Meera
New York always smelled like rain before it broke. Metallic, expectant, like the air itself was bracing for impact.Fitting, considering I was walking straight into a hospital most people called untouchable—with a job no one wanted and a reputation people only whispered about.
I adjusted the lapel of my blazer and stepped out of the car. My driver offered an umbrella. I waved him off. Let the city spit a little. I'd survived worse than weather.
Westbridge Medical Center rose like a temple behind me—sleek lines, cold stone, glass gleaming like it never knew dust. I'd seen skyscrapers crumble under scandal. This one? It just hadn't met the right storm yet.
And maybe that storm was me.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with controlled chaos—residents walking too fast, orderlies dodging carts, the beep of machines humming under it all like a mechanical heartbeat. I didn't pause. Hospitals weren't intimidating. At least here, the pain was labeled, mapped, monitored. Not like the houses I grew up in.
A receptionist glanced up as I approached. She smiled too brightly.
"Hi. Can I help you?"
I slid my ID across the desk. "Meera Shah. Consultant. I have a meeting with Dr. Aryka Malhotra."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. We were... expecting someone older."
There it was. The first one of the day. They never meant to say smarter, more experienced, less female—but they always did.
I gave her the kind of smile that stopped men mid-sentence. "You'll get used to disappointment."
Her mouth parted, but I was already walking toward the elevators.
The top floor smelled of old wood polish and new ambition. Everything here whispered legacy. And money. Definitely money. The kind of place where hospitals weren't about healing—they were about branding.
Dr. Aryka Malhotra was exactly what I expected and not a shade more. Immaculate. Composed. Dangerously efficient in heels and a sheath dress. She looked like she'd never once lost her temper or misplaced a pen. The kind of woman who built empires on silence and spreadsheets.
"Ms. Shah," she said, with the clipped cordiality of someone who didn't believe in pleasantries. "I've read your file."
I shrugged out of my coat, draping it neatly over the chair. "And yet you invited me."
"I like to understand who I'm dealing with."
"So do I," I replied, letting the words hang just long enough.
There was a flicker in her eyes—approval, maybe. Or challenge.
We didn't get to explore it. The door behind her clicked open, and a man stepped in like he owned gravity.
I didn't look up right away. I was too busy putting together the details: surgical scrubs, damp collar, ID badge clipped to a steady chest. The quiet confidence of someone who'd just walked out of an operating room and into a boardroom without missing a beat.
Then I looked up—and locked eyes with the storm.
Aarav Malhotra.
Tall. Clean lines. That kind of stillness that felt dangerous—like if he moved, the room might shift around him instead. There was something unbothered about him. Something... sharp.
"This is my brother," Aryka said, as if she'd forgotten to mention the part where he was carved out of intensity and jawlines. "Dr. Aarav Malhotra. Head of Trauma."
He looked at me. Not like a man seeing a woman. More like a surgeon assessing a threat. Thorough. Silent.
"You're the new financial consultant," he said. Not a question. A statement laced with ice.
"Yes," I answered, evenly.
"You're planning to cut my team's budget."
"If necessary."
"And if people die because of your calculations?"
I tilted my head slightly, crossing one arm. "Then maybe the hospital needs better doctors."
Aryka made a sound—something between a breath and a warning. But I didn't look at her. I looked at him.
And he looked at me like I'd just handed him a scalpel and dared him to flinch.
He stepped closer—slow, deliberate. "I hope you know the difference between fixing a hospital and gutting it."
"I do." My voice never wavered. "Do you?"
His lips didn't move, but I saw it—a shift behind his eyes. Like something coiled a little tighter. Not anger. Not yet.Just interest.
Then he walked past me, close enough that I could feel the electricity roll off him. He didn't touch me. Didn't speak again. But the air crackled in his wake.
I exhaled. Just once. Quietly.
Aryka sipped her coffee. "You'll find Aarav... difficult."
I smoothed my blazer and sat down across from her, unbothered. "So am I."