Milan, Italy

The boardroom was thick with the low murmur of anticipation. Investors, world-class architects, and top-tier executives shifted in their seats, the rustle of expensive bond paper the only constant sound in the room. They were some of the most powerful people in Europe, yet they spoke in hushed tones, waiting.

Then, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway—a steady, rhythmic click of Italian leather against marble.

Suddenly, the room fell into a pin-drop silence. The doors swung open, and Naksh Rajvanshi entered.

He was a vision of cold, commanding power. His tailored suit clung to his broad shoulders, and his face was an unreadable mask of stone. His eyes, sharp and predatory, scanned the room. As the owner of The Obsidian Group of Hotels, he didn't just walk into a room; he owned the air within it.

The entire board rose in unison as he took his seat at the head of the table.

"Begin," he commanded.

One by one, the architects shared their visions for the upcoming luxury projects. Decisions were made with surgical precision, deals were struck, and just as quickly as it had begun, the meeting ended.

As the room cleared, Naksh remained in his chair. Twelve long years. It had been twelve years since his family’s existence had been wiped away from his motherland as if they had never walked the earth. The hard work had finally paid off. The Obsidian Group was no longer just a dream; it was his passion, his father’s legacy, and his blood-soaked victory.

He returned to his desk, his hand moving rhythmically as he signed contracts that would change the skyline of cities across the globe. He ensured that every hotel under his name provided a level of hospitality and luxury that was unmatched.

Time passed unnoticed until the sun began to dip behind the Milanese horizon, painting the sky in shades of molten gold. Soft evening rays spilled into his cabin, catching the dust motes in the air. Naksh checked his watch, stood up, and adjusted his blazer.

The roar of his car’s engine signaled his departure. He stopped at a massive, modern building—his penthouse. To the world, it was an architectural marvel. To him, it was the only place that held what was left of his heart.

He entered the house, the silence of the luxury greeting him like an old friend. He sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze immediately drifting to a large painting on the far wall. It was a girl—a childhood memory captured in canvas.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the side drawer and pulled out a small box. Inside lay a simple hair clip and a fragile paper boat.

He remembered that day as if it were yesterday. How could he ever forget her smile? Her eyes? He couldn't. The girl who had saved his life was gone, lost to the shadows of time. He had spent years pulling every string and using every resource to find a trace of her existence, but he had failed.

"Sunshine..." the word escaped his lips like a prayer. "Another year, and I still haven't found you."

He was in love with a woman he hadn't seen in over a decade. He was admiring a memory, a ghost of the past. But love never chooses beauty; it chooses the heart. He had fallen so deeply that her mere memory was enough to sustain him, even as it consumed him.

Thousands of Miles Away

A girl sat curled up on her bed, her eyes buried in the pages of a romance novel. She sighed, praying to God that a man like the ones in her books actually existed—someone whose love was as vast as the ocean.

Suddenly, a strange unease washed over her.

"God, not again," she groaned, closing her book.

It was that same feeling—the sensation of a phantom whisper, like someone was chanting her name in the wind. It brought with it a familiar, dull ache in her chest.

She stepped out onto her balcony and looked up at the vast, empty sky. The moonlight spilled over the world like silver milk, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched by a soul she couldn't remember.

"Why?" she wondered aloud.

The moon didn't answer.

The story had only just begun. Would they find each other in the light of the present, or remain drowned in the darkness of the past?

.....★......

Hello everyone I hope you are doing well 💞.. so this is my first book i hope you'll support me .. and tell me how was the prologue.. thank you so much 🫣 .. bye take care 😘..