Chapter 45: The Crash That Rewrote the King
There are some nights that feel like omens.
The sky that evening had turned to bruised purple, and the rain didn’t just fall — it attacked the world in sheets. Trees bowed, traffic crawled, and the city’s wealthiest fled indoors into their soundproofed penthouses.
But not him.
Nishanth Rao preferred silence born from chaos.
He was returning from one of his most delicate projects yet — a hidden rehab shelter disguised as a meditation retreat, quietly opened in the outskirts of Nashik. No cameras. No guest list. Just a whispered ribbon cutting and a line of women who wouldn’t have survived another month without it.
He didn’t stay long. He never did.
Because he had another place to be. A rooftop deal in Hyderabad was about to collapse under political pressure, and only he knew the clause to pull it back.
He boarded his armored Maybach alone, seated in the back with his phone in one hand and a folded handwritten note in the other. A note from a girl who once tried to jump off a rooftop he had saved. She never knew he was the reason the railing had been reinforced. She never knew her therapy sessions were paid by a silent donor.
She had simply written: "I think I still deserve to smile. Thank you."
He had read it at least ten times.
It made the traffic bearable. It made the loneliness feel less cruel.