⋆₊˚༺》Aesthetics《༻˚₊⋆

━┈┈⫸ Samiksha Sawant ⫷┈┈┈━

Samiksha Sawant, A recently graduated M.Arch (Master of Architecture) from National Institute of Architecture, Mumbai. A shining example of perseverance and ambition at age of 22 years old. Raised in a middle-class family, Samiksha's unwavering passion, determination, and innate curiosity propelled her to achieve remarkable milestones showcasing her drive for excellence and perfection.

Earlier, at the age of 18, she demonstrated remarkable foresight and financial acumen by entering the stock market and shares, establishing a substantial independent income. This step played a pivotal role in supporting her pursuit of academic excellence and an unyielding commitment to personal growth. Along with being a self made millionaire; achieving her first million at the age of 19.

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The faint glow of the early sun streamed through the large, open windows of the modest yet neatly kept room. A light breeze tugged at the sheer curtains, fluttering them like silent sentinels of the morning.

A figure stood by the edge of the bed standing tall at almost 5'11 feets. She carried herself with a balance of leanness and slight healthy fullness, with her smooth feminine flaunting curves-a physique that hinted at quiet strength along with and divine feminine perfection.

Her fingers idly scrolled through her phone as she typed out a quick message. Her jeans, dark and form-fitting, emphasized her tall, statuesque frame.

The top she wore, a deep blue shade, hugged her figure in just the right places, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows as though she had better things to do than worry about creases. There was elegance in the simplicity of her attire, a cool detachment from unnecessary frills.

With a quiet sigh, she flipped her phone shut and tossed it onto the bed without looking, the gesture effortless, unbothered. She ran her hand through her hair-a sleek bob, flipped casually to one side but perfectly voluminous on both. Her dark hair caught the sunlight just enough to gleam, the strands fluffy yet undeniably silky, like she'd stepped out of a movie without realizing it.

Her features had an understated magnificence, the kind of beauty that didn't scream for attention yet was impossible to ignore. Her skin, smooth and glowing like polished glass, bore no trace of cosmetics; she needed none. Her natural radiance was complemented by her full lips, soft and shining faintly from a layer of lip balm, nothing more.

She shifted her weight, leaning slightly to the side, and crossed her long legs at the ankles. Her movements were fluid and unhurried, carrying a quiet confidence that made every action seem purposeful. Her dark brown eyes, deep and expressive, caught the light as she glanced out the window. They were sharp yet carried a soft, ethereal shimmer, capable of shifting between a siren's allure and the innocence of a doe's gaze.

A faint vibration on the bed caught her attention, and she picked up her phone with a single, smooth motion. Her fingers brushed the screen, unlocking it as her lips curved into a subtle smirk. Her nose, perfectly shaped with a delicate shine at its tip, crinkled slightly in amusement as she read the name flashing on the screen.

"About time you called, Arya," she murmured, her voice a low, effortless drawl that somehow still carried authority yet eas calm, yet there was a lively undertone to it.

She stood in the middle of her room, her attention momentarily caught between the call and the framed degree certificates propped against her desk.

Arya's voice spilled through the receiver, bubbly and full of excitement. "Finally! Madam Architect Samiksha graces me with her time."

Samiksha chuckled softly, her gaze flitting back to the certificates. One bore the elegant seal of the National Institute of Architecture, while the other, smaller yet equally significant, proclaimed her mastery in Arts. Both achievements, hard-earned and reflective of years of relentless determination, now stared back at her like trophies of her quiet triumph.

Samiksha smiled, her fingers lightly tracing the engraved letters on the frame of her architecture degree.

She moved to the window, leaning her shoulder against the frame as she stared out at the sprawling cityscape. The sun glinted off the distant rooftops, and for a moment, she felt the weight of the past few years settle and then lift.

"Relax, Arya. You know, I've just been busy juggling two lives," she teased, her tone playful but hinting at the truth beneath.

The conversation shifted then, moving to lighter topics, but Samiksha's thoughts lingered on her journey. She'd built models and sketches, faced sleepless nights, and balanced precision with creativity. Now, as she stared out at the world she was ready to reshape, she felt a quiet confidence blooming within her.

This was just the beginning.

━┈┈⫸ Vikram Rao Nandan ⫷┈┈━

Vikram Rao Nandan, 31-year-old, celebrated as The Business Tycoon of Asia and owner of the illustrious Rao Nandan title at 23. As the sole heir, he transformed his family legacy into a global empire of unprecedented success.

Yet, beneath the surface of corporate brilliance lies a shadow few can fathom. his influence extends far beyond the corporate realm. Since the age of 25, Vikram has secretly operated as a Mogul, a Godfather, and the Monarch of the Underworld, A master of duality, flawlessly orchestrating both realms with precision secretly ruled the underworld under the feared name King Darkarden Arōs. A title that strikes terror across the clandestine world.

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The room was a masterpiece of design-a blend of natural radiance and quiet intimidation. Vast, ceiling-to-floor glass windows framed a panoramic view of the lush expanse outside, where sunlight spilled through trees and danced on the distant waters. Yet, within the room, the light seemed reluctant to touch the space fully. It lingered hesitantly at the edges, as though wary of the energy radiating within.

A long, majestic conference table stretched across the expanse, its polished wood reflecting the muted daylight. Around it sat figures of power-titans of industry, high-ranking politicians, decision-makers and the most influential figures in the country and outside, who shaped the world.

Each bore the weight of their own influence, yet there was an unspoken stillness in the air, as if the very walls were bracing for something-or someone.

At the far end of the table, a singular chair stood apart from the rest. Larger, more intricate, dark black Leather carved with intricate designs and golden accents that caught even the faintest glimmers of light. It was a throne in disguise, dominating the space without effort, waiting for the presence it was meant to host.

The atmosphere in the room shifted the moment the heavy mahogany doors creaked open. A ripple of awareness coursed through the air, commanding every individual around the table to rise instinctively. These extraordinary influential people stood up, their authority seemed diminished, their power dwarfed by the arrival of one man.

The sound of polished leather shoes striking the marble floor resonated like a countdown, each step deliberate, echoing in the heavy silence. The figure moved with an unhurried grace, his height a staggering 6'8 feet, his towering frame casting a long shadow that swept across the room. His presence alone was enough to silence whispers, his aura enough to make even the most confident falter.

His black hair, slightly disheveled yet impeccably styled, flowed just past his nape, catching the faintest glimmers of light.

The natural radiance of the room seemed to pale as he approached, his sharp amber eyes sweeping the table with a predatory grace. There was no warmth in those eyes, only a penetrating gaze that seemed to strip away pretense, revealing truths no one dared utter.

The sunlight touched his features briefly, illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the faint shadow of his full short boxed beard. He carried himself with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove, yet everything under his control. His tailored black suit clung to his frame, accentuating broad shoulders and a perfect muscular build.

The room, already filled with the most influential people in the country, seemed to shrink in his presence. His aura was suffocating in its quiet dominance, a force that demanded respect without a word.

Without a word, Vikram Rao Nandan moved to the chair, his gaze unwavering. As he approached, the collective presence of the room seemed to bow to him in silence, despite no formal acknowledgment. Every head was held high, yet the weight of his aura pressed down on them like an unspoken decree.

The room remained standing, their deference unspoken yet absolute. He glanced around, his sharp eyes making brief contact with each individual.

He reached the chair, turned, and with a controlled motion, sat down. The grand chair seemed to welcome him, its size and design made insignificant by the man who now claimed it.

"Sit."

The single word, uttered with quiet authority, broke the tension. The most powerful individuals in the country obeyed without hesitation, their movements measured, as though afraid to disturb the balance of his presence.

His hands rested casually on the armrests of his chair, but there was nothing casual about the dominance he exuded.

Vikram Rao Nandan has arrived, and the room belonged to him.