Chapter 27
Reeva
My stomach tightens as Shaurya pulls up outside the Rajvansh mansion.
The last time I walked out of this house, I carried the shattered remains of our marriage.
Today, I return carrying our child, and the fragile hope that the love we have chosen to rebuild can withstand whatever waits beyond those doors.
Shaurya switches off the engine but makes no move to get out. Instead, he turns towards me, his dark gaze searching my face.
“We can still go back,” he says quietly.
I manage a faint smile. “We haven’t even gone inside yet.”
“And we don’t have to.” He reaches across the console and takes my hand. “If you’ve changed your mind, tell me. I’ll take you home.”
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I assure him. “We came to attend the puja, and that is what we’re going to do.”
His thumb brushes gently over my knuckles. “The moment you feel uncomfortable…”
“We leave,” I finish. “I remember.”
“Good.” He lifts our joined hands to his lips and presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles. Only then does he release me and step out of the car.
He walks around to my side and opens the door. When I place my hand in his, his fingers close securely around mine, and he helps me out with far more care than necessary. He doesn’t release me as we walk towards the entrance, and the steady warmth of his palm around mine gradually quiets my nerves.
Before Shaurya can reach for the bell, the doors open. Dadiji stands on the other side, her lined face brightening into a radiant smile the moment she sees us.
“My children.” Her voice trembles with emotion.
I release Shaurya’s hand and walk straight into her waiting arms. “Dadiji.”
She holds me tightly, one hand stroking the back of my head.
“You came,” she whispers, her voice breaking with relief.
“Of course I came.”
When she draws back, her gaze moves over my face before settling on the mangalsutra around my neck. Her eyes widen, and her shaky fingers rise to brush the pendant.
“Does this mean what I think it means?”
I glance towards Shaurya, who stands beside me with a wide, unguarded smile, before turning back to Dadiji. “We’ve chosen to try again,” I tell her softly.
Dadiji presses one hand over her mouth as tears fill her eyes. “Thank you, Krishna.”
She pulls me into her arms once more, holding me with such fierce joy that my own tears spill over.
“This is a blessed day,” Dadiji whispers. “Our family is becoming whole again.”
I want to believe her.
God, how desperately I want to believe that returning to this house at Shaurya’s side means the past has finally lost its power over us.
The deliberate clearing of a throat has us drawing apart. I look up to find Shaurya’s mother standing a few feet away in her favourite green Banarasi sari, her hair secured in a neat bun. Her expression remains carefully composed, although her gaze briefly settles on the mangalsutra around my neck.
She walks towards us. “Panditji is waiting in the temple room.”
The absence of even a simple welcome stings more than I want to admit.
For one foolish moment, I had allowed myself to hope that she might acknowledge my return with some happiness.
Instead, her formality reminds me that although Dadiji may already consider this family whole again, Shaurya’s mother does not.
Shaurya notices the shift in my mood. His hand settles reassuringly against my waist as he leans closer.
“Still all right?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I assure him, refusing to let her coldness drive me away.
He nods, clearly unconvinced, but respects my answer and does not press.
Drawing in a steadying breath, I fall into step beside him as we follow his mother and Dadiji towards the temple room.
When we reach there, I find it beautifully transformed for the ceremony. Fresh marigold garlands frame the shrine, a polished brass kalash rests beside offerings of fruit, flowers, and sweets, and the gentle glow of dozens of diyas softens every corner.
As we enter, Panditji rises to bless us before gesturing towards the cushions arranged in front of the havan kund.
Shaurya immediately inspects the arrangement. “This cushion isn’t thick enough.”
I close my eyes. “Shaurya.”
“You’ve been experiencing back pain.”
“Not anymore.”
Ignoring me, he picks up another cushion and positions it behind my back. “Sit.”
Dadiji makes no attempt to hide her smile, while Shaurya’s mother’s expression tightens with impatience. “The puja cannot begin until you stop rearranging the room.”
“My wife needs to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable,” I assure him as I settle against the additional cushion.
Only after satisfying himself that I am properly supported does he take his place beside me, while Dadiji and his mother sit across from us on the other side of the havan kund.
The priest begins chanting the mantras. I join my hands and close my eyes. Throughout the puja, Shaurya’s knee rests against mine, and beneath the edge of my dupatta, his fingers find my hand and thread through mine, making my heart swell.
Several minutes later, the puja draws to a close as Panditji raises one hand and blesses us.
“May the mother remain healthy, and may this child bring peace and prosperity to the family.”
Dadiji steps forward and presses a tender kiss to my forehead. “May you and my great-grandchild be blessed with every happiness.”
I give her a tearful smile.
Shaurya’s mother approaches next. For one uncertain moment, I wonder whether she intends to bless me or merely complete the ritual for the baby. She places a small box of sweets in my hands.
“May the child be healthy,” she says.
Only the child.
Shaurya’s body goes rigid beside me. Before he can respond, I squeeze his hand in warning. This is only a beginning, I remind myself. Perhaps she cannot release years of resentment in a single moment.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Her gaze briefly meets mine before sliding away.
An hour later, after Panditji leaves, we settle around the dining table, which is covered with every dish I love—dal makhani, paneer, pulao, stuffed parathas, and the kheer Dadiji knows is my favourite.
I cannot help wondering whether Shaurya’s mother instructed the kitchen staff to prepare them. But the proud smile on Dadiji’s face tells me this was entirely her doing, and another fragile hope quietly dims.
She arranged the puja and invited you here, Reeva. For today, that has to be enough. Perhaps acceptance will come slowly.
Throughout the meal, Dadiji suggests possible names for the baby while Shaurya rejects each one for increasingly ridiculous reasons. At one point, a faint smile slips across his mother’s face before she quickly lowers her gaze.
The tiny reaction surprises me. Perhaps there is still something here worth saving.
My phone, resting beside my plate, lights up with a message from Bhai. He has landed in Dubai for the final leg of his trip and promises to call later.
I release a tense breath. Soon, I will have to tell him that Shaurya and I are back together. I know he will feel betrayed, no matter how carefully I explain my decision. But when I glance at my husband beside me and find him already watching me, the certainty inside me does not waver.
I chose him. And however angry Bhai becomes, I refuse to regret choosing the man I love.
Shaurya’s phone rings as the staff begins clearing the table. He checks the screen, and irritation flashes across his face.
“It’s the office. There’s a problem with the London contract.”
“Go,” I tell him.
He hesitates, his gaze flicking towards his mother before returning to me. I know exactly what he is thinking.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
He studies my face for another moment before bending to press a tender kiss to my temple. “I won’t be long.”
I give him a reassuring smile as he walks towards the study, answering the call along the way.
Dadiji soon excuses herself to supervise the maids packing the remaining offerings she wants sent to the temple, just as Shaurya’s mother is called away by a member of the household staff.
Once I am alone, I draw in a deep breath and make my way towards our bedroom. My back has begun to ache faintly after sitting through the puja, and I need a few quiet minutes to lie down and rest.
When I reach the room, my hand pauses over the handle before I finally push the door open.
The moment I step inside, my gaze sweeps across the familiar space. Nothing has changed. The bed is still covered in the same pale-grey linen. My favourite chair remains beside the window, and the silver-framed photograph of Shaurya and me still stands on the bedside table.
With a faint smile, I walk towards the bed and pick up the frame, running my fingers tenderly over our smiling faces. As I return it to the table, a dark-blue folder lying partially hidden beneath it catches my attention.
My name is printed across a white label on its cover.
REEVA SHAURYA RAJVANSH—CONFIDENTIAL
Unease coils slowly inside me.
My fingers tremble as I pull the folder free and open it. The moment my eyes move across the first page, I stop breathing.
PROPOSED PETITION FOR SOLE CUSTODY AND GUARDIANSHIP
As I read, the meaning becomes sickeningly clear. The document outlines a legal strategy for Shaurya to seek sole physical and legal custody of our child if our marriage ends.
My vision blurs, the words swimming across the page.
No. He wouldn’t do this.
He couldn’t have prepared these papers. Not after returning Rajmahal, not after placing my future in my hands, and not after swearing that he would never use our child to keep me beside him.
The door opens behind me, and the folder nearly slips from my trembling hands. I spin around to find Shaurya’s mother standing at the threshold. Her gaze drops to the documents in my hands, yet not a flicker of surprise crosses her carefully composed face.
“So you found them,” she says, lifting her eyes to mine as she takes a measured step towards me.
My heart plummets. “What… what is this supposed to mean?”
She stops in front of me, one shoulder lifting in an indifferent shrug.
“Shaurya asked Mr. Mehta to prepare those papers. He wanted to be ready for every possibility in case you demanded a divorce again after the baby was born. He told me he had persuaded you to reconcile, but he still had his doubts. He wasn’t certain you wouldn’t leave him again.
” Her gaze hardens. “After all, you are Arvind Singhania’s daughter.
That is why he wanted to make certain that even if you walked away from him again, you could never take the Rajvansh heir with you. ”
My stomach twists violently. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” One eyebrow rises in silent challenge.
“He returned Rajmahal to me.” I clutch the folder more tightly, desperate to hold on to the truth I know. “He gave it back without asking for anything in return.”
“A palace is nothing compared to a Rajvansh heir.”
The words strike with devastating precision.
“No. He gave it back because he loves me,” I argue, although my voice no longer carries the certainty I desperately need it to.
“Or perhaps returning it was the easiest way to make you trust him again.” Her expression turns almost pitying.
“You were willing to surrender Rajmahal for your freedom once. Shaurya understood that the property could no longer be used to control you, so he gave it back and offered you the one thing you wanted most… the illusion that he had finally chosen you over Rajmahal.”
“No.” The denial escapes in a broken whisper, too fragile to sound convincing even to me.
“I truly thought you would be smart enough not to let him deceive you twice,” she says with chilling calm. “You trusted Shaurya once before, Reeva. We both know what that cost you.”
Her cruelty sends a rush of anger through me, but beneath it, my certainty begins to fracture.
She sees it.
She nods towards the final page of the document. “There is a consent declaration attached. Sign it before you leave this house.”
I stare at her. “I will never sign away my child.”
“Then refuse and see what happens.” Her voice turns glacial. “My son has always known exactly how to get your signature when he wants something badly enough.”
With that final blow, she turns and walks out, leaving me alone with the papers and the terrifying possibility that I have trusted Shaurya only to be deceived all over again.