Her Desire, His Revenge

Prologue

Shaurya

Mumbai

A man with ice in his veins… that’s how the world paints me.

And I won’t argue. I’ve earned every fucking word of that description.

At thirty, I am the CEO of the business empire my father built, and I didn’t get here by allowing emotions to cloud my judgment. I got here by making the ruthless decisions no one else had the stomach to make.

But now, standing beside my father’s hospital bed and watching him struggle for every breath, I realise the emotions I’ve spent years suppressing are no longer under my control.

With every laboured inhale he takes, it feels as though an invisible hand is tightening around my chest, crushing the air from my lungs one agonising second at a time.

I draw in a slow breath, unable to tear my gaze away from him. The irony is bitter. The man who taught me the true meaning of strength now lies in a hospital bed, heartbreakingly fragile, his once-commanding presence reduced to a man at his weakest.

My father, Vikram Rajvansh, transformed Rajvansh Industries from a modest family-owned manufacturing unit into one of India’s most respected industrial conglomerates.

What began as a single factory grew into an empire spanning steel, infrastructure, renewable energy, heavy engineering, and automobiles.

An empire I admired long before its leadership became mine.

Since taking over as CEO, I’ve expanded our global presence, secured acquisitions others deemed impossible, and strengthened the legacy my father devoted his entire life to building.

“Shaurya… beta.” My father’s eyelids flutter open, and with visible effort, he slowly raises a trembling hand towards me.

In an instant, I drop into the chair beside him and wrap both my hands around his frail, ice-cold one.

“I am right here, Dad.”

“You’ve been here...” He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath before continuing. “...for hours. You should go home, beta. Get some rest.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

“You need…” he begins, but I cut him off before he can finish.

“I said I am not going anywhere.”

A faint smile touches his lips. “Stubborn as ever.”

“I learned from the best.”

He studies me for a long moment before slowly turning his gaze to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mumbai skyline. Silence settles between us as he stares out at the city.

When he finally looks back at me, something shifts in his eyes. I see the same regret that has haunted him for years.

“I couldn’t save Rajmahal.” His gaze remains fixed on mine, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I gave your grandfather my word that no one would ever take Rajmahal away from our family.” His frail fingers curl weakly around mine.

“But I couldn’t keep that promise, beta.

” His voice cracks beneath the weight of a lifetime of regret.

He closes his eyes for a long moment, and when he opens them again, they are filled with quiet defeat. “I failed my father.”

My chest constricts. I understand his pain all too well.

Rajmahal, our ancestral palace in Udaipur, was a timeless masterpiece built by my great-grandfather. It wasn’t merely a palace; it was the soul of our family.

When I was a child, Dad would take me there every summer.

I still remember racing through its endless corridors, my laughter echoing against the ancient stone walls as he chased after me.

In the evenings, we would sit together on the veranda overlooking the lake while he told me stories about my great-grandfather and reminded me that one day it would be my responsibility to protect Rajmahal.

But that dream was stolen by one man. Arvind Singhania.

Back then, he wasn’t just my father’s childhood friend, he was also the man my father trusted like a brother. Theirs was the kind of friendship people admired. No one, least of all my father, could have imagined it would end in the greatest betrayal of his life.

After my grandfather passed away, Dad inherited Rajmahal. A few years later, when I was around seven, Rajvansh Industries faced one of the darkest chapters in its history. The company was on the brink of collapse, and the banks refused to extend any further funding.

That’s when Arvind Singhania stepped in.

By then, he was one of the country’s most successful real estate developers.

He offered Dad the financial lifeline he desperately needed, suggesting Rajmahal be placed as collateral.

My father didn’t hesitate. He trusted his friend completely.

What he never imagined was that his trust would become the very weapon used against him.

A year later, when Rajvansh Industries had finally recovered, Dad went to Arvind Singhania with a cheque to repay the loan, just as they had agreed.

But Arvind refused to accept it. Instead, he pointed to a clause buried deep within the agreement stating that if the loan wasn’t repaid within six months, the ownership of Rajmahal would automatically and irrevocably transfer to him.

Dad was stunned when Arvind Singhania coldly reminded him that he was a businessman and that sentiment had no place in building empires.

To him, Rajmahal was far too valuable to remain a private residence.

He made it clear that his intention was to transform our ancestral palace into the finest heritage hotel in the country, reducing generations of Rajvansh history to nothing more than a business opportunity.

My father fought him in court for years. But the agreement was legally airtight, and every judgement went in Arvind Singhania’s favour.

I still remember the newspaper photograph published the day the final verdict was announced. Arvind Singhania stood proudly on the steps of Rajmahal, smiling for the cameras as he announced his plans to transform it into a luxury heritage hotel.

Years later, after Rajvansh Industries had grown into one of the country’s most powerful business empires, Dad approached Arvind Singhania time and again, determined to bring Rajmahal home.

He offered double its market value, then three times its worth, but Arvind refused every offer.

By then, Rajmahal had been transformed into one of Rajasthan’s most prestigious luxury heritage hotels, and Arvind had no intention of ever letting it go.

From that day forward, my father carried the weight of losing Rajmahal. Arvind Singhania hadn’t merely taken a palace. He had stolen our family’s history, our pride, our legacy, and the promise my father had made to my grandfather. A promise he never forgave himself for breaking.

Pulling myself back to the present, I tighten my grip around his hand. “Dad, you didn’t fail Dadu. Your only mistake was trusting the wrong man. The shame belongs to Arvind Singhania... not to you.”

“A man’s greatest strength is his judgement.

” He draws in a shallow, unsteady breath before continuing.

“Mine failed me. I should have seen the betrayal before it destroyed everything.” He closes his eyes, and a single tear slips silently down the side of his face.

“Maybe this hospital bed is my punishment.”

A lump rises in my throat.

Ever since the heart attack two days ago, Dad has convinced himself it wasn’t simply a medical emergency. In his mind, it was punishment for failing to protect the one thing my grandfather had entrusted to him.

“Dad, enough.” I lean forward, refusing to let him retreat into his guilt. “One man’s betrayal doesn’t erase a lifetime of everything you’ve done right. And if anyone deserves to pay for what happened, it’s the man who betrayed your trust.”

Dad slowly lifts our joined hands. “Son, promise me... if life ever gives you the chance, bring Rajmahal back to where it belongs.”

I hold his gaze without blinking. “I give you my word, Dad. I’ll bring Rajmahal home.”

A faint smile spreads across his lips, one of quiet relief rather than happiness. But before either of us can say another word, the door quietly opens.

I turn, and for a moment, I hardly recognise the woman standing there.

Rajeshwari Rajvansh, my mother, has always been the very definition of grace.

A homemaker by choice, she devoted her life to holding our family together with quiet strength.

Even in her late fifties, she carries herself with effortless elegance.

She has never cared for diamonds or extravagant displays of wealth.

A simple silk saree, sindoor adorning the parting of her hair, a small red bindi, and the mangalsutra resting around her neck are all she has ever needed.

But today, that grace has been replaced by heartbreak.

Her saree is creased, her once-perfect bun has come undone, and loose strands of hair frame a face stripped of its usual warmth.

Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot from endless tears and sleepless nights, while the exhaustion she tries so desperately to conceal is etched into every line of her face.

Yet the moment she sees Dad awake, she forces a smile onto her face. “You’re awake, you lazy man.”

Dad lets out the faintest chuckle. “I am.”

She walks to his bedside and gently brushes the hair away from his forehead.

“We’re going home soon,” she says softly, though her voice trembles despite her best efforts to sound cheerful.

Dad lifts a trembling hand and brushes away the tear rolling down her cheek.

“For forty years, you’ve stood beside me.

You believed in me... when all I had were dreams. You celebrated every success and carried every failure.

” His thumb gently brushes her cheek. “I always thought we’d grow old together.

” A sad smile flickers across his lips. “I am afraid... that dream won’t come true. ”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Tears spill down Mom’s cheeks as she clutches his hand against her heart.

“You don’t get to leave me, Vikram. You promised me forever.

You promised we’d grow old together.” Mom’s composure shatters.

“You said we’d finally go to Haridwar after you retired.

That after spending a lifetime living for everyone else, we’d finally live for ourselves.

” A broken sob escapes her as she bows her head against his hand, unable to stop crying.

“You don’t get to break those promises.” She shakes her head through her tears. “I won’t let you.”

Dad opens his mouth to answer, but no words come.

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor beside him suddenly turns erratic.

His eyes widen, and his chest heaves as he struggles for air.

His free hand flies instinctively to the centre of his chest, clutching it as the colour drains from his face.

Cold sweat beads across his forehead while his breathing grows more frantic with every passing second.

“Dad?” I bend closer, my voice laced with panic.

“Vikram!” Mom cries, fear flooding her voice.

I slam my hand against the emergency call button, and within seconds, doctors and nurses rush into the room, moving with practiced urgency.

One nurse gently pulls Mom away from the bedside while another approaches me. “Sir, please step aside. We need space.”

Reluctantly, I take a step back until I am standing beside Mom. Wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders, I keep my eyes fixed on Dad.

A doctor immediately begins chest compressions while another secures an oxygen mask over Dad’s face.

Mom buries her face against my shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as the room erupts into frantic activity.

Someone calls for medication while another nurse rushes to prepare the defibrillator.

Dad’s body jerks violently as the first shock is delivered, but nothing happens.

The machine charges again. Another jolt surges through him.

Then another. Each desperate attempt to pull him back from the brink is met with the same agonising silence, while all I can do is stand there, holding my mother together as I pray for a miracle that is completely beyond my power to give.

Come on, Dad. Fight. Please... fight.

The doctor pauses and checks for a pulse before lifting his eyes to the monitor.

A long, unbroken tone fills the room. Slowly, he lowers his hands as the nurses around him stop what they’re doing one by one.

He removes his gloves with quiet, defeated movements before turning to face us, and the expression on his face tells me everything long before he utters a single word.

“I am sorry.”

“No!” My mother’s anguished scream echoes through the room as she rushes to the bedside, collapsing beside Dad and clutching his lifeless hand against her chest.

“Please...” she sobs. “Please don’t leave me, Vikram.” She presses trembling kisses against his fingers. “You promised me forever.” Her shoulders shake violently. “You promised...”

Unable to move, I just stand there, staring at my father’s lifeless face. Amidst the overwhelming grief threatening to consume me, one promise takes hold with absolute certainty.

I will bring Rajmahal home. Whatever it costs me, whoever stands in my way, I will not stop until it belongs to us again. My father died believing he had failed his family. I will restore his honour and fulfil the promise he could no longer keep.

This is more than a promise now. It is my destiny—and I will tear down anything that stands between me and it.