Chapter - 2
The room reverberated with the sickening sound of skin cracking under the relentless lash of a belt.
A pathetic, useless man was tied to a chair before me, his screams cutting through the air like shards of glass.
My men struck him again and again, following my orders with a chilling efficiency that only reinforced my authority.
I lounged back in my chair, cigarette smoke swirling around me, a glass of whiskey in hand.
The man's agony was a symphony, each cry a note of pure satisfaction.
I relished the spectacle; it was a reminder that no one in my world could escape my grasp.
Some over smart people always thought they could outsmart me, but they were always wrong.
I observed with a cold detachment as my men methodically worked over him, their faces blank, devoid of any empathy. To them, this was just another job—another example of my power. In my kingdom, I ruled with an iron fist, and questioning my methods was a death sentence in itself.
I stubbed out my cigarette, the ember extinguished by the weight of the atmosphere—a heavy shroud of fear and desperation.
The man, bloodied and bruised, flinched as I approached, a pitiful display of weakness that only fueled my disdain.
I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back so he had no choice but to look me in the eye.
His gaze—clouded and terrified—met mine, and I reveled in the control I held over him.
"No one dares look at me or speak without my permission," I growled, my voice a low, menacing rumble.
"You thought you could steal from me? Did you forget that nothing happens in my kingdom without my knowledge?
" I shoved his head back with brutal force, a warning punctuated by the glint of danger in my eyes. "You think you could escape my sight?"
Leaning in closer, I ensured he heard every word, my breath hot against his skin.
"I know who sent you. I knew the moment you stepped foot in my office.
But I want you to admit it. You'll die tonight—make no mistake about that—but how you die is entirely up to you.
I don't forgive those who cross me. Forgiveness doesn't exist in my dictionary. "
I straightened up, looking over my men with disdain. "Why did you stop? Beat him until he remembers every second of this night. And if he doesn't talk, make sure to wrap him up nicely for his boss. I want him delivered with a bow."
The sound of the belt resumed, more vicious now, like a drumbeat driving home the finality of my words. The man whimpered, trembling under the weight of his impending doom, but I was already done with him. If he talked, it would be a bonus; if not, it mattered little to me.
"Call me if he opens his mouth," I instructed my men, already turning to leave. "Otherwise, don't waste my time with your incompetence."
I stepped out of the room, the echoes of his suffering fading behind me, leaving nothing but the certainty that my reign was absolute.
It was past 2 AM by the time I got home. The house was dark, quiet—just the way I liked it. But of course, my mother, Neelam Singh Rathore, was still awake, waiting like she always did. I knew she'd have something to say.
She was standing there, arms crossed, her face a mix of concern and frustration. "Aarav, what kind of work takes you this late, huh? Why can't you come home like a normal person? You think I like staying up at this hour?"
I sighed, not in the mood for another lecture. "Maa, how many times have I told you to go to sleep? I work late, that's how it is." (Maa - Mom)
"Yes, yes, I know," she said, her voice softening, "but I'm your mother. My heart won't let me rest until I know you're home."
"Go to bed, Maa." I said, my voice clipped, tired. "I'm fine."
She gave me one last look, sighed, and finally left. I didn't need her worry; I didn't need anyone's concern. I was fine on my own. Always had been.
I headed to my room, took a quick shower, and pulled on some trousers. No shirt—I didn't need one here. No one ever came into my room without permission. This was my space, my sanctuary.
I walked over to the library attached to my room, opening a drawer that only my fingerprint could unlock.
Inside was something most people would find insignificant.
A feather pendant. Something I found two years ago.
I didn't know why I kept it, but it brought me peace.
Something about it quieted the storm inside me.
Before I started my day or ended it, I always looked at that pendant. It had become a ritual. After a few moments of staring at it, I locked it back up and returned to my bed.
As soon as my head hit the pillow, I let the darkness swallow me.
The alarm blared at 6 AM, pulling me from the depths of sleep.
I rolled out of bed, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles from the previous day's stress.
Dragging myself to the bathroom, I splashed water on my face and looked in the mirror.
It was time to hit the gym. After a quick glance at the feather pendant in my library—a moment of peace before the chaos of the day—I dressed and headed to the gym in my house.
The gym was our territory, a sanctuary where I could push my limits. I arrived a few minutes early, but my younger cousin, Arjun Singh Rathore, was late. Typical.
"Why are you late?" I asked when he finally appeared, looking half-awake.
"I didn't sleep well," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"If you stay at the club until 3 AM, how do you expect to wake up on time?" I shot back, my voice flat, no room for excuses.
"How do you know this, bhai?" he asked, looking genuinely surprised. (Bhai - Brother)
"I know everything," I replied, my voice flat. "My eyes are everywhere, especially on my family and my enemies."
He nodded, finally understanding the weight of my words. With that, we dove into our workout, pushing through the sets for two hours. The burn in my muscles reminded me of who I was—a king, a ruler, and I would ensure that no one would forget it.
After the session, I went back to my room, took a shower, and dressed in black. I glanced at my reflection. "Black suits me," I murmured to myself, satisfied.
I made my way to Grandma's room, Sumitra Singh Rathore. I found her sitting quietly, and I bent down, seeking her blessings. Her touch was soft and grounding; she was the only one I'd never dare cross.
"Breakfast?" I asked as we headed to the dining table. My mother and aunt, Meera Singh Rathore, were already arranging the spread, while my father, Rajveer Singh Rathore, and uncle, Vijay Singh Rathore, huddled together, deep in business discussions.
Grandma cleared her throat. "No business discussions at the table," she said firmly.
Then she turned to my aunt. "When will Anaya come back?"Anaya was the youngest in the family, adored by everyone.
"In two days," my aunt replied, trying to sound casual.
Just then, Arjun joined us, and we all settled in to eat. As I observed the table, I knew my family well enough to sense the currents of conversation swirling around us. They thought I was oblivious, but I wasn't; I simply didn't care to engage in their games.
I started to eat. But Grandma had other ideas. She looked at me, her expression serious. "Aarav, dear..."
I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Grandma?"
I've been thinking that you should get married now.