Chapter 3 #2
From a purely logical standpoint, she was completely right.
His strategy had been about containment, but her strategy was about psychological dominance.
He had expected her to cry, to complain, or to slowly fade into the background.
Instead, she was rewriting his playbook in front of his entire staff.
Siddhant realized then that he was not dealing with a fragile, abandoned bride. He was dealing with a strategist.
"Kamla," Siddhant suddenly called out, not breaking eye contact with Poorvanshi.
"Y-yes, Boss?" the head cook stammered.
"From now on, Miss Rathore will take her meals wherever she pleases," Siddhant commanded softly. "Ensure she has whatever she wants."
He turned back to Poorvanshi. "Well played, Miss Rathore. But do not think you can break every rule I set."
"I only break the stupid ones," she shot back, a triumphant smile finally breaking across her face.
For the second time since he met her, a tiny, almost invisible smirk touched the corner of Siddhant’s mouth. It was gone before anyone else could see it, but Poorvanshi caught it.
"We will see about that," Siddhant murmured, before turning on his heel and walking out of the kitchen, taking the heavy, intimidating atmosphere with him.
As soon as he was gone, the kitchen staff let out a collective sigh of relief.
Kabir looked at Poorvanshi, his eyes wide with pure respect. "In thirty-four years, I have never seen anyone win an argument against him. Never. You are terrifying, and I am officially your biggest fan."
Poorvanshi smiled, but her heart was beating frantically against her ribs. Arguing with Siddhant was like walking on a tightrope over a blazing fire. It was incredibly dangerous, but the adrenaline rush was entirely addictive.
***
For the rest of the day, Poorvanshi made it her personal mission to deliberately bend every single rule Siddhant had written.
Rule four said she could not go outside without an escort. So, she opened the massive French doors of her suite, stepped out onto the wide stone balcony, and spent three hours loudly talking on her phone with Ayesha, walking back and forth so the security guards below had to constantly watch her.
Rule five said she had to submit requests to the housekeeper.
Instead, she found Ishaan in the hallway and cheerfully asked him to find her a specific brand of drawing pencils, a large sketchbook, and a perfectly ripe mango.
The fierce security head looked completely bewildered, but ten minutes later, he silently handed her exactly what she asked for.
By the time night fell, the entire mansion was buzzing with quiet energy. The staff, who usually walked around in fearful silence, were exchanging amused whispers about the fearless girl in the East Wing.
But as the grandfather clock chimed midnight, the adrenaline of the day finally faded, leaving Poorvanshi alone with her thoughts.
The rain from the previous night had returned, tapping gently against her bedroom windows.
The city lights outside blurred through the wet glass, creating a soft, glowing bokeh effect that looked incredibly lonely.
Despite her brave front during the day, the quiet darkness brought back the heavy weight of reality.
Aryan was gone. Her life was entirely derailed.
Sleep was impossible.
Seeking a distraction, Poorvanshi slipped out of bed. She put on a long, flowing silk robe over her pajamas and quietly opened her bedroom door. The security guards at the end of the hall were facing away from her, distracted by a quiet conversation.
Moving silently, she slipped past them and headed towards the grand library she had spotted earlier in the day.
The Chaturvedi library was massive, spanning two floors with dark, towering oak shelves packed with thousands of books. As Poorvanshi pushed the heavy doors open, she gasped softly at the sheer beauty of the room.
The lighting was incredibly cinematic. The moonlight spilled through the massive, arched, floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp, high-contrast shadows across the polished wooden floors.
The distant streetlights reflected off the rain-slicked windowpanes, creating a beautiful, ray-traced glow that illuminated the floating dust motes in the air.
It was silent. It was beautiful.
And she was not alone.
Sitting in a massive leather armchair near the large window was Siddhant.
He had taken off his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to expose his strong forearms. He was holding a crystal glass of amber liquid, the ice clinking softly as he stared out into the rainy night.
He didn't look like the ruthless 'Devil of Delhi' right now. He just looked like a deeply tired, lonely man carrying the weight of an empire.
Poorvanshi froze, debating whether she should turn around and quietly slip away. But before she could move, his deep voice cut through the silence.
"Rule number one, Miss Rathore. Do not wander the mansion unescorted."
He hadn't even turned his head. He had just sensed her presence.
Poorvanshi let out a soft sigh and walked further into the room. Her movements had a slow-motion, cinematic fluidity to them as her silk robe brushed against the heavy wooden furniture.
"I couldn't sleep," Poorvanshi admitted quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I was looking for a book on architecture to bore my brain into shutting down. I didn't know you were in here."