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The voice belonged to none other than Mr. Virendra Singh Rajput — the eldest son of Baba, the mafia heir, and now my eldest brother. His cold, sharp, commanding tone could make even the strongest of men tremble in fear. It wasn't just a voice; it was an order, a warning, a silent strike that demanded submission without question.
The moment I heard it, my head snapped up almost instinctively, as if my body had been trained to obey voices like his. And there he stood. Virendra Singh Rajput.
I had seen him before, from a distance, but never like this — never with his full presence directed solely at me. His tall frame towered near the doorway, his broad shoulders outlined perfectly by his crisp, tailored formal suit. His hands were tucked neatly in his pockets, a stance that should have seemed casual, yet somehow radiated absolute power. His gaze was fixed on me, piercing, sharp, and unrelenting.
It was too much.
My eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before instinctively lowering, retreating, as if even meeting his eyes was a crime. My fingers tightened around the edge of my dress, my throat dry. A sudden weight pressed down on my chest, heavy, suffocating, like chains pulling me under water.
In that moment, I wasn't standing in Baba's mansion anymore. I wasn't supposed to feel safe here. No. My mind dragged me back to the old house, back to the haunting words of Neel Sir — words that had been carved into me, scars that refused to heal.
"You are unlovable, Kartiki."
"That's why your parents died. They couldn't bear the burden of raising you."
"Even death is preferable to giving love and care to someone like you."
Each phrase struck my mind like a whip, merciless and familiar.
"A burden."
"Incapable of love."
"Better off gone."
I could hear his voice so vividly that it drowned out everything else — the way baba rushed towards me, the words he was trying to say, even Virendra's presence. The more I tried to resist, the tighter the words wrapped around me, pulling me into their suffocating grip.
My tiny head, cursed with its endless, spiraling thoughts, began weaving a web of chaos. A spider's web of despair, every thread connected back to that single poisoned belief: I am unlovable.
When Baba brought me here, I had foolishly let a spark of hope ignite inside me. Maybe, I thought, this would be different. Maybe if not family, then at least safety. Maybe if not love, then at least acceptance. A corner to exist without being despised.
But standing under Virendra's glare, all of that crumbled. His authority, his presence, the sheer weight of his existence — it pressed on me like a reminder. This is not your world. You don't belong here.
My chest began to tighten further. My breaths turned shallow, uneven, ragged. Everything seemed to shrink, walls leaning in closer and closer, the air thinning. My hands trembled uncontrollably, but I pressed them against my dress, willing them to still, terrified that someone might notice.
I wanted to scream that I couldn't breathe, that I was breaking, but my voice refused to obey. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat louder than the last, thundering in my ears. My vision blurred at the edges, as though darkness itself was creeping in to swallow me whole.
And then it hit me.
I was on the verge of a panic attack.
Right here, right in front of him — the one man whose approval I feared and craved at the same time. My body betrayed me, shaking, unraveling, as if Neel sirs's words had finally succeeded in proving themselves true.
Because if Virendra Singh Rajput looked at me with the same disgust... then maybe Neel sir was right all along.
Maybe I really was unlovable.
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Flashback
Baba's message had been... strange. No, not strange—cryptic enough to freeze the blood in my veins. I was in the middle of signing some urgent contracts when my phone buzzed with his name. Baba rarely texted. He was a man of calls, short, sharp, commanding. But this time, it was a text.
"I am reaching home in two hours. I have a little girl, Kartiki, with me. Ready the room beside mine. I want all of you in the house at exactly two hours from now. And remember—no one is wearing anything formal. Be ready to welcome your little sister home."
For a second, I thought it was a mistake. A little girl? Sister? Baba, the mafia king, the man feared across the underworld, suddenly bringing home a child?
My first reaction was disbelief. My second—fear. Not the kind of fear that makes me tremble, but the kind that coils like a serpent in my gut. Baba was a man of calculated moves, every step a strategy. If he was doing this, there was a reason.
Still, the words little sister kept ringing in my head.
I called him immediately, but as expected, his phone was switched off. Baba had already warned us—when he wanted silence, it meant silence. Yet, out of desperation, I tried again. Nothing.
So I shoved the files back at my PA.
"Cancel everything. I'm leaving for home," I barked. My PA's eyes widened—cancel everything? That never happened. But I had no time to explain.
When I reached home an hour later, I found the living room already buzzing with tension. Vedansh sat on one end of the sofa, his face red, his voice raised. Rudransh lounged on the other side, arms crossed, smirk plastered on his face—classic Rudra, always pretending not to care.
"How can you say that?!" Vedansh practically shouted, his voice dripping with disbelief.
I walked in just as Rudra shrugged lazily.
"And what exactly is he saying?" I asked, my voice calm but firm. Both of them turned to me. Vedansh immediately latched onto my presence.
"Thank god you came, Bhaiya. Rudra here is saying that we should just send the mystery girl away—without even seeing her face, without talking to her! He's decided she doesn't belong here already."
Rudra rolled his eyes. "I'm just being realistic. We don't need random baggage in this house."
Vedansh shot up from his seat. "Realistic? Is that what you call this? Tell me, Rudra—if a patient came to you half-dead, would you refuse to even check his pulse? Would you declare him gone without knowing his symptoms, running tests, or at least reading his file?"
He spat out the words in one breath, his doctor's passion bleeding through.
"Firstly, calm down—both of you," I ordered, holding up my hand. My voice, sharp but measured, cut through the tension. Vedansh was breathing heavily, Rudra's smirk twitching at the corner.
I looked directly at Rudra. "Vedansh is not wrong. If Baba is bringing this girl here, he must have his reasons. We should trust him. And no one is expecting you to cuddle her, call her nicknames, or immediately accept her as your sister. Just... take your time. Try to understand her. That's all."
Rudra's eyes met mine. For a second, I saw the walls around him—thick, unbreakable. Walls he had built after years of wounds no one dared to speak of. Baba and I could sometimes climb those walls, but even that was rare. Finally, Rudra gave a small, reluctant nod.
At least it was something.
Just then, we heard the heavy iron gates creak open. The sound echoed through the mansion's entrance, and all three of us instinctively moved toward the door.
And then I saw it.
The sight that burned into my memory forever.
Baba—our Baba, the man who could make nations bow with a single look—was crouched down on one knee, speaking in the softest tone I had ever heard from him. A softness only Ma had once received. His lips were curved in the faintest smile, his voice tender as if he was whispering to a porcelain doll.
And beside him... the girl.
Kartiki.
Her face was solemn, too solemn for a child. Her eyes carried shadows—deep, haunting shadows that no child should ever have to bear. She looked so fragile, so small that I felt a strange protective instinct twist inside me instantly. But her eyes—God, her eyes.
Those weren't the eyes of a child. They were the eyes of someone who had walked through nightmares, someone who had tasted betrayal, abandonment, and pain.
"Bhaiya chimti kheencho. Main toh behosh hi ho jaunga. Baba itni shanti se aur pyaar se kisi ke saath baat kar rahe hai. "(brother pinch me, father is talking so softly and lovingly to someone)
Vedansh's shocked voice brings me out of my thoughts and I harshly whack the backside of his head.
"Ouch bhaiya marne ke liye thodi na kaha tha—" but seeing my raised arm as if to repeat, he says" but koi baat nahi yeh bhi chalenga"😁
I glanced sideways at Rudra. For the first time, genuine surprise flickered in his eyes, even a crack in his walls. But just as quickly, he masked it, turning his gaze away coldly.
Still, I noticed. And I knew. This girl... this girl would break those walls someday. She would bring Rudra back to life.
"Bhaiya, I have an urgent meeting," Rudra muttered suddenly, his voice tight. Before I could say a word, he turned and left. Classic Rudra—running before the feelings could catch him.
Then, the words that made my blood boil.
The little girl's trembling voice:
"What if sirs do not like me? What if they think of me as an intruder?"
Sirs. She called us sirs.
My jaw clenched, my fists curled.
Before I could stop myself, the anger burst out of me.
"NO! I AM SURE THEY WON'T LIKE YOU!"
The words, sharp and loud, sliced through the air.
The moment they left my lips, I regretted them.
Her wide eyes—already haunted—filled instantly with tears. Her tiny body trembled, shoulders shaking as if she had just been struck. Her lips quivered, her chest heaving.
And then it hit me.
She hadn't understood my anger. She had taken it as rejection.
I had just confirmed her worst fear.
Her breathing grew rapid, shallow. Her small hands clutched at Baba's coat desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks. Panic swirled in her eyes—pure, raw panic.
A panic attack.
"Virendra!" Vedansh's voice was alarmed. He understood immediately too. Together, we rushed toward her. Baba lifted her in his arms, rocking her gently, whispering soothing words—but it wasn't working.
I knew then—it had to be me.
She had to hear it from me.
"Give her to me," I told Baba. My voice was firm, but he saw the urgency in my eyes. Reluctantly, Baba handed her over.
I cradled her trembling body against me, carrying her into the living room. She felt impossibly light, as if one wrong move could break her. I set her down carefully on the couch.
And then, in the smallest, broken voice, she whispered words that shattered me:
"I'm sorry... I never meant to intervene in your life. I know I'm unlovable... but please... don't send me back over there."
Unlovable.
The word stabbed me like a blade.
How could a child—this small, fragile child—believe she was unlovable?
Vedansh stepped forward, his doctor's instincts ready to take over, but I held up a hand. Not yet. She needed something else first.
She needed me.
I cupped her face gently in my palms, forcing her to look at me. Her skin was soft, fragile, damp with tears. I lowered my voice, softer than I ever thought possible.
"Bas... bas Kartiki. Ab rona ekdam band. Pehle samjho toh sahi maine kyun bola jo bhi bola."
(Enough... enough, Kartiki. Stop crying now. First, understand why I said what I said.)
My voice was soft yet firm, a mixture of command and comfort. She hiccupped, tears still streaming, but her eyes finally met mine.
Vedansh, ever practical, placed a glass of water in her trembling hands. "Piyo." (Drink.) His tone was stern, more of a doctor's order than a brother's comfort.
Kartiki hesitated, then took a tiny sip.
"Poora." (Finish it.) His voice was unyielding.
Silently, she drank all of it. I took the glass from her once she was done.
Now came the hardest part.
I softened my gaze, looking directly into her frightened eyes.
"Kartiki," I said firmly yet gently. "What I meant earlier... was not that I don't like you. I was angry because you called us 'sirs'. We are not your employers. We are your brothers. It may take time for you—and for us—to adjust. But if Baba brought you here, it is not to send you back. Do you understand?"
Her lip trembled again, but I leaned closer, adding with a teasing smile, "So don't let that little brain of yours overthink, okay?"
For the first time, the faintest flicker of relief crossed her face.
And in that moment, I realized something shocking.
Her opinion mattered to me. More than I ever thought possible.
Before Kartiki could even open her trembling lips to reply to my words, a voice came crashing through the silence like a thunderclap.
"OMG! What happened to my sweetie? Who made you cry? How dare he do that? Won't you tell your Adi about it?"
My jaw tightened. That voice—dramatic, loud, filled with exaggerated concern—could only belong to one person.
Aditya.
This man. This... overgrown child. I did call him my close friend, yes, but moments like these made me seriously question my life choices. His entry was always like a Bollywood scene—dramatic background score included. He stormed into the room, arms outstretched as if he was Kartiki's knight in shining armor.
And the worst part? Kartiki's big, tear-brimmed eyes looked up at him—and she whispered, almost shyly, "Adi... bhaiya..."
Adi. Bhaiya.
I blinked. What did I just hear? Did this little girl... this little stranger... call him bhaiya before even knowing us properly? A sharp sting of annoyance shot through me. I had been standing here, trying to calm her, trying to stop her from spiraling into a panic attack, and she calls him bhaiya?
Before I could interrogate the absurdity of this situation, another voice entered, half-annoyed, half-sarcastic.
"Kya aadmi hai aap log! Ghar mein bhi shanti se sone nahi dete. Yahan se toh raste pe bhi shanti zyada milti hai—"
("What kind of men are you all! You don't even let a person sleep peacefully at home. There's more peace out on the road than here—")
That lazy, taunting voice belonged to none other than Jeevansh. My sweet little brother, though there was nothing "sweet" about his shamelessness. He appeared at the staircase, rubbing his eyes, clearly just dragged himself out of bed.
But then his eyes landed on Kartiki.
"Ye pyaari si, innocent si bacchi... Bhagwan bhi kaisi pareeksha leta hai! Rasta bhatak kar aa gayi hai yaha shero ke jhund mein—"
("This sweet, innocent little girl... God tests in such cruel ways! She's wandered into a den of lions—")
He froze mid-sentence. Because by now, all of us were glaring at him. I was sure mine was the sharpest. If looks could kill, Jeevansh would've been buried six feet under by now.
"Main toh sirf... accha, yeh sab chhodo. Yeh ladki hai kaun?"
("I was just... okay fine, leave all that. Who is this girl?")
His voice was curious, though, genuinely curious this time.
And that was when Baba stepped forward. He bent down, picked Kartiki into his lap as though she weighed nothing, and looked at us with an expression I had rarely seen—pride, protectiveness, and finality all rolled into one.
"Ye Kartiki hai. Meri beti. Tumhari behen. Aaj se yeh hamare saath hi rahegi."
("This is Kartiki. My daughter. Your sister. From today, she will live with us.")
His voice turned firmer, colder, sharper as he added:
"Nobody will ask her unnecessary questions. Nobody will force her into doing anything she doesn't want to do. And most importantly—no one will shout at her or scold her. Samjhe sab?"
("...Is that understood?")
The room went dead silent. We all nodded, almost instinctively.
"Ji, Baba."
("Yes, Baba.")
Even I, the one who usually stood his ground against Baba when it came to matters of principle, didn't dare argue.
Kartiki, still sniffling in his lap, tilted her head and asked innocently, "Baba... yeh kapde kyun nahi pehne hai?" (pointing at Jeevansh).
("Baba... why isn't he wearing proper clothes?")
For a second, I didn't understand what she meant. And then it hit me.
She was pointing at Jeevansh—standing there, scratching his head in his stupid shorts.
My lips twitched. So did Vedansh's. Because the truth was, we had all gotten so used to seeing Jeevansh roaming around half-dressed in the house that it had become invisible to us. But Kartiki, with her fresh perspective, had noticed immediately.
"Arrey—ye toh—" Jeevansh stammered, suddenly self-conscious. For the first time in his life, his cocky grin faltered. Red-faced, he bolted upstairs like a shot.
When he returned, he was wearing a T-shirt. Backwards.
"Duffer!" Vedansh smacked the back of his head. "Ulta hai!"
("It's inside out, idiot!")
The whole room broke into laughter. Even Baba's lips twitched. Kartiki gave a tiny, shy giggle—the first genuine one since she entered this house.
That little sound made something shift in me. Something warm. Something I hadn't felt in years.
But before the atmosphere could fully lighten, my mind went back to something that had been bothering me.
I turned to Kartiki.
"So, Kartiki..." I began, raising an eyebrow. "I heard you were calling us Sir. But then... over there..." I jerked my chin toward Aditya, who was now sitting smugly on the arm of the sofa, "...you're calling him Adi bhaiya. Tell me the truth—did he bribe you? Did he give you chocolates? Or maybe ice cream? Which sweet did this Indian fool give you to buy your loyalty?"
Kartiki's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, Vedansh interrupted in a sing-song voice.
"Oh ho! Look who's jealous." He smirked at me. "Virendra bhaiya, are you... insecure?"
"Jealous? Of him?!" I scoffed, but my ears betrayed me by turning red.
Aditya leaned back, hands behind his head, grinning like a devil. "Excuse me, I didn't give her anything. She called me bhaiya herself. After all, I don't roam around the house shouting at children the first time I meet them."
The jab hit home. My jaw clenched.
Jeevansh, now finally wearing his T-shirt the right way, jumped into the conversation. "Okay, someone please explain this circus to me. She called us Sir... she called him bhaiya... and Virendra bhaiya has already scolded her? Wah. I always knew you were a Hitler, but this is a new level."
My glare silenced him instantly.
But then... chaos.
Vedansh, Aditya, and Jeevansh launched into a full-blown debate about Kartiki's choice of titles. Who she liked more. Who was being unfair. Who was scaring her. The room filled with overlapping voices, accusations, mockery, laughter, and irritation.
Meanwhile, I turned my head silently. My eyes landed on Baba and Kartiki.
They weren't paying attention to the chaos. Baba was whispering something softly to her, his large hands stroking her hair with unusual gentleness. Kartiki was nodding, her tiny fingers clinging to his kurta as if it was her lifeline.
My chest tightened again.
And then Baba did something that silenced us all in one go.
He covered Kartiki's ears with his palms. And bellowed, his voice echoing through the mansion walls—
"SHUT UP. SAB CHUP. ABHI KE ABHI."
("Shut up. Everyone. Right now.")
The noise died instantly.
Baba's glare swept across us like a storm.
"Abhi ke abhi, dining room mein chalo. Jab tak main wapas nahi aata, sab wahan chup-chaap baithe rahoge."
("All of you, to the dining room. Until I return, you will sit there quietly.")
Nobody dared argue. Not even Aditya.
We filed out, one by one, leaving Baba with Kartiki.
And as I walked toward the dining room, my thoughts wouldn't stop.
This girl. This tiny, fragile girl. She had already changed the air of this house. Already shaken us. Already—without even trying—started breaking our walls.
I didn't know whether to be afraid of that... or hopeful.
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Vijay turned toward Kartiki, his expression gentler than ever, his eyes reflecting the kind of love only a father could carry for his child. His tone softened, almost melting into the silence of the room as he said, "Come on, pari, let's go. You must be tired from today's events, right?"
Kartiki, still holding on to the edge of her frock nervously, tilted her head up and asked softly, "Ji, Papa... par hum kahan jaa rahe hain?"
("Yes, Papa... but where are we going?")
A small chuckle escaped Vijay's lips, one filled with tenderness. "I am taking you to your room. It's right next to mine. Since we didn't have much time and we also didn't know your preferences, the room has been kept simple. But remember, Pari—" his voice lowered, almost protective, "—as it's right next to mine, if you have any problem, anything at all, you can come straight to me. Okay?"
His words were careful, measured, yet deeply affectionate. Kartiki blinked up at him, as if trying to grasp whether this comfort was truly hers to claim.
Together, they walked down the long, marble-floored corridor. The air inside the Rajput mansion carried a regal heaviness—paintings framed in gold, ancestral photographs staring down from the walls, expensive carpets laid out under their feet. Yet, for Kartiki, every step was heavy with hesitation. Her tiny feet slowed now and then, her gaze darting from one towering chandelier to another. The house felt far too grand, too intimidating for someone who once lived in silence, fear, and shadows.
But Vijay noticed. He noticed everything. Her hesitation, her nervous glances, the way she slightly bit her lip when the silence grew heavy. Without saying much, he simply extended his hand toward her. Hesitant at first, Kartiki slowly slipped her tiny fingers into his palm.
The warmth of that gesture made her chest tighten. For the first time in what felt like eternity, someone wasn't pushing her away. Someone was holding on.
Finally, they reached the room. Vijay opened the door, the golden handle creaking slightly as it gave way.
The moment Kartiki stepped inside, her breath hitched.
It wasn't just a room. It felt like a dream wrapped inside four walls.
The pastel-colored walls gave off a soft glow under the warm ceiling lights. A full-length mirror stood by the corner, its polished frame reflecting her small, wide-eyed face. A large balcony with white curtains opened into the garden, where the night breeze slipped in gently, carrying with it the scent of jasmine from the mansion's grounds.
And in the corner, swinging slightly as if waiting just for her, was a hanging chair—white ropes holding it, a soft cushion placed neatly in the middle.
Kartiki's lips parted into the first genuine smile of the day. She ran forward, her fingers brushing across the curtains, then the swing, then the mirror. Her eyes shone with wonder.
Vijay, leaning against the door frame, didn't need to ask. He could see it in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she touched each little detail of the room. Still, softly, he asked, "Did you like it, Pari?"
The answer came not in words first, but in action. Kartiki spun on her heels, rushed forward, and without a second thought, threw her tiny arms around Vijay. She buried her face in his chest and whispered, her voice trembling with both joy and disbelief, "I love it, Baba. Thank you... thank you so, so much."
Vijay's heart clenched. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her fragile body, pressing his cheek against her head. In that single moment, he vowed silently to himself: No matter what it takes, I will protect this child. I will give her everything she was denied.
"Never thank me, Pari," Vijay whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. "You have no idea... the lengths I can go just to see this smile on your face."
Kartiki looked up at him, her eyes wide, almost shimmering with tears. It wasn't sadness this time—it was disbelief, the kind that comes when life suddenly gives you something you thought you'd never deserve.
Vijay ruffled her hair gently, forcing a smile back onto his face. "Now, enough of this. You should sleep, okay? It's been a long day. You'll be fine, right? Or..." he hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should ask, "do you want me to stay with you tonight?"
For a fleeting moment, Kartiki wanted to say yes. Every cell in her body screamed for her to cling to this man who had, in just a day, shown her more love than she had known in years. But then, seeing the lines of tiredness on his face, knowing he must have so much to do, she shook her head softly. "It's fine, Baba."
Vijay smiled, though a part of him had secretly hoped she would ask him to stay. He bent down, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Good night, Pari."
As he turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind him, Kartiki sat on the bed. For a moment, silence filled the room.
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OVER HERE
The Rajput dining room had never been a quiet place, but tonight it was absolute chaos.
The long oak table stood in the center, glittering under the golden chandeliers, untouched plates of food lying cold as the brothers' tempers burned hotter than fire.
Virendra's voice thundered across the room, aimed squarely at his younger brother Jeevansh.
"Aise toh mobile games aur raat bhar shots dekhta hai, kabhi change bolkar WhatsApp group check kar liya kar!"
("This one stays up all night watching game replays, maybe sometimes you should at least check the WhatsApp group once in a while!")
His tone was dripping with sarcasm, sharp as a whip.
Jeevansh, the most carefree of the four, frowned. "Arre bhai, chill. Itna bhi kya gussa? Bas ek din toh—" (Brother, relax. Why so much anger? It was just one day—)
But Virendra cut him off with a glare so cold it could freeze fire.
On the other side of the table, Vedansh—the ever-serious doctor—was lost in thought, his fork resting untouched on the plate. His eyes were distant, his mind circling only one thing: Kartiki's health. Her frightened eyes haunted him, reminding him of the countless trauma patients he had treated.
Meanwhile, Aditya slammed his palm on the table, unable to hold himself back any longer. His voice, sharp and accusing, cut through the tension.
"Virendra! How dare you shout at that poor soul?" His eyes burned with fury as he leaned forward. "You, the great mafia—shouldn't you have seen it in her eyes? She didn't have a childhood like us. She's gone through hell... and this is your first impression on her? Wah, Virendra. Way to go." His sarcasm was laced with disgust.
For once, Virendra didn't have a comeback. His jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.
Then as if he remembered, he too had a topic for him "And would you please like to share the story of how you knew her?"
The question carried weight. Jealousy. Curiosity. Concern.
Aditya sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know much myself. I don't know how exactly she ended up with Boss. But when she came... she was terrified. Still is, honestly. Her past left scars deeper than we can imagine. But—" his eyes softened, just for a second, "—she developed a bond with Boss. Something unique. Something even I can't explain."
The room fell into heavy silence. Even Virendra stopped pacing. The mention of their father always had that effect.
Aditya's voice dropped lower. "As for how we met... well..." He trailed off, lost in memory. And then slowly, he narrated.
He told them about how she had been quiet, fragile, almost ghost-like. How she flinched at every sound, every movement. How Boss—Vijay Rajput—had been the only one she didn't fear.
The brothers listened with rapt attention, each word sinking into their minds, painting a picture of the broken little girl who now carried their family name.
And then, the sound of heavy footsteps broke the silence.
Vijay entered.
His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, his eyes dim but carrying a strange glow of satisfaction. The day had drained him, but seeing Kartiki smile—even once—had been enough to fuel him.
All heads turned toward him instantly.
Vijay exhaled deeply. "I know you all have your own versions, your own thoughts. But tell me—where is Rudransh?" His voice was sharp, cutting.
The brothers exchanged uneasy glances.
Vijay's frustration spilled over. "Why can't my sons follow simple instructions? When I said no formals, it was for a reason. She's already scared—your suits, your cold looks, they make it worse! But no, Virendra shows up in full formals, like he's attending a board meeting. And Jeevansh—" he turned, glaring at the youngest, "—you walk in with nothing but shorts? Shorts?"
Jeevansh shifted uncomfortably. "It was hot..." he muttered, earning another glare.
"And then I asked for everyone to be present, but where was Rudransh? Absent, as usual!"
Just as his words hung heavy in the air, the door creaked open.
Rudransh entered, his tie loose around his neck, his expression calm. "Sorry, Baba. I had a very important meeting. Couldn't miss it." His voice was smooth, practiced. A perfect lie.
But Vijay knew. Vijay always knew.
He shook his head. "No need to lie, Rudransh. I understand. New relationships take time. But... at least try to give this one a chance. Look into Kartiki's eyes once, alone. You'll understand. You'll find peace. But..." his voice softened, "...no one is forcing you."
For the first time, Rudransh's composure cracked. His eyes flickered, something unspoken passing through them. He gave a quick nod, then looked away.
Vijay sighed, running a hand over his tired face. "Now... how I got her."
And then, slowly, carefully, he told them the whole story.
The room grew still, each brother processing in their own way.
Some felt fury—at the monsters who had broken her.
Some felt guilt—at their own behavior earlier.
Some felt protectiveness—an urge to shield her from everything.
When Vijay finished, his voice was quiet, almost broken. "Aditya, I want you to find out who Kartiki used to live with. Nothing more. Don't dig into her past beyond that—we need to earn her trust first. And... find out about the leak. Someone out there knows too much. Keep me updated."
The room stayed silent, heavy with mixed emotions.
Finally, Vijay stood. "It's late. Enough for today. Go and rest."
One by one, the brothers left the dining room.
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Hours later, Virendra sat alone in his study, piles of income sheets scattered across the desk. Numbers blurred before his eyes as his mind wandered back to the image of Kartiki's tear-stained face. His chest tightened with guilt.
He shut the last file, pushing his chair back. "It's too late already," he muttered, glancing at the clock. Almost past midnight.
Ever since their mother's death, it had become his silent routine—to check on everyone before retiring. A habit no one knew, no one saw. His quiet way of making sure the family was intact.
Tonight, however, his steps slowed as he reached Kartiki's door. Memories of earlier stabbed his conscience. He had shouted at her. He had made her cry. His little sister. The words replayed like knives in his head.
He pushed the door open softly.
The room was dimly lit, the curtains swaying with the night breeze.
Virendra's eyes fell on the bed. Blankets were crumpled. Pillows tossed.
But the bed was empty.
His heart stopped.
His voice cracked into the silence. "Where the hell is she?"
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hufff, finally finished.
So, my beautiful readers how was it? did you like it?
What was your favourite part?
homework:
Which character do you like the most and which brothers interaction you want more??
Also guys do VOTE AND COMMENT AND SHARE THE BOOK WITH ALL YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY WHOEVER WOULD BE INNTRESTED EVEN ON SOCIAL MEDIA.
TILL THEN THE NEXT UPDATE WILL BE ON TUESDAY or if you complete the target which is definitely not too high.
BYE BYE❤️❤️❤️
author_nidhi_
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