4. SITUATION
VEERANSH:
Morning came without softness.
I hadn't slept. Sleep was irrelevant anyway, my mind spent the entire night carving through possibilities, threats, and the irritation of reporters turning my marriage into a circus headline.
I stood by the window of my study as the sky shifted from black to bruised blue, the city slowly coming alive beneath the shadow of the mountains. Somewhere down the hall, she was awake. Or maybe she wasn't.
Either way, the silence coming from her room told me she had followed orders.
Good.
The mansion staff kept their distance from me. I could feel them, hovering behind corners, whispering in the kitchen, avoiding footsteps that echoed too loudly. The entire estate had dipped into a kind of controlled fear, and it suited me perfectly.
Fear kept people obedient. At exactly 6:30 a.m., Raghav knocked on the doorframe of my study. "Sir... the convoy is ready."
I didn't turn. "Is the outer gate blocked?"
"Yes. Media vans arrived before dawn."
A breath of annoyance escaped through my nose. Of course they did. "They're not going away, are they?" I asked quietly. "No, sir. Not today."
I finally turned, fastening the cuff of my shirt. "So be it." I walked down the corridor, my footsteps sharp against the marble.
I didn't acknowledge any of them. Acknowledgement created familiarity. Familiarity created weakness. When I reached the front entrance, the guards pulled the doors open in one synchronized motion.
Sunlight hit my face, the early Rajasthan sun was already harsh and unforgiving. Beyond the gate, a wall of cameras flashed like a swarm of locusts.
Microphones, Shouting, Reporters prepare with mic and cameras. My jaw tightened. The moment they saw me, the yelling intensified.
"Mr. Sarkar!"
"Is it true you married yesterday?"
"Congratulations, sir! Who is the bride?"
"Why the secrecy?"
"Is this marriage a business move?"
"Sir! Sir, one statement!"
I put on my sunglasses, not because of the sun, but because it made them less human. It made it easier to walk straight through them without a flicker of emotion.
Raghav opened the door of my car. "Sir, should I clear them with force?"
"No." I stepped inside. "They want attention. I won't give it up." But as I sat, another wave of reporters surged forward, pressing against the security barricade.
"Mr. Sarkar! One question!"
"Just tell us who your wife is!"
"Why did you marry in secret?"
"Are the rumors true?"
I closed my eyes for one long second. It was insulting how badly they wanted to know. How desperately they were trying to tear into something that wasn't meant for them.
The door shut. The engine started. The convoy began to move. The noise outside grew into a roar. I finally lowered the window just enough for sound to spill in, a calculated move, a necessary one.
If I didn't speak at least once today, the frenzy would escalate beyond control. Dozens of microphones stabbed toward the opening like spears.
"Mr. Sarkar! Who is your wife? Whom did you marry?" I let the silence stretch.
Their anticipation was a weapon, mine, not theirs. Then I said, slowly:
"I will reveal it soon."
And then chaos. They screamed over each other, desperate to catch the next sentence.
"When will you reveal?"
"Is she from Udaipur?"
"Why hide it?"
"Is she from a business family?"
I let my gaze cut across them like a knife. "For now," I said, voice calm, bored even, "I am asking for privacy."
Privacy, A word they would never respect. But I said it anyway, because the alternative was confirming exactly what they wanted that their viral headlines had backed me into a corner.
One woman shouted louder than the rest:
"Sir! The news spread like wildfire overnight why so much secrecy?" I leaned slightly closer to the open window. "Because," I said, "some things require careful timing."
Then-click. I raised the window. Their voices were instantly muted, their frantic gestures reduced to blurry shapes behind tinted glass. But inside the car, the silence felt sharper. My hand curled into a fist on my knee.
The news had spread like a virus. Because someone inside my own circle leaked it. Because someone underestimated how far I would go to protect control.
My control.
Over the business. Over the empire. Over her.
I didn't like being forced into public statements. I didn't like being pushed into explanations. I didn't like being asked questions about a marriage that wasn't a marriage.
I especially didn't like that. For the first time in years, my schedule had been altered by someone else's actions and not by my own decisions.
Raghav cleared his throat from the front seat. "Sir... should we increase security for madam?"
My eyes opened slowly. "No," I said. "She stays where she is." Locked. Contained. Hidden. A secret I would reveal only when it benefitted me. Not before. Raghav nodded, swallowing. "Understood."
The convoy sped down the main road toward the Sarkar corporate tower. A line of reporters followed in bikes and cars, desperate for another glimpse, another crumb of information.
I ignored them.
I had bigger issues to deal with. Like finding the person who leaked the news. And making sure they regretted it.
But beneath all the calculations, all the irritation, all the strategy, a single detail kept returning to my mind. The quiet room. The trembling girl inside it. Asking for her phone. Asking for her mother. And the shaky way she said "please."
I dismissed the thought instantly. Sentiment had no place here. Not in business. Not in life. Not in this arrangement. This marriage wasn't about her. It was about my grandfather's property that became mine now.
And I would not let anyone, reporter, staff member, or frightened girl, interfere with my empire. Not today. Not ever.
The convoy turned toward my tower. Another day began. Another war waited. Back in. The mansion gates closed behind. The air felt tense. Too tense. A kind of nervous silence that didn't belong in a house run by me.
I stepped out, and immediately three staff members straightened, their faces pale. Their eyes flicked to me, then toward each other, then away as if looking at me directly might get them killed.
My jaw tightened. "Speak." No one did. One of the younger maids trembled harder. I took one step forward. "I said speak." Finally, the head maid swallowed and whispered,
"Sir... madam... she isn't well." A sharp, cold irritation sliced through my already frayed patience.
"Define 'not well.'"
The head maid kept her gaze glued to the floor. "She hasn't eaten since morning... or had water. She refused lunch. She refused evening tea. She hasn't moved from her bed."
My temple pulsed. "And no one thought to inform me sooner?"
"We... we were afraid, sir." Of course they were. Because everything in this house had become a minefield today. I didn't waste another second. My footsteps echoed through the corridors, each stride fueled by a mix of anger, annoyance, and something I didn't want to name.
I reached her room. Opened the door. I walked inside. She was exactly where I left her, curled in the corner of the bed, knees pulled up, face pale and damp with sweat.
Her hair stuck to her temples, her breathing uneven, her eyes heavy. She didn't even lift her head when I came in. My irritation sharpened into something harder.
"Stand up," I said. She didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Her fingers twitched weakly against the blanket. "Are you deaf?" I snapped. "I told you to stand."
A faint, broken whisper escaped her lips, "I... I can't..." I stared at her, jaw tightening. Pathetic. Her breath was shaking, shallow, uncontrolled. Her lips looked dry. Her skin had lost all color.
For a girl already prone to stuttering, fear had suffocated whatever voice she had left. I pressed the intercom button beside the door. "Call the doctor," I said. "Now."
Within ten minutes, Dr. Trisha Mehra, a private physician who handled sensitive matters for the elite, arrived with her medical bag.
She entered quietly, and approached the bed. Aarohi didn't look at her. Didn't look at anyone.
The doctor kneeled beside her, placing a hand on her forehead.
"She's burning up," Dr. Mehra said softly. "When did she last eat?" My jaw tightened. "This morning." Aarohi's voice cracked from somewhere against the pillow.
"I-I tried... but... I felt... scared..." Her stutter was worse, so broken it barely formed words. The doctor examined her pulse, then her eyes, then lifted her wrist gently. Aarohi winced at the touch.
"This isn't dehydration from just today," the doctor said after a moment. "This is a long-term weakness."
I frowned. "Explain."
The doctor stood, folding her stethoscope. "She has severe nutritional deficiency. Protein, iron, fiber, everything is low.
She's underweight. Her body has been struggling for a long time." My eyes narrowed. Weakness like this didn't just happen. "Why wasn't this mentioned before?" I demanded. The doctor shot me a pointed look. "Maybe because you didn't ask," she said quietly.
My jaw flexed dangerously. Before I could respond, Aarohi whispered, voice trembling: "I... I want to meet... my... my mom... j-just once... please..." Her head turned slightly, her eyes glassy. That word again.
Mother. Always her mother. Always the one place she thought she had safety. My control slipped for a second, rage slicing through me so fast I felt the blood heat. The doctor glanced between us, sensing the tension.
I stepped forward, my voice low and cold. "You don't ask for her." Aarohi shrank into the pillow. "Veeransh" the doctor began. I ignored her.
"You don't ask for your mother," I repeated, each word precise, lethal. "You don't negotiate. You don't demand. You eat and drink what is given to you. Nothing more."
Her lips trembled. Tears slipped down her cheeks. But I didn't stop. "You think this weakness gives you permission to make requests?" I leaned closer. "You don't get to threaten the stability of this house over your emotions."
"I'm... not..." Her voice broke entirely. "I'm just...scared..."
"And?" I snapped. "Fear is not an excuse to be disobedient." The doctor's expression hardened slightly. "Mr. Sarkar," she said carefully, "she needs rest. Food. Water. And calm."
"She'll get all three," I said without looking away from Aarohi, "as long as she follows the rules." Aarohi closed her eyes tightly her breath shaking, tears sliding silently onto the bedsheet. Her whole body curled further into itself.
But sympathy wasn't part of this arrangement. I stepped back."She will eat now," I said to the doctor. "Give her whatever is necessary to make sure she can function." The doctor hesitated-then nodded slowly.
As she opened her medical bag, I turned toward the door. Aarohi's broken, tiny voice whispered behind me.
"I... I just... want... my mom..." I didn't turn. "You don't get what you want," I said without emotion. "You get what I decide."
And then I walked out. Leaving her tears behind. Leaving the doctor to fix what weakness had carved into her.
Leaving the house to settle under my anger again.
Because softness had no place here.
Not in my world.
Not in this marriage.
Not in her tears.
She would learn. She had to. And I would make sure of it.