Chapter Fourteen
Author’s POV
Aansh Rathore had walked out of countless meetings, each one more brutal than the last — negotiations, threats veiled in smiles, power plays that made lesser men crumble.
But this morning, even he felt the exhaustion clinging to his bones.
The kind of exhaustion that came not from physical work, but from the weight of being who he was.
He pushed open the door to his private office, expecting silence, solitude — the comfort of order.
What he found instead was Karthik lounging on his couch, legs crossed, chewing on grapes from his minibar.
Aansh’s eyes narrowed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, voice low and flat as he walked to his desk.
Karthik jumped up theatrically, arms in the air as though he’d caught a criminal. “You are the worst friend ever!”
Aansh raised a brow, unamused. “What’s this drama about now?”
Karthik stomped toward him dramatically. “Drama? DRAMA? Aansh freaking Rathore — the man who treats emotions like infections — got married. And didn’t bother telling his best friend?!”
Aansh sat down at his desk, powered on his laptop, and began typing without so much as a blink in Karthik’s direction.
“Seriously?” Karthik cried. “You got married in secret? The media didn’t know. Your staff didn’t know. I didn’t know. Did it even happen, or was it a hallucination?”
Still typing.
Unbothered.
“I want answers, bro. Who is she? What’s her name? How long have you known her? And please — please — tell me this was a love marriage! Because that would be the biggest plot twist since Game of Thrones!”
At the word love, Aansh stopped.
He looked up, eyes like cold steel. “Love doesn’t exist in my world.”
Karthik’s laughter died on his lips.
He stared at his friend for a long second. “You say that now,” he muttered. “But I don’t know, man. Something tells me this girl... she’s going to change your mind.”
Crack.
Aansh snapped the pen in his hand clean in half.
“Get. Out. Now.”
Karthik stepped back, letting out a low whistle. “Touchy subject, huh?”
Aansh said nothing.
Karthik began walking toward the door but turned at the last second. “At least tell me my bhabhi’s name.”
Aansh didn’t even look up. “Find out for yourself.”
Karthik left with a grin that lingered like mischief in the air.
---
An hour later
Aansh was halfway through reviewing a weapons shipment file when his phone buzzed.
Incoming Call: Dadaji
He exhaled heavily, already sensing where this was going.
“Yes, Dadaji,” he answered.
“I need you to come home. Now.”
“I’m working.”
“Your work can wait. Come home, Aansh.”
Click.
Aansh closed his eyes for a long second, frustration bubbling in his veins.
She was behind this.
Of course she was.
He buzzed his assistant. “Cancel everything for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, sir.”
---
At the Rathore Mansion
The grand gates opened for his car. The guards stood straighter. The air seemed heavier.
As he stepped out of the car and walked into the mansion, silence trailed him like a faithful dog.
He didn’t greet anyone. Didn’t stop. Just walked — sharp, precise — straight to his room.
He pushed the door open…
… and halted.
It was chaos.
Clothes thrown across the bed in tangled heaps. Shoes left unsorted. His pristine dresser cluttered with unfamiliar creams, pins, and bangles. His designer suits hanging beside floral kurtis. The polished marble floor smudged from wet footprints.
His temple pulsed.
He hated disorder. He loathed it. Chaos was for the weak.
And then — she appeared.
Ria rushed out of the bathroom, a wet cloth in one hand, her dupatta tied awkwardly around her waist. Her long hair was messily bundled in a bun, with stray strands curling around her flushed cheeks. The moment she saw him, her feet froze.
The color drained from her face. Her breath hitched. And for a moment, she looked as if she wanted the earth to swallow her whole.
Aansh’s rage exploded.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” he thundered.
Ria’s hands trembled as she dropped the cloth. Her eyes shut instinctively, her body recoiling at the sheer force of his voice. Why is this man back at this time, she thought to herself.
“I-I didn’t know you were coming back,” she whispered.
He flung his blazer onto the couch with force and strode toward her.
She stumbled backward, heart pounding, until her spine met the cold wall.
Cornered.
Trapped.
“You were told — very clearly — not to touch my things,” he snapped, eyes burning into hers.
“I-I was only arranging my clothes, and—” she tried to explain, voice barely above a whisper.
“Don’t test me, woman.”
His voice was colder than steel now.
“I don’t care what your excuse is. I hate untidiness — and look at this disaster! Look what you've done to my space.”
He stepped back just enough to yank the curtains straight with a jerk, then turned toward the dresser, sweeping one of her bangles onto the floor.
“Clean. It. Up. Before I return,” he said, jaw clenched. “Or you’ll regret it.”
With that, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
---
Inside the room
Ria stood frozen, her chest heaving.
Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
She stared at the door, her lips trembling with unspoken fury.
Then, she picked up the wet cloth and hurled it at the now-closed door with all her strength.
“Yeh aadmi nahi... ek rakshas hai!”
(This man isn’t a man. He’s a demon!)
She wiped her cheeks roughly, then started folding her clothes — not for him, not out of fear — but because if she stayed in this hell, she’d do it on her terms.
Even if her heart was breaking.