Aradhya thought she had buried the past. The pain of being abandoned. The anger of being left without a goodbye. She had built herself into an empire-a successful businesswoman by day, a feared mafia queen by night. No one crossed her and lived to t...
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Aradhya's Pov
I was sitting in my office, sorting through a pile of design drafts, each page starting to look like the last. Too plain. Too shiny. Too loud. Too dull.
Nothing stood out. Nothing said us.
I was searching for something uncomplicated, yet elegant. Something that would be able to relate to people. But all I could find were overpriced pieces of art that would be better off in museums than in someone's real wardrobe.
I sighed in frustration and slammed the folder shut before hitting the intercom button.
"Get Smita in here."
A few minutes later, the door opened and Smita walked in, clipboard in hand, her usual calm expression on her face.
"Mam, you called?"
I looked up at her, then leaned back in my chair. "Yes. I want you to call a meeting with all of the design personnel. Thirty minutes from now. Everyone must be there. No exceptions."
She blinked, somewhat taken aback, but she didn't ask questions. She never did.
"Got it," she nodded and departed.
I thrust my fingers through my hair, sighing. My expectations were not unrealistic. We didn't need to compromise on the personality of our brand. We were renowned for making designs that made people feel seen. Not just the wealthy, not just the glamorous –but anyone.
Thirty minutes passed in a flash.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in."
Smita entered again, her voice even. "All the people are in the meeting room."
I briefly nodded to her, gave her the file I was reading, and stood up. "Let us go."
She followed me silently down the hallway. Our heels echoed off the polished floors. Each staff member we met stood a little straighter. They were probably sensing the storm clouds gathering in me.
When we walked into the conference room, everyone's eyes were on me. They all stood up when I arrived. I looked at the faces, counted them quickly. No one was absent.
Good.
I took a seat at the head of the table. Amrita, one of our senior designers, passed me another file. I did not even open it. I already knew what it contained.
Holding it up, I looked around the room. "What in the world is this design?"
My voice was not loud. It did not need to be. The frustration in my voice did all the talking.
There was a weighted silence.
Some lowered their heads. Others looked at me anxiously. A few darted looks at one another, wishing someone else would talk before they would have to.
