Royal Scandal

Chapter 2: The Library Threat

Siya didn't go to the admin block.

She couldn't bring herself to walk into the bright, crowded office looking like this. Her scholarship letter was blurred at the edges, her father's certificate bore a streak of wet mud, and her hands were still shaking.

She walked away from the main lawn, turning down a quiet side path. Away from the staring eyes, away from Eisha's phone camera, away from Kabir's voice still echoing behind her.

The old library stood near the edge of the campus, tucked behind the sleek new glass building that bore a gold plaque: _Raichand Library Block, Donated by the Raichand Group._

The old building was made of weathered stone and heavy timber. No air conditioning, no digital kiosks, no crowds. It was the only place she could think of to hide.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked open into total silence.

Inside, rain tapped steadily against tall stained-glass windows. Three long oak tables stretched across the center, surrounded by towering bookshelves. At the far end, a single desk lamp glowed, casting a warm yellow light across the room.

Siya sat at the table closest to the window and carefully spread out her papers. Scholarship letter, marksheet, income certificate. The core text of her letter was still readable — _98.2%, Siya Verma, Full Merit Scholarship_ — but the edges were ruined.

Her phone buzzed against the wood.

Same unknown number.

*Old library? You run fast for a scholarship girl. Back table, blue dress. - R*

Siya's head snapped up.

The room was completely quiet. Rain streamed down the glass outside, blurring the view of the lawn. The front door remained closed.

Then she heard it — the scrape of a chair leg against stone from behind the history stacks.

She stood up so quickly her chair rattled against the floorboards.

"Who's there?"

Silence followed, heavy and deliberate. Then a voice cut through the shadows.

"You have 22 hours left."

Rehansh stepped out from between the tall wooden shelves.

He had changed out of his wet white shirt into a black one, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, silver chain gleaming against his collarbone. His hair was damp but combed back. His shoes were dry; he had been here before her.

"You followed me," Siya said.

"I was here first," he replied, walking over with unhurried steps, hands buried in his pockets. "I come here when I want to be left alone. Eisha goes to the new building to be seen. I come here not to be. Big difference."

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down without asking.

"You ruined my papers," she said, her chest tightening.

"You dropped them," he corrected flatly. "You were holding that file like a shield. Of course it fell when I passed by."

"You shoved me on purpose."

"If I had shoved you, you would have ended up on the ground, not just your papers."

Siya gripped the edge of the table, struggling to keep her voice steady.

Rehansh looked down at the damp documents spread out between them. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Stop doing that. You're going to tear it."

She realized she was pressing her thumb down on the corner of the income certificate, trying to smooth out a crease with trembling fingers.

"Stop," he repeated, lower this time.

She pulled her hand back immediately.

Rehansh reached down, opened the small drawer built into the library desk, and pulled out a clean white cloth used for handling old manuscripts. He slid it across the wood toward her, careful not to let his fingers brush hers.

"Put it underneath. It draws out the moisture."

She hesitated, then took the cloth and slipped it under the wet paper. The fabric began absorbing the dampness right away.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain outside.

"You shouldn't have accepted the seat," he said quietly, looking out toward the rain.

"I didn't steal anything from you. The board created a merit seat. I earned it."

He turned back to her, his jaw setting.

"You keep using that word. Like it means something here."

"It should."

"In this place, marks don't hold any weight. Money does. And you don't have it."

"I have enough to be here. That's all that matters," she replied, holding his gaze.

He looked at her wet dress, her dripping hair, her pale hands resting on the desk.

"You have small hands," he said unexpectedly. Then his brow furrowed, as if he hadn't intended to say it out loud.

"What?"

"Nothing," he muttered, looking away. "Your file opened when it hit the ground. I saw it. Father's name: Rajesh Verma. Clerk. Address: Laxmi Nagar. I wasn't prying. It was lying open in the dirt."

"You read my personal details," she whispered.

"I glanced at it before Kabir ran over and held your hand."

Siya frowned.

"He was helping me up. Why do you keep bringing that up?"

"Because he held it longer than he needed to," Rehansh said, his tone turning sharp. "Kabir does that. He thinks he's being heroic."

There was something intense in his voice — not jealousy, but an unyielding, possessive edge.

"What do you want from me, Rehansh?" she asked quietly, exhausted.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. The scent of rain and wood lingered in the small space between them.

"I'm telling you to leave before things get worse," he said softly. "Eisha already uploaded the video of you outside. By tonight, half the campus will be talking about it. They'll target your scholarship. They'll make things difficult for you. Last year, the student on aid lasted three days before crying in the Dean's office. Dean Rathore doesn't tolerate weakness."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," he said, his eyes scanning her face. "You didn't cry when your file hit the mud. You just got down and picked it up. That's why I'm warning you now. Leave before they push you too far."

It sounded less like a threat and more like a warning — as if he wanted to handle her on his own terms rather than let anyone else interfere.

Before she could speak, the library door swung open, bringing in a gust of cold air.

Mehek Sharma stood in the doorway, clutching two heavy textbooks to her chest. Her white outfit was damp, her eyes wide with concern.

"Rehansh," Mehek stammered, her voice barely audible. "The Dean... Dean Rathore wants to see both of you. Right now. About the seat quota. He said immediately."

Rehansh stood up at once, his expression hardening as the momentary quiet vanished.

"Let's go, Scholarship," he said, stepping past her. "Your 22 hours just ran out."

Siya quickly gathered her damp documents, keeping the white cloth wrapped around the letter. She stood up, her cold dress clinging to her shoulders.

Rehansh held the heavy outer door open. Rain was coming down harder now, soaking through his black shirt. He glanced at her shivering frame, paused, and then unbuttoned his black jacket.

He held it out toward her. Not gently — more like a demand.

"Put it on," he ordered. "The admin block is cold. And you look ridiculous shivering like that."

"I don't want your jacket," she said instantly. "Everyone is already talking."

"If you walk out like that, they'll just talk about how you can't even handle your first hour here," he countered. "Take your pick."

Mehek leaned close to Siya and whispered,

"He never lends his jacket to anyone. Eisha asked for it last winter and he completely ignored her. He doesn't hold doors either."

Rehansh stood there in the pouring rain, jacket extended, waiting.

Outside, the walk to the Dean's office meant crossing the open quad without an umbrella. If she went as she was, she would be completely drenched in front of the Dean. If she took it, she would be walking across campus in Rehansh Raichand's coat.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket.

"Put it on and keep moving. Dean hates waiting. And don't overthink it, Scholarship. It's just a jacket. - R"

He had sent it from three feet away, watching her read it.

Siya stared at the jacket for a second, took a breath, and pulled it over her shoulders. It swamped her frame, heavy and warm, carrying the distinct scent of his cologne.