[ RAJVANSHI ESTATE – The Same Night ]
The chandeliers of the Rajvanshi estate glowed like ancient eyes—cold, unwavering, and bright enough to burn. Their golden light bled across the tall walls, illuminating shadows that whispered of a power too ancient to question.
The room was silent.
Not the kind born of peace, but the kind thick with expectation. The kind that held its breath before a verdict.
Adityanath Rajvanshi sat poised like a king grown old but not tired. The fire behind him cast a halo of flickering gold across his silver hair. His drink remained untouched, the condensation snaking down the crystal like a silent clock ticking.
The old lion was waiting.
Kalyani stood near him, her arms crossed tight against her chest, her face hard with control. Tension folded into every inch of her posture.
Then came footsteps.
Ahaan entered, the sharp sound of his shoes dulled by the carpet—but not enough to hide the tension in his stride. His suit was wrinkled at the shoulders, collar slightly crooked. It wasn't how a Rajvanshi heir looked after a public engagement.
It was how a man looked after unraveling something he couldn't stitch back.
Kalyani spoke first. Her voice sliced through the silence.
"Those children... are you really their father?"
Her tone was flat, too controlled to be neutral. Laced with disbelief.
Ahaan didn't flinch. He looked her in the eyes. "Yes."
He said it cleanly. Like a practiced lie he was willing to carry forever.
Her breath hitched. "You're certain?"
"I am," he replied. "They're mine. Mine and Aria's."
Adityanath stirred, barely. A subtle lean forward, a lift of the brow— revealed interest.
"Fascinating," he said softly. Like a man watching a pawn shift across the board in a way that didn't quite make sense.
Ahaan turned toward him. His shoulders tensed under the weight of his gaze.
"They carry the Rajvanshi mark," he said, too quickly. "You must've seen it too. Isn't that why you agreed to this marriage?"
Adityanath's expression remained unreadable. "They are our blood, yes. But that alone does not prove you are their father."
Kalyani's eyes flickered—just slightly. The mention of others with that same bloodline opened the door to dangerous implications.
Because they all knew—there was someone else whose blood might run through those veins.
Ahaan swallowed, his throat dry. The lie felt heavier now, even as he clung to it.
He stepped forward. Calm. Controlled.
Or at least that's what he needed them to see.
"Aria and I... we were in a relationship." he said quietly. "Last year. It was brief... but it was real. When it ended, I thought that was it. She never told me she was pregnant."
He paused. Not too long. Just enough to show what still haunted him
"But today, when I saw her again... and saw those children—I knew. There was no doubt."
His voice faltered there, almost imperceptibly. Because he didn't know. Not really. But what choice did he have?
Adityanath raised an eyebrow, amusement glinting beneath the scrutiny.
"And yet," he said smoothly, "when I mentioned her name—you didn't even recognize it?"
"I never knew her real name," Ahaan answered quickly, his voice sharpening. "We kept things separate. Private. She didn't tell me she was a Maheshwari."
That much was true.
Rudra never told him his lover's name much less that she was a Maheshwari.
Everything else... was not.
But he didn't let it show. He couldn't.
Because if anyone here guessed the truth—that it wasn't his story to defend, that he was standing here on behalf of Rudra, who had vanished without a word—then this entire facade would burn.
He took a breath. "It doesn't matter. I know the truth now."
Kalyani's arms dropped slightly. Her posture loosened, the disbelief flickering into something like uncertainty.
"And even after all this," she asked quietly, "you still love her?"
"I never stopped," Ahaan said. The words came out steady.
But inside, something twisted. Because that love never belonged to him.
It belonged to his brother.
He looked between them. "Even if I had gone through with the engagement with someone else today—it wouldn't have mattered. In my heart... no one can take her place."
He hoped that sounded like conviction. Not desperation.
Something in Kalyani's expression cracked—not at his words, but at the depth behind them. She looked down. Maybe in understanding or maybe even regret.
Adityanath leaned forward, finally picking up the untouched drink. He didn't sip it. Just swirled it—like thoughts he wasn't ready to speak.
"So," he said at last, "Now that she has returned—you're no longer just my heir. You've become a father and her lover. Completely wrapped around her finger—a woman far sharper than we assumed."
"She's not controlling me," Ahaan snapped. It came out too fast. Too defensive.
He tried to soften. "She protected those children—our children—without complaint. And from the Maheshwaris' reaction, she didn't even ask for help. That's not manipulation. That's survival."
His voice cracked—but he caught it, shoved the pain back behind clenched teeth.
"And today, she didn't come to make a scene. She came to ensure her children—our children—weren't denied their place.
The room fell quiet again.
Then Adityanath stood, slow and deliberate, as if reminding the room of the weight his presence commanded.
"When Needhi first suggested her daughter for you," he said, "I had her investigated. A florist, quietly running her shop in Himachal. Detached. Self-contained.
Unremarkable on her own, but being a Maheshwari... she was acceptable. A suitable vessel to carry our legacy. Nothing more."
He turned toward the fire, its light catching the sharpness in his eyes.
"I stopped watching her after that. She wasn't a threat. Just a tool we could use."
His pause was deliberate.
"But today... she didn't hide. She arrived with two Rajvanshi infants and dared to look this family in the eye. She didn't flinch. She didn't bend."
He turned back toward Ahaan, gaze sharp.
"She didn't step onto the battlefield. She claimed it. That is no ordinary courage."
He walked past his grandson, slow and deliberate. Like circling prey that had yet to notice its throat exposed.
"She has more of a Rajvanshi in her than some born with the name. And that—I did not see coming."
Ahaan stood still. Barely breathing.
Because every word felt like a test.
"Then accept her," he said. "Welcome her with dignity. Not as a pawn, but as someone worthy."
Adityanath's eyes narrowed.
"You would stake your future on her?"
Ahaan's heart thudded. But he nodded. "I already have."
He looked to Kalyani. Then back at the man who had shaped his world through iron and fire.
"I won't walk away. Not from her. Not from them."
Even if they're not mine.
The thought echoed, unspoken.
And then—
"And if I choose to turn against her?" the old man asked, his voice low and deliberate.
Ahaan hesitated. Just a second.
But it was enough.
He felt the fear in his gut—raw, pulsing. Not just for himself, but for the truth he was covering, the brother he might never see again, the woman he didn't know but had sworn to protect.
"I'll protect them," he said. "Even if that means going against you."
The flames surged behind Adityanath. His shadow stretched wide across the room.
Then—he laughed. A single, low note of dark amusement.
Not mockery.
Approval.
"Good," he said. "You're finally beginning to sound like a Rajvanshi."
Kalyani let out a breath. A fraction of tension melted from her posture.
But the old lion wasn't done.
"If Aria wants to survive this family," he said coldly, "she'll have to do more than just marry you and add our name. She'll have to carry its weight."
He returned to his chair, eyes glinting with new strategy.
"The game has changed. Let's see if she knows how to play."
"She already is," Ahaan replied. "She didn't get this far by luck. She fought and she survived. Alone"
He paused. And this time, his voice gentled—not with weakness, but with weary resolve.
"But now, she won't have to fight alone."
He turned and left.
His footsteps were even. Measured.
But inside him, the truth echoed like thunder.
I'm protecting your world, Rudra. And I don't know how long I can keep this up.
Kalyani followed in silence, her expression unreadable. Regret trailed her, faint but real.
And in the shadows of the far hallway—
A pair of eyes glinted—cold, still, and observant.
A quiet figure stepped out from the shadows.
They had been standing there the whole time. Listening. Waiting.
As the footsteps faded, the figure slipped deeper into the darkness—silent. Invisible.
Because the Rajvanshis weren't the only ones guarding secrets tonight.
And the real war… had only just begun.