The Moon in Me
finds the Sky in You
-selene
Viara Arora
The name alone could silence a room.
Today, that silence was shattered—by Viara herself.
“HOW THE FUCK—”
Her palms slammed onto the glass table, rattling the untouched crystal water bottles and some souls.
“How the actual fuck do you imbeciles screw up a deal so simple a toddler with a sugar high could pull it off?!” Her voice rose like a whip. “It took months to crack that Milan shipment. And now? Poof. Gone. Vanished. STOLEN. Congratulations, you’re all officially brainless.”
Every exec seated around the long conference table suddenly became very interested in their fingernails, notes, or the floor.
Anything but eye contact.
Viara Arora wasn’t just the CEO of Vivace Aura, a multibillion-dollar empire of fashion and cosmetics—she was the storm in stilettos. Cold but captivating. Sweet if you bribed her with good espresso. Savage always. A woman who didn’t just break glass ceilings—she set the damn building on fire and rebuilt it in her name.
And right now, she looked like she was about two seconds away from launching her Louboutin at someone’s face.
She paced like a lioness, her heels clicking across the marble. “Do any of you realize what this means? Our global campaign is delayed. Delayed! Our brand face, Sophie Carter, is sitting in Milan waiting for products that don’t exist anymore. Should she pose with air and imagination? Or maybe manifest the goddamn blush palette?”
Silence.
Thicker.
Colder.
Deadlier.
She snapped, “FOR FUCK’S SAKE, SPEAK!”
“Viara, calm down.”
The voice didn’t come from the conference table.
It came from the door.
Shivin Mittal.
Of course.
The only person on Earth who could interrupt Viara Arora mid-rage and live to tell the tale.
Owner of the biggest restaurant empire in the world, Shivin had the kind of smooth, magnetic presence that made people trust him within seconds. Calm, dangerously charming, and absurdly composed—even in the face of Viara’s fury.
Which, to be fair, was an Olympic-level skill.
Viara whirled around, eyes wild. “Shiv, if you’re here to—”
He just looked at her.
That unimpressed, unbothered, bored-of-your-meltdown stare.
She growled.
He arched a brow.
Then—like it was nothing—he picked her up.
“SHIVIN, PUT ME THE FUCK DOWN—”
“Not today.”
And just like that, in front of the entire boardroom, Shivin Mittal carried the CEO of Vivace Aura out like a misbehaving toddler in Chanel.
Inside Her Cabin
“I hate you,” she muttered, arms crossed like a brat.
“Love you too,” he said, sipping her coffee like he paid the rent here.
Viara narrowed her eyes. “You always steal my coffee.”
“And you always curse like you’re paid per word.”
“If I had a dollar for every time you said that, I’d be richer than I already am.”
He smirked. “Still not richer than me, baccha.”
She flipped him off.
“See? My point.”
Viara slumped onto the couch. “Did you come here just to annoy me, or is there a deeper mission?”
Shivin leaned forward. The smirk dropped.
“We’re going to Delhi.”
The air changed.
She didn’t move. Just… froze.
“No,” she said. Firm. Low.
“It’s been eleven years.”
“I said no.”
“Ishir’s wedding. Kanav. Maanik. Kiara. Mihika bhabhi’s pregnancy—”
“Shiv—”
“You need to go back.”
Viara looked down. Jaw clenched. Breathing shallow.
Shivin reached out, covering her hand gently. “You love them. Don’t punish yourself by pretending you don’t.”
Her voice cracked. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he said softly. “And you won’t have to do it alone.”
A beat. Then another.
And then—one silent, traitorous tear slid down her cheek.
Shivin didn’t say anything else.
He didn’t need to.
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
If Viara hated anything more than incompetent executives, it was airports.
Specifically—airports at 1AM, where the lighting sucked, the air smelled like caffeine and stress, and her patience was thinner than her mascara wand.
“I don’t wanna go,” she mumbled, tugging her hoodie over her head as they walked through the private terminal.
“You don’t have a choice,” Shivin replied without glancing up from his phone.
“You said no drama, no cameras.”
“It’s literally one in the morning, Vi. Even the gossipmongers have bedtimes.”
They didn’t.
Cameras flashed before they reached the gate. Paparazzi, like cockroaches, scuttled out of nowhere.
“Motherf—” Viara yanked her hood down. “Why are they here?!”
Shivin sighed. “Because apparently two rich people breathing in the same room equals engagement rumors.”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on Earth.”
“You’d marry me out of boredom.”
“I’d marry a toaster before I married you.”
They tried slipping past the reporters. Didn’t work.
“Viara! Are you two dating?”
“Another trip together?”
“Are you moving in again?”
“Shivin, how much was the villa this time?”
“Is he the reason you’re not dating anyone else?”
Viara stopped.
Dead.
In.
Her.
Tracks.
Turned. Hood off. Chin up. Nuclear glare locked in.
“Oh my god,” she said in her sharp, disinterested American accent, “you guys still exist?”
One reporter stuttered.
She folded her arms. “You really dragged yourselves here at 1AM to ask if I’m dating someone I’ve never flirted with? Jesus. Your careers must be thriving.”
Shivin quietly sipped his Red Bull.
Viara continued, “Let me break this down: rich people have rich friends. Sometimes we travel together. Sometimes we buy gifts. Doesn’t mean we’re fucking.”
Someone gasped.
“And FYI,” she added sweetly, “I live with Shivin. And my dog. And my espresso machine. Guess which one I sleep with? Hint: none of them.”
Shivin laughed into his sleeve.
Viara flipped her hair. “Now if you'll excuse us, I have a flight to regret boarding. Best of luck with your lives. And brains.”
Security cleared the way. Cameras kept flashing.
But the truth?
Wasn’t for their lenses.
No one knew she tied a rakhi to Shivin every year.
That he wasn’t her lover. He was her brother. Her anchor. Her past and present. Her family in every way that mattered.
And they planned to keep it that way.
ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚
Soft jazz filled the quiet of the first-class lounge. The smell of fresh coffee. The click of keyboards. Phone notifications pinging between two very overworked billionaires.
Viara didn’t look up. “You think I was too harsh?”
Shivin smirked. “You told a grown man to buy a new personality and Google basic IQ. I think that was generous.”
She grinned. “I was holding back.”
He leaned back. “Delhi’s not ready for you.”
Her smile faltered. She stared at the glowing tarmac outside the window.
Delhi.
A city of buried memories. Pain. Regret. Family.
And ghosts she wasn’t ready to face.
“You sure about this?” she asked quietly.
Shivin looked over. “You won’t be alone. I promise.”
Somehow, that was enough.
She nodded. Slowly.
“Let’s go.”
And they boarded the flight that would change everything
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LOVE SELENE <3
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