The study smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood, a signature of Rudra Singh Rathore’s world: polished, disciplined, and untouchably serious. He sat behind his desk, phone pressed between ear and shoulder, his long fingers tapping across his laptop keyboard with mechanical efficiency.
“I don’t care about excuses, Sharma,” his voice was cold, clipped. “The shipment leaves tonight, not tomorrow. If it doesn’t, you can hand in your resignation tomorrow instead. Clear?”
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