Chapter 4
The third buyer came quietly.
In Meera’s experience, the quiet ones were always the most dangerous.
He had no sentiment. No vision. No speeches about preservation or legacy. Only lawyers, contracts, and a number so large that when it moved through the Haveli in hushed voices, even the oldest staff fell silent.
Advance paid. Contracts in motion.
For two days, the Haveli held its breath.
Meera spent both days in the archive room.
That room smelled of old paper, dust, and something she had always thought of as time. Though, that was perhaps too poetic for a room full of property records.
On the second day, she found it.
Rajan knocked late in the afternoon. He stepped in and stopped at the sight.
Meera sat on the floor, files open around her.
Her dupatta had slipped from one shoulder. A faint streak of dust marked her cheek. Her hair was tied in a messy bun. She looked… alive. More than she had in weeks.
“Didi,” he said slowly, taking in the scene. “What are we doing?”
Meera looked up at him, a smile forming. “Rajan, do you know the best thing about the truth?”
He did not answer. He had learned not to rush these moments.
“You don’t have to lie.” She lifted a document.
Rajan glanced at it, then back at her. “Should I be worried?”
“For the Haveli?” She began gathering the scattered pages. “No.”
A beat passed.
“For the buyer?” Her gaze met his. “A little.”
She set the documents in order. Each page aligned, dated, placed where it belonged. Every detail exact.
Two days later, the lawyer called his client. That same day, Desai called Devendra. The third offer was withdrawn.
That evening, Meera went to the temple after the last prayers ended.
She sat on the cool marble floor, folded her hands, eyes lifted to the goddess. “Three. Maa, I need you to understand… I am not scared.”
Silence settled around her.
“Fine. I am a little scared.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“But I am more angry than scared.”
Her eyes dropped to the flame. It flickered once, then stilled. She watched it for a while, then looked back at the goddess.
She remained there until the last lamp dimmed. When she rose, she straightened her dupatta, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and walked out.
◆◆◆
Abhinav was in the middle of a meeting when his phone rang.
He glanced at the Jaipur number once, then raised a hand. The room fell silent without him needing to look up.
“Yes.”
“Sir. We’re withdrawing from the transaction.”
Every muscle in his body locked. “Explain.”
“There appears to be unresolved boundary discrepancies in the historical property records. Old descriptions that were never matched with modern survey maps. We requested full documentation from the estate office. We received additional material indicating possible legal exposure. Dormant, perhaps. Even minor. But enough to create uncertainty we cannot advise our client to accept.”
He tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “Who supplied those records?”
He already knew. He asked anyway.
“The estate office, sir. Forwarded by a Ms. Meera Chauhan.”
Of course.
He ended the call.
Six executives watched him from across the table. They had learned to read his silences. This one tightened the air.
Abhinav stood, straightening to his full height, shoulders set.
“We’ll continue this tomorrow.” His voice dropped, edged.
No one argued. The room cleared at once.
He stayed where he was, gaze fixed beyond the glass walls. He saw her without seeing her. Not her face. Her mind. Each move sharper than the last.
One buyer unsettled by stories. Another turned away by people. Now, this… legal risk.
She wasn’t reacting. She was planning, escalating. And worse, she was winning.
That evening, he found his mother in the drawing room. A book lay open in her hands. She looked up and set it aside.
“The third buyer withdrew.” His jaw set. He dropped his phone onto the side table. “Because of Mr. Chauhan’s daughter. Again.”
Sarita’s expression stayed composed. “Meera.”
“Meera.” He moved to the window, hands in his pockets. “I’m removing the Chauhan family from their position.”
“No.” The word came firm.
He turned to face her. “She is sabotaging a legal sale…”
“She is protecting what she believes your father entrusted to her family’s care.”
“That is not her decision to make.”
“No,” Sarita replied calmly. “It isn’t. But removing her family won’t solve your problem. It will make it worse.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “How?”
She rose and walked toward him. “Generations of that family kept Anand Mahal standing. Devendra ji, most of all, after we moved here.”
Her gaze did not waver. “When walls cracked, they repaired them. When festivals came, they hosted thousands in our name. When your father stopped responding to reports, they kept sending them. For twenty-eight years. You remove Devendra ji now, and the community turns against you. Every newspaper in Jaipur runs the same story.”
Her tone sharpened slightly. “The foreign heir throws out loyal servants after his father’s death.”
A slight tilt of her head. “Selling becomes far more difficult once your name turns against you.”
His jaw set tighter.
“And Meera,” Sarita continued, her voice softening, “you may dislike what she’s doing. But her family knows that Haveli in ways no consultant ever will.”
He didn’t respond. Because he couldn’t argue with it.
He hated that she was right. He hated the shape of it more.
He couldn’t sell without cooperation. He couldn’t force cooperation from Dubai. And he couldn’t remove the Chauhans without making everything worse.
For the first time, it felt less like control and more like a trap.
“I’m going to Jaipur,” Abhinav decided. “Personally. Next week.”
Sarita studied him for a moment.
“Good. I’m coming too,” Naina announced from the doorway.
He turned.
She stood there with that bright, composed expression that always meant her decision had been made.
“No.”
“I need to see the tradition for my new collection,” she replied, stepping inside. “Indian heritage pieces. The carvings, the attire, the jewellery. Bhai, this is research. And I deserve to see the place of our ancestors before it is sold.”
“No,” he repeated.
“I’m also coming,” Sarita added.
He glanced at her.
“It’s been a long time since I visited.”
He looked between them, calculating. An argument would waste time. Their presence would help. His mother would ease tensions. Naina would manage the emotional parts he had no patience for.
“Fine,” he said at last. “Both of you come. But this is not a holiday. We go, I deal with this, and we return.”
“Charming as always,” Naina murmured, slipping her arm through his.
He reached for the landline near the window with his other hand, and dialled from memory.
“Boss,” Kishore answered at once.
“Send formal notice to Mr. Chauhan,” Abhinav instructed. “We arrive in one week. All estate records ready for review. Accommodation for three.”
“I’ll draft it now.”
“Read it back.”
A minute passed. Kishore read the draft.
“Add one line at the end… I will handle all further matters relating to the sale in person.”
“Done, Boss. Sending now.”
He set the receiver down.
Somewhere in Jaipur, the message would reach them. Not as information. As intent. A warning.
◆◆◆
Four days before departure, Abhinav’s friend, Raghav Khanna, called.
The Khannas had reserved part of a hotel restaurant. Harshit and Kavita sat at the head when Abhinav entered. Raghav, Raghav’s wife Ishani, his brother Vikram, his wife Divya, all of them were there.
He paused at the doorway. He had not known how much he needed this until he saw them. “Uncle. Aunty.”
Harshit rose at once and drew him into an embrace. There was more in it than greeting. Abhinav felt it and returned it without naming it.
“Abhinav! It’s been too long.”
“It has,” he replied, turning to Kavita and greeting her with warmth.
Raghav stepped forward. This hug came from years that had refused distance, from missed weddings and calls that never covered enough. They stayed there a second longer than usual.
“And this one, still terrible at returning calls, I see.”
“I called you back,” Raghav protested.
“Three days later.”
“I was busy getting married.”
“Fair point.”
Abhinav turned to the two women he had not met before. Both watched him with open curiosity, measuring stories against the man.
“Which brings me to the introductions I’ve been waiting for. The famous sisters-in-law.”
“My wife, Ishani,” Raghav gestured between them. “And Vikram’s wife, Divya.”
Abhinav shook Ishani’s hand. “Raghav talks about you so much that I thought he had made you up.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Too many good things. I began to wonder who could actually put up with this one.”
Raghav rolled his eyes.
Abhinav turned to Divya. She met his gaze calmly, taking him in without hurry.
“And you must be the one who brought Vikram Khanna to his knees.”
Color rose to her face. “I did not… he chose…”
“She is still denying it,” Vikram cut in, clasping Abhinav’s hand. “Good to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
The grief moved through Abhinav and settled again. “Thank you.”
“Your father was a good man,” Kavita reached for his hand. “We were heartbroken when we heard.”
“Thank you, Aunty. It has been… difficult.”
Silence followed. Familiar ground now. Harshit stepped in before it grew heavy. “You are here now. That is what matters.”
“But I must say, Uncle, last time I saw you, you did not have a viral superstar son making declarations on national television.”
Vikram groaned. “Not you too.”
“Millions of people, Vikram. Millions of people.” His chest eased, that relief where you don’t have to manage yourself. “I watched the replays at least five times. Pure drama. Very bollywood. Completely you.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Clearly. She’s still here, which means the grand gesture actually paid off.”
“She has no choice now,” Vikram replied. “The whole world knows.”
“Subtle as always,” Raghav muttered.
“Subtlety is overrated. You should try grand gestures,” Vikram shot back.
“I planned a week of anonymous gifts and a Valentine’s reveal. That was plenty grand.”
“Anonymous gifts she traced back to you in a week. Very mysterious.”
“Not everyone needs an audience of millions.” Ishani tossed a napkin at him.
Laughter circled the table. Abhinav watched them, their ease with each other, their lives that had moved forward while his had stood still.
He had missed their weddings because of his father’s illness. But friends like them didn’t need physical presence to share happiness or grief.
He spoke with Harshit about work, asked Kavita about the charity foundation, matched Ishani’s pace in conversation, who was sharper than he’d expected.
For the first time in months, he felt present without effort.
“Abhinav,” Harshit set his fork down, “Raghav mentioned you plan to go to India?”
“For a short time. Papa left me a Haveli in Jaipur. The family seat.”
“Anand Mahal,” Kavita nodded. “Your father spoke of it often. It has history.”
“Too much history. Too much responsibility I never asked for.”
“You do not plan to keep it?” Vikram asked.
“I have a life in Dubai. A career. A home by the Marina. I cannot abandon all of it to play feudal lord in Rajasthan.”
“So you plan to sell?” Harshit asked.
“I am trying to. There is a complication.”
“The estate manager,” Raghav added, unable to hide his amusement.
Abhinav had told him about it the night before over the call.
He glanced at Raghav. “The bane of my existence. An ancestor hired her family generations ago. The current manager seems to have forgotten the difference between managing and owning.”
“What is her name?” Ishani asked.
“Meera Chauhan. Apparently convinced she has more right to the Haveli than I do.”
“How is she stopping the sale?” Vikram asked.
“Ghost stories scared the first buyer. A protest blocked the second. Old records surfaced for the third, full of legal trouble.”
“So you are going to India for her,” Vikram lifted his glass.
“For a few weeks. Enough to deal with her, complete the sale, and return. I am not letting an estate manager stand in my path.”
“Have you met her?” Kavita asked.
“No. Papa handled everything there.”
“Maybe she has reasons,” Divya offered.
“Maybe she does. It changes nothing. The estate is mine. I have every legal right to sell it. Her job is to manage it until I do.”
“People who have lived on a property for generations form deep ties,” Vikram added. “It might help to understand her before you confront her.”
“I am not interested in understanding. I need cooperation.”
“That approach has never failed anyone,” Raghav replied.
“This is not only business,” Kavita stated. “It is also home. Her family has given their lives to it.”
“And that is why she should respect the family’s decision. Sentiment cannot dictate this.”
“When do you leave?” Harshit asked.
“In three days.”
The conversation moved on. Dubai’s heat, Vikram’s shoot in the desert, their pet Pista chasing a peacock through a hotel garden and terrifying a groundskeeper. Laughter came easy, full, untouched by grief.
When they stepped outside to leave, Raghav pulled him aside. “Call me. No matter what happens.”
“I will.”
Raghav held his gaze. “Whatever she is protecting matters to her. Remember that when you walk in.”
Abhinav did not answer. He did not argue either.