The grand drawing room of the Raghuvanshi haveli stood wrapped in a heavy silence, as if even the walls dared not echo the thunder Abhimaan had just unleashed.

"I have decided to marry Eisha," he had declared, his voice deep, resolute-carrying the weight of not just a man's decision, but a king's command.

Instantly, heads turned and eyes widened.

Harshwardhan, as always, sat with a granite-like stillness, his chiselled face carved with quiet fury, lips tight, jaw locked in a dangerous silence.

Aayansh, calm as the desert night, leaned back, his presence no less intense.

And Ekansh-ah, that familiar glint of mischief danced in his eyes. His lips curved in a knowing grin, like a boy watching a secret unfold exactly the way he'd predicted. "Didn't I say something was cooking?" his gaze teased.

But the air was sliced clean when Dada Sa's voice rose-noble, thunderous, the voice of a man whose words had long shaped the fate of dynasties.

"Aap hosh mein hai, Abhimaan?" "Are you in your senses, Abhimaan?"

His words weren't just a question; they were a confrontation. A test.

"Shaadi koi khel nahi hai... yeh ek pavitra bandhan hai, jo do logon ko jeevan bhar nibhaana hota hai. Yeh do parivaron ka milan hota hai. Humne aapko Hukum Sa banne ke liye kathor banaya... lekin iska matlab yeh nahi ki aap apne dil ko pathar ka bana dein." ("Marriage is not a game... it's a sacred bond, one meant to be upheld for a lifetime. This is the union of two families. We raised you to be strong, to be a ruler-but not to turn your heart into stone.")

Abhimaan's posture didn't flinch. He stood tall, his back straight, hands clasped behind him. But inside, he paused.

He respected Dada Sa-revered him. And yet, this moment was not one of seeking approval. It was one of declaration.

Then, in a voice calm yet unyielding, he spoke-measured, precise, like a sword that knows exactly where to strike.

"Dada Sa, I have made this decision after careful thought. This isn't just about marriage-it's about Raj Tilak. We are bound by time. The throne cannot wait. I've met her-Eisha. She is genuine, intellectual. She has the grace and strength to carry the weight of the Hukum Rani Sa title."

He looked each of them in the eye, his next words delivered like a final commandment.

"Humara faisla atil hai. Hum apne pariwar aur praja ki suraksha ko aur der tak jokhim mein nahi daal sakta." ("My decision is final. I can no longer risk the safety of my family or my people.")

A stillness followed-no less intense than before, but heavier now, like the calm before a second storm.

And it came.

Meera.

She stood, her eyes moist, her voice shaking not with anger-but disbelief. The kind that only a mother could feel.

"Is she perfect to be your wife?" Meera's voice trembled slightly, though her gaze remained sharp. "Do you even know if there is compatibility between you two? More importantly-was her consent involved in this?"

The words sliced through Abhimaan like unexpected lightning.

He hadn't expected this. Not from her. Not Maa Sa.

The silence that followed was unlike before. It wasn't majestic-it was personal. Abhimaan's jaw clenched. A shadow crossed his face. Not fear. Not hesitation.

Guilt.

He hadn't thought his mother would ask about consent so directly. He had known they would question-but hearing it so openly, so boldly-shook him for a second.

He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself.

He knew Eisha. He had seen the truth in her eyes. Her silence, her submission, her pain-it all screamed of fate, not resistance.

And yet... would his family see it the same way?

Meera stepped forward. Her voice now a whisper of pain wrapped in steel.

"Answer me, Abhimaan. I did not raise you like this."

That did it.

He raised his eyes again, calm now, a prince in posture and warrior in resolve.

"Aap galat soch rahi hain, Maa Sa."

("You're thinking wrongly, Maa Sa.")

"Eisha ko is rishte se koi aitraaz nahi. Yeh rishte hum dono ki manzoori se tay hua hai." ("Eisha has no objection to this relationship. It was agreed upon by both of us.")

But even as the words left his mouth, he saw it.

The doubt in Meera's eyes. The unspoken storm within her heart. She knew something was off. She always did.

Her voice dropped, softer now, but no less firm.

"hum unse khud milenge. Tab faisla hoga." ("I will meet her personally. Then, I will decide.")

Abhimaan gave a small nod. Expected. Prepared.

He stepped forward, voice unwavering.

"Aap mil sakti hain, Maa Sa. Lekin shaadi ki taiyyari kal se shuru hogi."

("You may meet her, Maa Sa. But the wedding preparations will begin from tomorrow itself.")

That was it.

A decree, not a discussion.

He didn't wait to hear their responses. The decision was made. Not by emotion. Not by tradition.

But by duty.

And with that, Abhimaan Singh Raghuvanshi-the future Hukum Sa-walked out of the drawing room, leaving behind silence, disbelief... and destiny.

Courtyard:

The courtyard was bathed in the soft golden light of the late afternoon, but for Meera, the world seemed muted, as if nature itself shared the heaviness in her heart. She sat alone on the stone bench beneath the neem tree, its leaves rustling gently with the breeze. Her eyes, once sharp with insight, now looked lost in a sea of thoughts. A renowned psychologist, known across Rajasthan for reading even the most elusive emotions, Meera Singh Raghuvanshi had always been praised for her ability to unravel minds. Yet, ironically, she had never been able to decipher the faces of her own blood-Abhimaan, Harshwardhan, Aayansh, and even Ekansh.

But today... today something had shifted.

For the first time in years, an unease settled in her chest-a subtle, gnawing feeling she could no longer ignore. Something in Abhimaan's silence, his unspoken tension, the flicker in his eyes-it didn't sit right with her. Her heart, ever the mother before the psychologist, was restless.

Just then, she felt a familiar warmth settle beside her. She didn't need to look. Only one person knew how to read her silences without a word-Naintara.

A few moments passed in shared quiet, the kind that only two women bound by years of love and pain could sit in. Then, gently, Naintara's voice broke the stillness.

"Bhabhi sa, I know you are worried," she said softly, her tone laced with reassurance " I have met Eisha for once but I understood everything,...She is kind, truly kind-not the performative kind we often see. There was no greed in her eyes, no pretense in her voice. She felt like sunshine in this often cruel and calculated world."

Meera remained silent, her gaze fixed on a falling leaf.

Naintara continued, her voice stronger now. "She doesn't win hearts with sweet words, bhabhi sa, but with the calm in her presence. She reminded me of a still lake-peaceful, untouched. And if Abhimaan has chosen her... then surely, there must be something about her that's different."

Finally, Meera turned her face toward Naintara, her expression thoughtful yet tinged with sorrow. Her voice, when it came, carried the quiet authority of a woman who had endured much.

" I'm worried for her Nain," she admitted. "Not because I doubt her worth-but because I know my son too well. Abhimaan may be the pride of the Raghuvanshis, but when it comes to matters of the heart... he buried his long ago. And I think Something is not as it seems. I want to meet her-face to face-so I can look into her eyes and know whether she's walking into this life by choice or by compulsion."

Her voice cracked, just slightly. " I can't let my son destroy someone's life for the sake of his duties" I will not let my son ruin someone's life in the name of duty.

Naintara, ever the gentle one, placed a hand over Meera's. "you are overthinking bhabhi sa," she offered kindly. " maybe... they like each other. Maybe this isn't what you think it is."

Meera let out a long, slow breath, the weight in her chest refusing to ease. Her eyes flickered upward, as though sending a silent prayer into the amber sky.

"I hope you are right, Nain," she whispered. ...

But in her heart, the storm still raged.

Eisha's POV

He hadn't returned since last night.

And after shedding every last tear my soul could conjure, my body finally surrendered to exhaustion in the early hours of morning. But even in sleep, I wasn't free. Fear gripped me like a shadowed beast-I was trembling even in slumber, caught between helplessness and horror.

How did I let that happen to me?

But what choice did I have?

I couldn't protest... not after what he said. Not when my baba's life was hanging in that unspoken threat. His words-sharp, quiet, deliberate-still echoed in my ears, like an invisible chain binding my voice, my will, my very breath.

His presence alone is suffocating-like being trapped beneath deep, still waters with no surface in sight. And yet... that proximity, that closeness, it was something else entirely. My body betrayed me. I could feel fire licking beneath my skin the moment his face hovered just inches from mine. My breath hitched, my heart thundered-and I hated that part of me.

I couldn't look into his eyes.

When I first saw him, I was terrified-his aura was impenetrable, his presence commanding. And last night... after what he did, after how he touched the edges of my dignity and walked away like he owned every piece of me-I couldn't even stand in the same room as him.

And yet... for one brief, traitorous moment, when I caught a glimpse of his face-those sharply carved features, the elegance in his dark eyes, his jet-black hair that curled perfectly around his forehead-I forgot my fear. For those few seconds, the world had stilled around him.

But the illusion shattered almost instantly... replaced by the one thing that had never left me since he entered my life: fear.

That fear nestled itself deep within me, even as I slept. I must have dozed off far past noon, because when I awoke, it was to the soft footsteps of someone entering the room.

A servant.

She didn't speak much-just bowed her head gently and handed me a pair of fresh clothes. Her voice was calm, almost rehearsed, when she said lunch had been brought for me. It was nearly two in the afternoon.

I hadn't realized I had slept so long.

I wanted to refuse. To scream. To flee. My heart ached for my baba-he was unwell, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't beside him. That alone pierced me deeper than anything else.

I opened my mouth to ask... to plead.

But then she spoke again.

"Abhimaan Sir's orders."

And in that moment, whatever little courage I had left dissolved-like ash in the wind. Not because I feared for myself. No.

But because I couldn't risk him.

I couldn't lose my baba.

As I stepped into the washroom, the silence echoed louder than any sound.

My legs felt heavy, my chest tighter with each breath, I turned toward the mirror, hesitant, and the moment my reflection came into view, a shiver ran through me.

I didn't recognize the girl staring back.

My face looked hollow, drained of all light. My lips were swollen, bruised by both tears and torment, and faint traces of redness marked my skin like silent reminders of the night before. My hair clung to my face in soft waves, uncombed, tangled-much like my thoughts.

I leaned closer, trying to meet my own eyes, but I couldn't. There was too much helplessness.

Without thinking, I splashed cold water over my face-again and again-desperately trying to wash away the remnants of a night I wished I could erase. The sting of the water against my skin was grounding... cruelly honest. I closed my eyes and let the silence swallow me.

A while later, I stepped into the shower. The warm stream cascaded down my body, but even that comfort felt foreign. I stood still beneath it, letting it pour over me as if it could cleanse the places no one else could see-the weight on my soul, the fear wrapped tightly around my ribs.

When I emerged, I reached for the clothes the servant had handed me. They were neatly folded, fresh and fragrant. I slipped into the kurta first, but the moment the fabric settled over me, something felt... off.

It was slightly loose. The shoulders dipped a little too low, the neckline broader than I was used to. It wasn't inappropriate, but it revealed more of my collarbone and upper chest than I was comfortable with. My instinct, born from both modesty and fear, immediately responded-I took the dupatta and draped it tightly across myself, wrapping it like a shield,....

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the room once more.

The scent of food lingered faintly in the air. A small thali had been placed neatly on the table, still warm. The care in its presentation made it feel even heavier-like a mockery of comfort when I was anything but comforted.

I walked past it without a glance.

I wasn't hungry. Not in the slightest. My stomach churned with anxiety, my throat felt as though it had closed. Appetite was a stranger to me now.

I sat down quietly in the far corner of the room, pulling my knees close to my chest. The dupatta still clutched tightly around me.

I wasn't sure what hurt more-my silence, or the fact that no one could hear it.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, each step crashing against the silence like a slow, deliberate warning.

And then- Click. The door creaked open.

My breath caught.

There he stood.

Abhimaan Singh Raghuvanshi.

Draped in quiet authority, his tall frame filled the doorway like a shadow sent by fate itself.

I didn't look away.

I don't know where the sudden courage came from-perhaps it rose from the ashes of all the fear I'd swallowed.

He stepped closer-slow, measured steps, like a predator that didn't need to rush.

Now he stood barely inches away.

But I didn't flinch.

My spine straightened, my chin lifted almost instinctively, as if my soul refused to cower anymore. I stared back at him-eye to eye. Not with defiance, but with a silent plea. A desperate attempt to tell him that what he did... what he became... it wasn't right. That I wasn't a thing to be broken.

But his gaze didn't waver. No apology. No remorse.

Only possession. Only the storm behind those eyes that promised ruin and reverence in equal measure.

There was always something inexplicably magnetic about his nearness. It wasn't just fear. It wasn't just hate. It was something far more dangerous-an unsettling, addictive pull that I didn't want... but couldn't escape.

My thoughts blurred.

I was getting lost in him again.

His scent... his silence... his stare...

Then suddenly-he cleared his throat.

He hadn't even spoken, but his silence roared louder than words.

And just like that, I felt it again.

Abhimaan's POV:

Since yesterday, my mind had been an unrelenting storm-silent on the outside, violent within. Her mere thought was enough to unsettle the fortress I had built inside me. A fortress built on discipline, detachment... and dominion. And yet, her eyes-those large, trembling eyes-had begun to fracture the stone.

I shouldn't have let her in. But the damage was done.

There was a pull-an unfamiliar tether between us that I refused to name. She was nothing more than a consequence. A girl who had seen what she shouldn't have. She was supposed to be a complication, a mistake to be silenced, not... this.

But still, her tears... The way she had shivered beneath my grasp... It lingered.

Not out of guilt-no. I don't do guilt. I don't do regret. That isn't who I am.

But something inside me stilled that moment. Something stirred-dangerously soft. For a heartbeat, I had seen her not as someone to control, but someone to shield. Fragile. Breakable. Meant to be guarded, not harmed.

I should never have kissed her.

But . Because she had felt like truth.

Soft. Frightened. Warm. And mine.

Still, I should have stopped. Her consent hadn't been there-and that was not how I conduct myself. It was wrong, undeniably.

Yet when I personally verified every detail-her father's hospitalisation, her visits to the Dean-I found she hadn't lied. Not about that.

And that complicated everything.

Because even though her innocence was proven, I still couldn't trust her. I couldn't let her go. She had witnessed something irreversible-something fatal if spoken of. Her fate had already been sealed the moment her eyes saw what they shouldn't have.

I knew what had to be done.

So I walked toward her room with a mind forged in steel... but a heart I no longer recognized.

She didn't look away.

Her gaze held mine like a silent rebellion. No trembling lips. No immediate flinching. She was still afraid-I could see it in the way her fingers fidgeted, the way her throat bobbed slightly when she swallowed-but there was something else too.

Resolve.

For the first time... she wasn't trying to escape me. She was facing me.

And it made my chest tighten.

I took a step forward,

And when I cleared my throat to reclaim the air between us, I saw it.

The flicker in her eyes. The shiver beneath her skin. That soft gasp she thought I didn't hear.

Her fear was still there.

This wasn't over.

Whatever had begun between us-it wasn't just punishment. It wasn't just consequence.

It was possession. And possession, once claimed, is never undone.

"I need to talk to you."

The words slipped from my lips,

Her milky white skin held a glow that rivaled moonlight, and those soft, naturally pink lips were pressed together as if holding back a storm. But it was her eyes that gripped me-large, dark, filled with a quiet conflict. She wanted to resist. She wanted to argue. I could see it. Feel it.

But fear shackled her will.

And for reasons I refused to explore, that fear didn't sit well with me.

She simply nodded.

"I want you to meet Maa Sa," I began, voice firm yet restrained. "She wants to see you. When you speak to her, you will behave. You will tell her this marriage is with both our consent."

Her eyes snapped to mine. Lips parted-ready to protest. But nothing came out. The silence between us stretched-tense, uncertain.

Then softly, she said, "I want to meet my Baba first."

There it was again-that fire, that quiet defiance. Her eyes didn't waver now. They held a resolution I hadn't seen before. But she didn't understand yet-I don't take orders. Not even softly spoken ones.

"He's fine," I replied, standing my ground. "I've shifted him to our family hospital. The best doctors are attending to him, and he's under constant care. But you," I paused deliberately, "are not allowed to leave this palace before our wedding."

Her lips quivered.

"If you behave," I added, my voice dipping into something more calculated, "I'll allow a phone call. Once."

I saw it-the slow unraveling of her resolve. She knew the verdict was final. It always is.

Then, suddenly, the wind stirred-a sudden gust rushing in through the balcony. Her dupatta lifted into the air and floated down like a falling feather. I saw the panic flare in her eyes. She reached for it instinctively, arms crossing over her chest to shield her modesty.

And that's when my gaze accidentally caught the soft curve now exposed.

Her skin glowed under the sunlight, her vulnerability as raw as at the moment.

But I looked away.

Immediately.

My jaw clenched as I forced myself to my feet. She was uncomfortable-she didn't deserve to feel that way. Not in my presence. I bent down, picked up the delicate fabric, and walked back to her. She didn't look up.

Still.

Silent.

I gently draped the dupatta around her shoulders.

She flinched. Just slightly.

But as my fingers brushed her skin, I felt her shiver-not in fear, not in revulsion. No. There was something else. Her breath hitched, but she didn't pull away.

And I... didn't linger.

The fabric now safely tucked, I stepped back. And for the briefest moment, her eyes met mine. Her cheeks flamed red, and she immediately looked down, unable to hold the moment.

"I won't touch you," I said, voice quiet but edged with steel, "not without your consent."

Then, after a pause, I added with weight, "Agar hum aapki ichchhao ka khayal nahi rakhenge... toh kaun rakhega? Aap hone waali Rani Sa hain. Aur haan... kabhi kisi ke saamne apni kamzori nhi dikhate . Aap... Abhimaan Singh Raghuvanshi ki hone waali patni hain."

I turned toward the door, hand on the handle, about to leave-

But then I looked back.

My voice was colder this time.

"There's one thing I won't tolerate-lies and betrayal."

And with that, I left.

Leaving her standing there, wrapped in silence, confusion flickering in her beautiful, tormented eyes.

Abhimaans study

Abhimaan was in his study when his phone buzzed.

His tense eyes softened the moment he saw the caller ID. He received the call without delay.

"Aaru Maa..."

he spoke, his voice a blend of respect and unspoken warmth.

On the other side, the woman's voice came through - tender, yet carrying the weight of an old, quiet ache.

"Abhi beta, it's been so long since you've come here. I even tried calling Meera, but she didn't answer... is everything alright?"

Abhimaan exhaled, a sigh that carried more than he'd ever say aloud.

"Haan Aaru Maa, everything's fine. Maa Sa might be caught up with hospital work. I'll tell her to call you back."

But she gently refused.

"No, no beta... it's not urgent. I just... felt like hearing her voice, that's all."

Then, after a pause, her voice quivered with a pain she'd carried alone for too long.

"Abhi... do you also feel like our Angel isn't gone from this world? "

Abhimaan shut his eyes for a moment, fighting the sting in them. He sniffed, steadying his breath before replying - his words a promise to soothe a wound that never healed.

"Hum koshish kar rahe hain Maa... agar humari Angle zinda hai, toh hum un tak jaldi hi pahunch jayenge. Aap apna khayal rakhiye... hum jald hi aate hain." (" I'm trying, Aaru Maa... if our Laddu is alive, then I will reach her very soon. Please take care of yourself... we will come soon.")

The call disconnected, but the turmoil inside him had only just begun to rage.

Author's Note 💌

I wrote this chapter because-confession time-my inner feminist was absolutely screaming after the last one 😅 I know it's fiction (and trust me, the plot demands intensity), but still... I needed this balance. A softer edge to Abhimaan. A reminder of strength in restraint.

Also, if you haven't already, please go read the chapter titled "Something Shifted" - it's such a fun ride! Ekansh's antics will leave you smiling, and Harshwardhan's one-liners? Chef's kiss. 💫

As always, feel free to sh

are your thoughts.

Love you all-byee!

---Aaramya