. With a sigh of exasperation, I turned back towards the waiting vehicle. “Fine. Chalo.” (Fine. Let’s go.)

The drive back to the college was silent on my part. Avika and Ria, however, whispered animatedly in the back seat, still high on the morning’s surreal experience. “Did you see his house? It’s like something out of a damn movie,” Avika gushed.

Ria hummed in agreement. “And did you notice how he kept looking at Trisha? Bilkul hawk ki tarah.” (Exactly like a hawk.)

“Bas band karo.” (Just stop it.) My voice was tight as I rested my head against the cool glass of the window, willing myself to block out their words.

The moment the car rolled to a stop in front of our college gate, I felt my entire body relax. The tension in my shoulders dissipated as I took in the familiar sight of the old campus building. This was my world. Not his.

As we made our way towards our hostel, Avika threw me a sideways glance. “You know, for someone who claims to hate him, you sure attract his attention a lot.”

I shot her a glare. “If you don’t shut up, I’m locking you out of the room tonight.”

She laughed, linking her arm with mine. “Fine, fine. But you can’t deny he’s got that intense, brooding charm.”

“Charm my foot,” I muttered under my breath, quickening my pace.

Finally, as we entered our hostel room, I let out a breath of relief. This—this was home. This was normal. And I wasn’t about to let a man like Vihaan Singh Oberoi disrupt that.

At least that's what I kept telling myself—that everything was back to normal.

The days in the hostel passed in a blur of late-night conversations, lazy mornings, and random outings. The freedom of having no classes felt intoxicating. Avika and Ria had somehow convinced me to join them on spontaneous trips to the market, midnight maggi sessions, and even a movie night in our room, huddled under a single blanket.

For the first time in a while, things felt…ordinary.

Until my phone rang.

I frowned at the screen.

Maa calling…

A rare occurrence. My mother wasn’t one for casual phone calls unless something important was brewing.

With a sigh, I picked it up. "Hello, Maa?"

"Trisha, beta," her voice was warm but laced with expectation. "Ghar kab aa rahi ho?" (When are you coming home?)

I leaned against the cold iron railing of the hostel balcony, watching the students below roam around freely, laughter echoing in the air.

"Maa, abhi toh holidays chal rahe hain, hostel mein hi theek hoon. College bhi toh shuru hone wala hai 8-9 din mein." (Maa, holidays are going on, I'm fine in the hostel. College is starting in 8-9 days anyway.)

There was a pause. Then, a gentle sigh. "Trisha, is baar ghar aana zaroori hai. Ek pooja rakhi hai." (Trisha, it’s important for you to come home this time. We have organized a pooja.)

I shut my eyes, pressing my fingers against my temple.

A pooja.

I already knew what that meant. A grand gathering of relatives, endless scrutiny, and a barrage of questions about my future, my studies, and—worst of all—marriage.

"Maa… main—" (Maa… I—)

"Nahi Trisha," she cut me off, her tone suddenly firmer. "Bahut din ho gaye hain, ghar waale bhi pooch rahe hain. Is baar mana mat karna. Ek do din ke liye hi sahi, par ghar aana hi padega." (No, Trisha. It’s been a long time, and the family is asking about you. Don’t refuse this time. Even if just for a day or two, you have to come home.)

I sighed. There was no way out of this, was there? My mother rarely insisted on things unless she truly meant it.

"Theek hai, Maa." (Okay, Maa.)

The relief in her voice was instant. "Accha sun, train ki tickets bhej rahi hoon. Kal subah nikalna." (Alright, listen, I’m sending your train tickets. Leave tomorrow morning.)

"Kal? Maa, itni jaldi—" (Tomorrow? Maa, so soon—)

"Haan, kal," she said, her decision final. "Koi bahana nahi sunungi. Ghar mein sab intezaar kar rahe hain." (Yes, tomorrow. I won’t hear any excuses. Everyone at home is waiting.)

I exhaled sharply. "Theek hai. Kal aa rahi hoon." (Fine. I’m coming tomorrow.)

After hanging up, I stood there for a moment, staring at the darkening sky, the weight of home suddenly pressing on my shoulders.

Going home meant stepping into a world I had carefully distanced myself from.

A world where I wasn’t Trisha, the medical student living life on her own terms. I was Trisha, the daughter of a respectable family, expected to uphold traditions, expected to be everything they wanted me to be.

And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I knew—I wasn’t ready for that confrontation.

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