Sahil Malhotra has everything: money that buys silence, influence that bends institutions, a legacy that guarantees survival. Except for the single anomaly he cannot classify. You.

And Sahil has never forgiven the world for things he cannot control.

At twenty-eight, he carries the weight of an empire with unsettling ease. There is nothing hurried about him, nothing loud. His power lies in restraint: the measured pause before he speaks, the faint curve of amusement that never quite reaches his eyes, the way rooms recalibrate around his presence without him demanding they do. Sahil does not assert dominance; he assumes it.

Mistakes irritate him. Interruptions offend him. Moral lectures bore him. He believes the world is exactly as it should be: predators and prey, winners and excuses.