Chapter 3
The next morning, Poorvanshi woke up to a soft knock on her bedroom door.
She tightened the belt of her simple cotton robe and opened the door to find Ishaan Verma, Siddhant’s stoic head of security, standing in the hallway. He looked as serious as a soldier on the front lines, holding a crisp white envelope in his large hands.
"Good morning, Miss Rathore," Ishaan said politely, extending the envelope towards her. "Mr. Chaturvedi asked me to deliver this to you."
Poorvanshi raised an eyebrow, taking the thick envelope. "What is it? A ransom note?"
Ishaan did not smile, but a tiny muscle twitched in his jaw as if he were trying very hard not to. "It is the household protocol, ma'am. Boss prefers everything in writing."
With a polite nod, Ishaan stepped back and returned to his post down the hallway.
Poorvanshi closed the door, walked over to the edge of the large bed, and tore the envelope open. Inside, printed on expensive, heavy-weight paper bearing the Chaturvedi Group crest, was a list of rules. It looked less like a welcome letter and more like a legal contract.
Poorvanshi read through the elegantly typed words, her disbelief growing with every single line.
'1. To ensure your safety and avoid unnecessary friction with the family, all your meals will be served in the East Wing guest suite. You are not required to dine with the family.'
'2. You are strictly forbidden from entering the West Wing, which is the private domain of Raghav and Nandini Chaturvedi.'
'3. Do not engage in conversations with the mansion staff regarding Aryan Chaturvedi or the events of the wedding.'
'4. You will not step outside the front doors of the mansion without Ishaan or myself present.'
'5. Any requests for personal items, clothing, or books must be submitted to the head housekeeper.'
'6. Keep a low profile. Do not draw attention to yourself.'
By the time she reached the bottom of the page, where Siddhant had actually signed his name in sharp, aggressive black ink, Poorvanshi was practically vibrating with irritation.
"Keep a low profile?" she muttered to herself, tossing the paper onto the bed. "Submit requests to the housekeeper? Who does he think I am, a prisoner of war?"
She was an independent, twenty-six-year-old architect who managed massive construction sites and dealt with stubborn contractors every single day.
She did not take orders from anyone, and she certainly did not follow absurd rules dictated by a man who thought he could control the world from his study.
If Siddhant Chaturvedi wanted to play games, Poorvanshi was more than ready to play.
She marched into the massive walk-in closet and pulled out a bright, sunny yellow kurta.
It was loud, cheerful, and absolutely impossible to ignore, the exact opposite of keeping a 'low profile.
' She brushed her dark hair out, leaving it to fall freely down her back, completely ignoring the demure, tied-up styles expected of a new bride in mourning over a lost groom.
Without a second thought, she walked out of her suite, completely ignoring the printed rules resting on her bed.
"Ma'am?" one of the security guards asked as she confidently strode past him. "Should we escort you?"
"No, thank you," Poorvanshi said brightly. "I am just going for a walk."
She navigated the grand, sweeping corridors of the mansion.
The floors were polished marble, creating perfect, crystal-clear reflections of the massive crystal chandeliers above, looking almost like ray-traced reflections in a high-end architectural rendering.
The house was painfully quiet, filled with tension and unspoken secrets.
Poorvanshi deliberately followed the smell of fresh cardamom and roasting cumin. It led her straight to the massive main kitchen on the ground floor.
When she pushed the swinging doors open, the busy kitchen staff froze.
About a dozen cooks, maids, and helpers stopped what they were doing, staring at her in absolute shock.
The new bride, the one the media was calling abandoned and cursed, was standing in their kitchen wearing bright yellow, smiling widely.
"Good morning!" Poorvanshi announced, walking right in. "It smells amazing in here. Who is making the aloo parathas?"
The head cook, an older woman named Kamla, swallowed hard and wiped her hands on her apron. "M-me, ma'am. But you should not be in here. Your breakfast is being sent up to your room right now. Boss's orders."
"Oh, cancel that order," Poorvanshi waved her hand dismissively, pulling up a tall wooden stool near the central kitchen island and sitting down. "Food tastes terrible when you eat it alone in a giant, depressing room. I will eat right here. If that is okay with you, of course."
The staff exchanged terrified glances. Disobeying Siddhant Chaturvedi was considered a terrible idea.
"I promise, if the Devil asks, I will tell him I threatened you all," Poorvanshi joked, resting her elbows on the counter.
A sudden, loud bark of laughter echoed from the kitchen doorway.
Poorvanshi turned around to see a man leaning against the doorframe.
He was roughly Siddhant's age, dressed in a sharp but slightly messy blue suit.
He had messy brown hair, a relaxed posture, and a massive, genuine smile on his face.
He held a leather briefcase in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other.
"I like her," the man announced to the terrified kitchen staff. "Kamla, please feed the brave lady. I think she is going to need her strength."
He walked in, pulled up a stool next to Poorvanshi, and extended a hand. "Kabir Malhotra. I am Siddhant's best friend, his personal lawyer, and his unpaid therapist."
Poorvanshi shook his hand, immediately liking the man's easy energy. "Poorvanshi Rathore. The problem he is currently trying to manage."
"Oh, he is absolutely failing at managing you," Kabir laughed, taking a bite of his apple. "I saw the list of rules he drafted for you last night. I told him he sounded like a dictator, but you know Siddhant. He genuinely believes he can control human behavior with bullet points and bold text."
"I left the rules on my bed," Poorvanshi said smoothly as Kamla nervously placed a steaming hot plate of parathas in front of her. "They clashed with my decor."
Kabir burst into laughter again, a rich, booming sound that made the kitchen staff smile nervously.
"God, you are exactly what this miserable house needs.
Aryan was an idiot for running away, but honestly, it was the best thing he could have done for you.
You would have been bored to death with him. "
Poorvanshi paused, her smile fading slightly. Hearing Aryan's name still brought a sharp sting of humiliation, but Kabir's blunt honesty was refreshing. "Does Siddhant really think keeping me locked in a room will fix anything?"
"Siddhant," Kabir said, his tone turning a fraction more serious, "thinks that logic solves everything.
He grew up in a house full of lies, manipulation, and chaos.
So, he built his entire life around total control.
He doesn't know how to handle wild cards.
And you, Miss Rathore, are the ultimate wild card. "
Before Poorvanshi could reply, the temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop by ten degrees. The kitchen staff immediately stopped talking, lowering their heads and stepping back against the counters.
Poorvanshi didn't even need to turn around to know who had just walked in. She could feel his presence, like a heavy, electric storm cloud entering the room.
She slowly turned her head.
Siddhant stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a three-piece black suit that looked sharper than a knife.
His thick, dark hair was perfectly styled, and his dark eyes were completely fixed on her.
He looked from her bright yellow outfit to the plate of food in front of her, and finally to his best friend, who was grinning like an idiot.
"Kabir," Siddhant said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that echoed off the tiled walls. "I pay you a ridiculous amount of money to handle my legal affairs, not to eat my apples and encourage my guests to break protocol."
"Technically, I am off the clock," Kabir smiled, holding up his hands in surrender. "And I didn't encourage her, Sid. She was already breaking the rules when I got here. I was merely an observer."
Siddhant’s gaze shifted back to Poorvanshi. The sheer intensity of his stare would have made any other woman look down at her shoes. But Poorvanshi calmly picked up a piece of her paratha, dipped it in mint chutney, and took a bite, maintaining steady eye contact with him the entire time.
"Miss Rathore," Siddhant stepped into the kitchen. The staff practically held their breath. "Did Ishaan fail to deliver my letter to you this morning?"
"He delivered it perfectly," Poorvanshi replied smoothly after swallowing her food. "The stationary was lovely. Very high quality. I appreciate the effort you went through to format the bullet points."
Kabir choked back a laugh, quickly covering his mouth with his hand to disguise it as a cough.
Siddhant’s jaw tightened. "Then you must have missed the part where it stated meals would be served in your room."
"I didn't miss it. I rejected it," Poorvanshi said simply.
She wiped her hands on a napkin and turned fully towards him.
"Mr. Chaturvedi, I am an architect. I understand the need for structure and foundations.
But your rules are flawed. If I hide in my room like a frightened mouse, the staff will whisper.
The rumors will grow. If I walk around this house openly, showing everyone that I am not broken, the gossip dies instantly because there is no mystery left.
Hiding me makes me look weak. And I am not weak. "
Siddhant stared at her. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.