(Present Time – The Singhania Estate)
The heavy, custom-built SUV rolled s-i-l-e-n-t-l-y through towering, wrought-iron gates.
No one spoke. Not Lakshya. Not Maan. Not Ranchit. Not even Abhiraj.
For the last twenty minutes... silence had filled the luxurious armored cabin.
Not an awkward silence. A careful one. As if everyone was holding their breath, terrified that one wrong word, one loud noise, might shatter something incredibly fragile.
The vehicle s-l-o-w-e-d. Then... stopped smoothly.
Riya looked up.
Outside the heavily tinted window... her breath caught in her throat.
"..."
This wasn't a mansion. It was... A KINGDOM.
Pristine white stone gleamed beneath warm, perfectly placed golden lights. Massive marble fountains whispered softly into the cool night air, the water sparkling like liquid glass. Manicured gardens stretched much, much farther than she could even see in the dark. Sweeping balconies overlooked perfectly trimmed, symmetrical hedges. Tall, arched windows glowed with a warmth she'd almost forgotten homes were allowed to have.
It didn't just look lived in. It looked... protected. Invincible.
Without thinking, completely overwhelmed by the sight... she pushed the heavy door open herself.
THUD.
Cool evening air brushed gently against her face, lifting a few loose strands of her hair.
She stepped down. Her old, worn, mud-stained sneakers met spotless, meticulously laid cobblestone.
For a l-o-n-g moment... she simply stood there. Looking. Listening. Breathing it all in.
Everything smelled... clean. Fresh night-blooming flowers. Rain-soaked earth. Freshly cut, rich grass.
No damp, peeling walls. No suffocating black mold. No stale, burned food. No shouting volunteers. No crying children in the dark. No Mrs. Verma.
Something deep inside her chest tightened. Painfully.
Five years. Five birthdays spent staring at a rusted gate. Five freezing winters with a thin blanket. Five leaking monsoons. Five entire years spent wondering...
Did they forget me?
Her fingers unconsciously reached down, gripping the frayed edge of her oversized, faded cotton dress.
The fabric had become incredibly soft with age and too many harsh washes. She'd worn it... so many times... it almost felt like another layer of her own skin.
Her thumb rubbed absentmindedly over a tiny, uneven stitch near the hem. She had sewn that herself. The night it tore while she was climbing the orphanage boundary wall, trying to see if their car was coming down the road.
Her dark eyes lifted back toward the staggering, palatial mansion.
"So..." She muttered under her breath, her voice tiny in the vast space. "...this is where all the money went."
A tiny pause.
Then... a DRAMATIC little huff, puffing out her cheeks. "You better be worth the wait..."
Another pause, her grip on her dress tightening. "...you stupid brothers."
Behind her... someone smiled.
Lakshya.
It wasn't a full grin. It barely even reached his dark, tired eyes. But it was there. Small. Real.
He didn't interrupt her chaotic thoughts. Didn't tell her to hurry up and come inside. Didn't rush her process.
He simply walked forward until he stood right beside her. Not too close to overwhelm her. Not too far to leave her alone. Just close enough... that if she reached out, even an inch... he'd already be there to catch her.
"Welcome home..." His deep, gravelly voice was quieter than the whispering fountains. "...baccha."
Riya looked up at him. Really looked.
The jagged white scars. The impossibly broad shoulders carrying the weight of an underworld empire. The exhausted, shadowed eyes.
He looked... older. So much older than the boy who had left her. As if the last five years hadn't only passed... they had violently settled on his shoulders, leaving permanent marks.
She didn't answer him. Not because she was still playing the angry card. Not because she didn't want to.
But because suddenly... looking at this towering fortress... she realized she didn't know what "home" was actually supposed to feel like anymore.
The ENORMOUS, heavily carved oak doors opened from the inside.
Two heavily armed, uniformed guards bowed immediately, perfectly synchronized. "Welcome home, Sir."
Lakshya acknowledged them with a fraction of a nod. Nothing more. Even that tiny, microscopic movement carried absolute, terrifying authority.
No raised voice. No effort. Power simply... followed him like a shadow.
Riya puffed out her cheeks again, gathering her courage.
"...Okay." She whispered it to herself. Tiny. Determined.
"Let's inspect this place."
Then... with all the arrogant confidence a thirteen-year-old girl in a faded dress could possibly fake... she marched toward the grand entrance. Like a very small, very fierce queen arriving to inspect her newly conquered kingdom.
Behind her... four lethal mafia kings followed without a single complaint, entirely at her mercy.
PANDEMONIUM. Absolute. Unfiltered. PANDEMONIUM.
"KITCHEN!"
Ranchit's voice BOOMED through the massive foyer, echoing off the marble.
Every single servant jumped out of their skin. The head chef, wearing a pristine white uniform, nearly dropped an entire silver tray of freshly baked artisan bread.
Ranchit pointed DRAMATICALLY toward the sprawling kitchen wing. "EMERGENCY!"
The chef swallowed hard. "...Sir?"
"Our sister is home!" Ranchit looked personally, deeply offended that everyone wasn't already running in circles. "Why are you all just standing there?" "MOVE!" "COOK!" "EVERYTHING!"
The kitchen staff blinked, terrified and confused. "...Everything, sir?"
"Everything." Ranchit began aggressively counting on his elegant fingers. "North Indian." "South Indian." "Italian." "Chinese." "Thai." "Mexican."
He paused, lowering his hand. "...Actually..." "Make desserts first." "Wait. No." "Main course first." "No. Definitely desserts."
He groaned dramatically, dragging both hands through his perfectly styled hair, ruining it completely. "JUST MAKE BOTH!"
The chefs scattered like frightened mice. Someone almost collided head-first with a massive industrial refrigerator. Another ran desperately toward the walk-in pantry.
A third yelled in pure panic— "We're out of fresh basil!"
"I DON'T CARE!" Ranchit yelled back, his voice echoing. "BUY THE PLANT!" "BUY THE WHOLE FARM!"
Meanwhile, on the other side of the foyer...
"Wait." Abhiraj f-r-o-z-e. Completely, utterly froze mid-step.
His dark eyes narrowed. Very suspicious. Dangerously, lethally suspicious.
He s-l-o-w-l-y looked around the pristine foyer. The painted ceiling. The silk-lined walls. The sweeping, curved staircase. The crystal chandeliers. The hand-woven Persian carpets.
"..." "...Is that..." His index finger slowly lifted, pointing toward the third step of the stairs. "...dust?"
Every maid in the vicinity turned to ice. Every guard stopped breathing. Even Ranchit stopped yelling at the chefs.
SILENCE.
Abhiraj gasped. Actually gasped, clutching his chest.
"My doll has been breathing toxic orphanage dust for five years..." His voice rose DRAMATICALLY, bouncing off the walls. "...and NOW..." "...NOW..." "...someone expects her to breathe mansion dust too?!"
The poor housekeeping manager looked ready to pass out on the spot. She was visibly shaking. "S-Sir..." "I swear, it was cleaned this morning—"
"This morning?" Abhiraj looked SCANDALIZED. Absolutely horrified. "That was HOURS ago!"
He spun DRAMATICALLY toward the terrified staff, looking like a warlord preparing for battle. "Vacuum everything." "Wipe everything." "Polish everything."
"If one microscopic, single dust particle lands on her nose..." He pointed toward the ceiling with TERRIFYING, absolute conviction. "...I'm firing gravity."
The manager blinked, her brain short-circuiting. "...Gravity, sir?"
"Yes." "It clearly isn't doing its job."
One young, trembling maid whispered to an older one nearby, "...Can... can he do that?"
The older maid sighed, looking thoroughly exhausted. "...I honestly don't know anymore. Just wipe the stairs."
Riya stood in the exact center of the massive foyer. Blinking. Once. Twice. Three times.
She s-l-o-w-l-y turned her head toward Lakshya, who was standing perfectly still beside her. "..." "...Are they always like this?"
Lakshya didn't even pretend to think about it. "Yes."
"They're worse." Maan corrected calmly, smoothly walking past them, fixing his cuffs. "They're excited."
"I am NOT excited," Abhiraj protested immediately from across the room. "I am being a responsible older brother."
He then pointed accusingly toward an insanely expensive, Ming-dynasty decorative vase in the corner. "Who approved that monstrosity?"
The manager trembled. "...You did, sir."
Abhiraj frowned, staring at the vase in betrayal. "...I don't trust Past Me."
Ranchit burst out laughing, leaning against a marble pillar. "You argued with yourself again?"
"Past Me makes highly questionable financial decisions."
"You ARE Past You!"
"I've grown."
"It was literally yesterday, Abhiraj."
"I've matured rapidly overnight."
Riya pressed both of her lips together. Very hard. Trying. Really, desperately trying... ...not to laugh.
A tiny, muffled sound escaped anyway. "...Pfft."
Four highly-trained, lethal heads SNAPPED toward her. Immediately.
She slapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes going wide. "..." "I didn't laugh."
"You absolutely laughed." Abhiraj grinned, looking incredibly triumphant. "I heard it. A giggle."
"I coughed."
"That was the happiest, most melodic cough I've ever heard in my life."
A tiny, stubborn smile tugged at the corner of her lips beneath her hands. She quickly looked away, staring at the floor. "No." "...Maybe a little."
Abhiraj placed a DRAMATIC hand entirely over his heart, staggering back a step. "She smiled." He looked wildly at Ranchit. "Did you see that?"
"I saw it."
"I think I'm going to cry."
"You cry every Tuesday."
"I cry artistically!"
Maan closed his eyes. Very briefly. Then severely pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long breath. "...I genuinely regret being related to both of you."
"You say that..." Ranchit smiled, completely unbothered. "...yet here you are."
"I lost the adoption paperwork," Maan replied without missing a single beat, his face completely deadpan.
Even Lakshya's lips twitched. Barely. A millimeter. But Riya noticed.
And somehow... seeing the most feared man in the country, the ruthless mafia boss, almost smile... because of something this entirely stupid and ridiculous... made the towering, intimidating mansion feel...
A little less enormous. A little more... like home.
"Come." Maan spoke first. His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The chaos behind them continued anyway. Ranchit was still aggressively arguing with a sous-chef about the correct temperature for soup. Abhiraj had somehow started interrogating the flower arrangements for hiding pollen.
"...This way."
Riya followed Maan. S-l-o-w-l-y.
Her eyes refused to stay in one place. Everything was... too much.
The massive oil paintings. The endless stretches of polished marble. The glittering chandeliers that looked like upside-down diamond mountains. The sweeping staircase.
She was terrified to touch anything. It all looked... breakable. Excessively expensive. Like one clumsy mistake would cost more than everything she'd ever owned in her entire five years of existence.
The double doors of the living room opened before her. She stopped dead in her tracks. "...Whoa."
It was ENORMOUS. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the sprawling, illuminated gardens. Dark wood bookshelves stretched across an entire massive wall. A gleaming black grand piano rested quietly in one corner. Soft, ambient golden lights filled the room, making it glow.
It didn't shout wealth. It whispered it. Dangerously.
In the dead center... sat a HUGE, deep emerald velvet sofa.
It looked... dangerously soft. Like a cloud made of fabric.
Lakshya noticed exactly where she was looking. A faint, incredibly soft smile touched his lips. "Go on."
Riya glanced up at him, uncertain. "...Can I?"
"You don't have to ask, baccha."
"...Really?"
"It's yours."
She blinked, her mind struggling to process that. "...Mine?"
Lakshya nodded once. Absolute certainty. "Our home." A pause. "...Your home."
Something complex flickered across her small face. Disbelief. Desperate hope. Lingering fear. All tangled dangerously together.
Very carefully... like approaching a sleeping wild animal... she walked toward the sofa.
She reached out with one tiny finger. Poked it.
Soft.
She poked it again.
Softer.
Abhiraj chose that exact, quiet moment to stroll into the room. He watched her poking the expensive velvet. "...Doll."
She looked up, caught in the act.
"You know..." He folded his arms very seriously, leaning against the doorframe. "...it won't bite you."
"...You don't know that," she whispered back suspiciously.
"I bought it."
"Exactly."
Ranchit walked in right behind him, carrying a silver tray. "I completely agree with her." He eyed the sofa with deep suspicion. "I don't trust your shopping decisions either."
"I have excellent taste," Abhiraj defended immediately.
"You bought a chair last month because..." Ranchit cleared his throat DRAMATICALLY, mimicking Abhiraj's voice. "...and I quote verbatim..." "'It looked emotionally available.'"
"It DID."
"It was a chair, Abhiraj."
"It understood me on a spiritual level."
"It had extra cushions."
"Exactly. Emotional support."
Riya looked back and forth between them, feeling like she was watching a tennis match.
Then... without another word... she climbed fully onto the sofa.
The plush cushion practically swallowed her whole. "...!"
She bounced. Once. Twice. Then f-r-o-z-e.
Her dark eyes s-l-o-w-l-y widened into saucers. "Oh..."
Abhiraj smirked, looking incredibly proud of himself. "I knew that face."
Riya bounced again. A little higher this time. "...It's..." Bounce. "...really..." Bounce. "...soft."
Ranchit pointed triumphantly at her. "See?" "I told you." "She likes it."
"I picked the sofa," Abhiraj protested loudly.
"And I approved it."
"You complained about it for three straight weeks!"
"I approved it eventually."
"After making everyone in the interior design firm cry!"
"I was ensuring quality control."
Maan entered the room just in time to hear the end of that sentence. "No." He looked calmly at Riya, adjusting his cuffs. "He terrorized six different furniture companies."
"I had strict standards."
"You had a spreadsheet."
"It was color-coded."
"It had seventeen tabs."
"It had twenty-one," Abhiraj corrected automatically, completely serious.
Then he paused. "...Wait."
Ranchit burst out laughing, nearly dropping the tray. "You remembered the tabs!"
"...I hate all of you."
"You love us."
"I merely tolerate your existence."
"That's basically love in this family."
While they argued loudly across the room... Lakshya quietly, silently, sat down beside Riya on the giant sofa.
Not close enough to crowd her space. Close enough... that if she leaned even a little bit... she'd find his solid shoulder.
He didn't interrupt the chaotic banter. Didn't stop it. He simply turned his head and watched her.
She wasn't bouncing anymore. Her small fingers were buried deep in the emerald velvet cushion. S-l-o-w-l-y rubbing the rich fabric. Over. And over. And over again.
As if desperately trying to convince her own brain... that it was real. That she wasn't going to wake up on a thin mattress.
Lakshya noticed. Of course he noticed. He noticed absolutely everything about her.
The way she'd finally stopped nervously fidgeting with her dress. The way her erratic breathing had s-l-o-w-e-d into a natural rhythm. The way the defensive, terrified tightness in her small shoulders had eased... just a little.
A profound, blazing warmth settled quietly in the center of his chest.
Worth it.
Every single sleepless night. Every brutal scar on his body. Every drop of blood he had spilled to build this empire.
Worth it.
Then—
THUD. The silver tray Ranchit was holding landed heavily on the glass coffee table.
Riya jumped, startled.
Abhiraj beamed, rubbing his hands together DRAMATICALLY like a cartoon villain. "Operation Feed The Tiny Human..." "...officially begins."
(The Feast and The Swamp Water)
Before Riya could even recover from the first silver tray...
THUD! Another one landed right beside it, brought by a breathless maid. Then another.
"..." She blinked.
The massive glass coffee table was literally disappearing beneath plates.
Abhiraj proudly stepped back, admiring his work. "Perfect."
Riya looked down, completely overwhelmed.
Cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Butter cookies. Jam-filled cookies. Crispy wafer rolls. Fudge brownies. Miniature French pastries. Thick blocks of imported chocolate bars. Colorful macarons. Tiny, perfectly frosted cakes.
"..." She looked up. "...How many people are coming over?"
Abhiraj frowned, genuinely confused. "...Just you."
She s-l-o-w-l-y looked back at the mountain of sugar on the table. Then back at him. "...Am I feeding the entire neighborhood?"
Ranchit casually walked in from the hallway, carrying a ridiculously tall crystal glass. It was bright green. Ice cubes floating near the top. Fresh mint leaves. Tiny, artistic slices of kiwi on the rim.
It looked... suspicious. Highly, dangerously suspicious.
"Doll." He held it out proudly toward her. "Fresh juice."
Riya stared at it. Long enough... that Ranchit's charming smile s-l-o-w-l-y started fading into concern.
"...Why is it green?" she asked cautiously.
"It has spinach."
She looked absolutely HORRIFIED. "...It has WHAT?"
"Spinach."
"...You blended leaves."
"They're healthy!"
"You liquefied grass."
"It is NOT grass."
"It LOOKS like grass from the courtyard."
"It has mango in it!"
"I can't even SEE the mango, Ranchit Bhaiya."
Abhiraj immediately reached over and snatched the terrifying green glass away. "There." He shoved a GIANT, warm chocolate chunk cookie toward her instead. "Ignore the swamp water."
"It is NOT swamp water," Ranchit protested indignantly. "It is vitamin-rich."
"It is radioactive."
"It is organic!"
"It is literally glowing in the dark!"
"It is reflecting the chandelier light!"
"It is healthy!"
"It is terrifying!"
Riya looked from one tall, lethal brother... to the other.
Then, she quietly asked, "...Do rich people always fight over liquid vegetables?"
SILENCE.
Abhiraj answered first, totally deadpan. "...Only dramatic rich people."
"We're not dramatic." Ranchit looked deeply offended.
Every single servant standing near the doorway s-l-o-w-l-y turned their heads toward him. "..."
"...Okay." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We're a little dramatic."
"A little?" Maan's smooth voice drifted in as he entered the room, holding a tablet. "You almost declared a blood war over poorly steamed broccoli last month."
"It insulted me."
"It was broccoli, Ranchit."
"It knew exactly what it did."
Riya couldn't stop it anymore. A laugh escaped.
Small. Bright. Completely, wonderfully real.
She immediately slapped both hands over her mouth. "...Oops."
Abhiraj pointed DRAMATICALLY. "She laughed!"
"I heard it too." Ranchit grinned, looking victorious.
Lakshya looked at her. Really looked.
The heavy, suffocating fear in her dark eyes... wasn't completely gone. But for the very first time... it wasn't the strongest emotion there anymore.
Curiosity was. Amusement was. Life was s-l-o-w-l-y finding its way back into her exhausted soul.
He leaned his head back quietly against the velvet. Said absolutely nothing. Just... watched her.
Because this—this loud, completely ridiculous argument over cookies and green juice—was exactly why he'd burned the city down to bring her home.
Not for the mansion. Not for the endless money. For this. For laughter. For the stupid, ordinary moments she'd been viciously robbed of for five years.
Meanwhile... the argument had somehow escalated again in the background.
"I get first feeding rights," Abhiraj declared, holding up a macaron.
"No." Ranchit aggressively moved the green juice closer to the table. "Hydration comes first."
"Chocolate comes first."
"Vitamins."
"Chocolate."
"Nutrition, Abhiraj."
"Happiness, Ranchit."
"Health."
"Cookies."
"Juice."
"Coo—"
"ENOUGH."
Maan's voice cut through the massive room like a physical blade. Instantly.
SILENCE.
The servants f-r-o-z-e. Ranchit f-r-o-z-e. Even Abhiraj stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open.
Maan looked at both of them. Completely expressionless.
"...You're arguing with each other." A pointed pause. "...And she hasn't even eaten yet."
Both brothers s-l-o-w-l-y turned their heads toward Riya.
Then... at the completely untouched mountain of food.
Then... at each other. "..." "...Oh." They said together, completely deflated.
Riya sighed DRAMATICALLY. Her tiny shoulders slumping into the cushions. "...Bhaiyaaaaa..."
She looked up at the painted ceiling, asking the heavens for strength. "...What have I gotten myself into?"
For the very first time that entire evening... Lakshya let out a quiet laugh.
Just one. Low. Rough. Brief.
Gone almost instantly. But everyone heard it.
The entire room turned to look at him in pure shock. Including Riya.
His lips had already returned to their usual, severe calm line. As if absolutely nothing had happened.
Abhiraj blinked, looking terrified and amazed. "...Did..." He looked wildly at Maan. "...Did Lakshya Singhania just laugh?"
Maan nodded once, adjusting his glasses. "...Record-breaking event."
Ranchit looked genuinely, deeply emotional. "...I feel like I'm witnessing history."
Lakshya shot all three of them a single, lethal look that promised pain. "...Enough."
"...Yes, Bhaiya." "...Yes, Lakshya." "...Absolutely, shutting up now." Three voices answered together in rapid succession.
Riya looked between all four of her terrifying, ridiculous brothers. Then... a tiny, entirely mischievous smile s-l-o-w-l-y spread across her face.
(...Interesting.)
(The Vow)
The foyer had barely settled... ...when chaos violently threatened to begin all over again.
Ranchit's sharp, calculating eyes swept across the line of waiting staff. His expression hardened instantly. Gone was the laughing idiot fighting over green juice. In his place stood the ruthless mafia underboss.
"Kitchen."
One word. That was all it took.
The head chef straightened immediately, his spine rigid. "Yes, sir."
"Prepare dinner." His gaze shifted softly toward Riya for half a second... ...then returned to the staff, freezing over again. "Everything suitable for a thirteen-year-old."
A pause. "Fresh." "Healthy." "And incredibly fast."
"Understood, sir."
Nobody moved. Not yet. Because Ranchit hadn't dismissed them.
He gave a short, sharp nod. Only then did dozens of chefs practically sprint toward the kitchen wing. Not walking. Running for their lives.
On the opposite side of the foyer... Abhiraj's intense gaze landed on the marble staircase again. His eyes narrowed to slits.
"...Dust."
His voice wasn't loud. If anything... ...it was much quieter than usual. Which somehow made it infinitely WORSE.
The entire housekeeping staff f-r-o-z-e in absolute terror.
A young maid's face completely drained of color. "I-I'm so sorry, sir-"
Abhiraj didn't even look at her. "Fix it." "Now."
"Y-Yes, sir." She nearly stumbled over her own feet trying to leave.
Within seconds... three more staff members had magically appeared with expensive cleaning supplies.
Riya blinked, leaning forward. "...There wasn't even that much dust."
Abhiraj looked down at her. His entire face softened immediately, melting into brotherly warmth. "There was."
"No, there wasn't."
"There was, Doll."
She folded her arms stubbornly. "I checked."
"You inspected?"
"I have eyes, Bhaiya."
Abhiraj gasped DRAMATICALLY, clutching his pearls. "Our doll is auditing my mansion."
"Our?" Ranchit scoffed from across the room. "It's her mansion."
Abhiraj nodded immediately, conceding the point. "Correct." He looked around the spotless foyer. "If she says there isn't dust..." He pointed toward the polished staircase with terrifying conviction. "...then congratulations to everyone." "The dust has officially resigned."
A tiny, unexpected snort escaped Riya before she could stop it.
Meanwhile... Maan had silently watched the entire ridiculous exchange from the doorway. He sighed. A very, very tired sigh.
Then he looked toward the remaining, lingering staff. "Leave."
No shouting. No threats. Just one calm, absolute word.
Every servant bowed instantly. Within moments... the enormous foyer was completely empty. Only the brothers remained.
The silence lasted exactly... ...three seconds.
Then Ranchit looked toward Abhiraj, shaking his head. "You terrified the poor maid."
"I motivated her."
"You almost gave her a legitimate heart attack."
"Efficient cleaning requires strong motivation."
"It requires a broom, Abhiraj."
"It requires fear."
"It requires therapy," Maan muttered quietly, rubbing his temples.
Lakshya hadn't spoken once. He simply watched Riya.
She was standing in the middle of the massive living room... turning s-l-o-w-l-y. Looking everywhere.
The glittering chandeliers. The sweeping staircase visible through the doors. The massive paintings. The endless, cavernous hallways.
Her eyes were huge. Trying desperately to take everything in.
She looked... small. Painfully, heartbreakingly small. Inside a house built for giants and kings.
Lakshya's chest tightened. Like a fist squeezing his heart.
Five years. Five years she'd lived with cracked, weeping walls... ...and now she looked entirely overwhelmed by ceilings that stretched three stories high.
His dark gaze dropped. To her dress. The faded, washed-out cotton. The worn, fraying stitches near the hem. The tiny tear she'd clearly sewn herself with clumsy hands.
Something freezing cold settled heavily in his stomach.
His little sister... had learned to mend her own clothes. Because no one else would do it for her.
A thick muscle ticked violently in his jaw.
Nobody noticed. Except Uncle Anant, standing in the shadows of the doorway.
The older man watched him quietly. He knew that look. He had seen it right before rival syndicates were wiped off the map.
Someone... was going to pay for every stitch on that dress. Just not today.
Today... belonged to Riya.
Lakshya forced himself to look away from the dress before his lethal anger showed. Not here. Not in front of her. Not today.
He took one s-l-o-w breath... ...and buried the violent rage deep where it belonged. For now.
Riya, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him, wandered back toward the enormous velvet sofa. She stopped. "...This sofa is bigger than my entire dormitory."
Abhiraj looked at it. Then at her. Then back at the sofa. "...She's right."
Ranchit nodded seriously, crossing his arms. "We need a smaller sofa."
Maan gave him a flat, exhausted look. "No."
"But look at her."
Riya climbed back onto the velvet couch. The cushion swallowed her whole again. Only her head remained visible over the plush fabric.
Abhiraj immediately pointed. "...See?" "Our doll disappeared."
"I'm right here," Riya said, her voice muffled by velvet.
"Barely."
"I'm literally talking."
"Your forehead is talking, Riya."
Riya rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt her brain. "Bhaiyaaaa..."
Abhiraj grinned broadly. "There she is."
Lakshya finally walked over. Without a single word... ...he sat beside her.
Not too close. Not too far. Just enough.
His massive arm rested along the back of the sofa, right behind her. A silent, impenetrable wall. A silent, lethal promise. Nobody would reach her... ...without reaching him first.
Riya noticed. She didn't say anything. But...
She leaned. Just a little. Just a fraction of an inch.
Enough for her small shoulder to brush against his solid arm.
Lakshya felt it. His heart nearly stopped in his chest.
She trusted him. Again.
Across the room... Ranchit watched the tiny, monumental movement. He smiled. A real one. "...We're getting there."
Maan gave the smallest, barely perceptible nod. "One step at a time."
Abhiraj looked suspiciously emotional, sniffing once. Then immediately ruined the profound moment. "I'm still the favorite."
Riya looked at him from the safety of Lakshya's arm. "...Who told you that?"
"My heart."
"Your heart lies."
Ranchit burst out laughing, clapping his hands. "I've been saying that for years!"
"My own family bullies me in my own home."
"We're correcting you."
"I'm a victim of emotional abuse."
"You're dramatic."
"I learned from you!"
"Impossible."
"I took extensive notes!"
Their loud voices echoed through the massive mansion. For the first time in five long, bloody years... the house didn't feel empty.
It felt... alive.
Uncle Anant stood quietly near the doorway. Watching. Listening.
The loud laughter. The childish teasing. The tiny, broken girl who had walked in carrying five years of fear... ...was smiling.
Just a little. But it was there.
He closed his eyes for a brief, thankful second. Welcome home, little one.
Riya looked around the room one last time.
The mansion was still too big. Too expensive. Too overwhelmingly massive. She still didn't know where half the endless hallways led. She still wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a cruel, beautiful dream.
But she knew one thing for certain. If she got lost... four terrifying, ridiculous mafia brothers would probably tear the entire mansion down to the foundation looking for her.
The thought made her smile. A real one. Small. Sleepy. But entirely real.
Lakshya noticed it immediately. His lips curved ever so slightly into the shadows.
Worth it.
Every brutal fight. Every painful scar. Every single sleepless night. Every drop of blood spilled in the dark.
If it brought that tiny smile back to her face... he would do it all again. Without a second of hesitation. Without a shred of regret.
Because empires could always be rebuilt. Money could always be earned again. Enemies could always be defeated.
But... his little sister's smile? That was priceless.
And this time... he wasn't losing it again.
To Be Continued...
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