CHAPTER 14
Where she belongs
VIHAAN
The air in the hall is heavy even though the chandeliers cast their golden glow, trying to make everything look softer than it is.
I can already feel it before she even speaks—Maasi-sa’s presence has always been like this, like a cold draft sneaking under the doors of a warm house.
She sits, draped in silk saree that screams more than it needs to, a smile on her lips that isn’t a smile at all.
“So,” she begins, her tone syrupy sweet but her eyes sharp as blades, “two of my nephews get married, and not once did I receive an invitation. Tell me, Devraj, Vihaan, is there a reason your maasi is not worthy of such courtesy?”
I see Bhai-sa’s jaw tighten, though his face remains calm, practiced. He’s used to masks. I’ve never been good at them.
Before either of us can speak, she tilts her head, her bangles clinking softly as if the sound punctuates her taunts.
“Or is it that you both were in such a hurry to ruin the family’s image that you forgot?
One marries a commoner”—her eyes flicker to me with deliberate insult—“and the other an illegitimate princess? Are you two in competition now? Who will drag the Shekhawat name lower, faster?” She tsks dramatically, shaking her head.
My hand curls into a fist under the table, nails pressing into my palm. The word commoner burns, but the way she says illegitimate princess—I see Poorvi stiffen in her seat, and that’s enough for my blood to boil.
“Enough, Maasi-sa,” Bhai sa says first, his tone even but his eyes steely. “You will not speak against my wife.”
“And certainly not against mine,” I add, sharper, my voice rising before I can stop it. “If you think you can stand here and belittle the women we married, you are mistaken.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she clutches her pearls like a performer in a bad play. “Oh my, don’t get so offended. I was only making an observation.”
Behind her, Ranbir leans back against the carved chair, his lips curved into that insufferable smirk he wears like a second skin.
He doesn’t even try to hide the way his gaze bounces between Poorvi and Meher bhabhi-sa, slow, deliberate, like he’s cataloguing weaknesses.
My jaw clenches so tightly I can hear the crack of my own teeth.
I want to put my fist through that smug face of his.
Maasi-sa continues, unfazed. “I simply worry for this family. A queen who dislikes her crown, a princess who—well, let’s not dwell on her beginnings.” Her eyes glimmer as if she’s enjoying our restraint, waiting for one of us to snap.
Bhai-sa leans forward, his voice carrying that calm authority that makes rooms listen. “You mistake your role, Maasi-sa. You are here as family. Not judge. Not jury. And certainly not an executioner. Remember that.”[1]
I smirk despite the anger simmering in my chest. His way of handling her—measured, controlled—is the exact opposite of mine. Where he draws lines with quiet steel, I want to draw swords.
Maasi-sa just sighs, patting her pallu as though we’re children throwing tantrums. “Such passion. Such fire. One wonders if it’s love or simply rebellion.” Her gaze flickers again—this time landing squarely on Poorvi, who’s sitting beside Sitara and Meher bhabhi-sa.
As she rises to leave, the rustle of her sari filling the silence, she glides past the women.
Leaning down, she whispers something into Poorvi’s ear.
I can’t hear the words, but I see the effect instantly—Poorvi’s eyes widen, her shoulders stiffen, and then…
she looks down. Away. The light I always see in her face dims, just like that.
My vision tunnels. My pulse roars in my ears.
I don’t believe in raising hands against women. I was raised better than that. But in this moment, every fiber of me aches with the need to do something. Because no one—no one—gets to make my wife bow her head like that.
Maasi-sa walks away with that wicked little smile plastered across her face, Ranbir trailing behind her with his smirk still intact.
I don’t wait. I stride straight to where Poorvi sits, ignoring the looks, ignoring the noise.
Her hand is resting in her lap, still and small, and I take it firmly into mine.
Without a word, without offering explanations, I lead her out of the room.
The murmur of voices from the staff fades behind us, swallowed by the corridors as I walk faster until I’m sure no one else is around.
I stop, turning to her. My chest is tight, my jaw locked. “What did she say?”
Poorvi looks up at me, startled. Then she smiles—a sad, small curve of her lips that only makes my chest ache more. “Nothing.”
“Poorvi,” I say sternly, not letting her look away.
She sighs softly, eyes flickering down. “Nothing unusual. Just that I didn’t belong in the royalty.”
Nothing unusual. The phrase ricochets in my head, and something inside me nearly snaps. That’s what she calls it? To be told she doesn’t belong? To be made to feel small in a place that is hers now?
I clench my jaw, fighting the storm raging inside me. Then I step closer, lifting her chin gently with my thumb so she has no choice but to meet my eyes.
“Meri jaan,” I whisper, the endearment slipping out before I can second-guess it. Her eyes widen instantly, as though the word itself unsettles her more than the insult did.
“This is our home,” I say firmly, my thumb grazing her skin softly as if to balance the steel in my voice. “We get to decide who comes and goes. Who belongs here, who doesn’t. Not the other way around. Do you understand?”
She blinks at me, her lips parting slightly, like she’s struggling to process not just my words, but the fact that I called her meri jaan.
“You will be where you want to be, Poorvi,” I add, softer this time. “No one tells my wife where she belongs. Okay?”
Her lips tremble into a smile, a small nod following after. It’s tentative, like she doesn’t quite know how to believe me yet.
But she will.
And as I stand there, her hand still in mine, her chin still lifted under my thumb, I know one thing for certain—anyone who tries to dim her, break her, or make her feel less than she is, will have to go through me first.
And I don’t care who they are.