Chapter Nine
1100 Words
The Shekhawat mansion felt different after that night.
Not quieter.
Softer.
The next morning, Aadhya stood before the mirror, adjusting the pleats of a light pink saree. She hesitated before reaching for heavy jewelry out of habit.
“Leave it.”
Rudransh’s voice came from behind.
She turned, surprised.
“You don’t need all that,” he said, walking closer. “You look better when you’re comfortable.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “I thought queens must follow dress codes.”
He paused for a second — then took the necklace from her hand and placed it back inside the box.
“Queens choose,” he replied calmly.
That was the first rule he broke.
Aadhya tried to hide her smile.
—
Meanwhile, in another room, Shreya was buttoning her formal blazer over a pastel kurti.
Sahil leaned against the doorframe, watching her struggle with her watch clasp.
“Independent businesswoman already?” he teased.
She gave him a look. “Don’t start.”
Without asking, he stepped forward and fastened the clasp gently around her wrist.
“I’m not stopping you from joining Singhania Company,” he said quietly. “In fact, I already transferred some shares back to your father. It’s your right.”
Her expression shifted.
“You did?”
He shrugged casually. “I don’t want you to feel trapped here.”
That was not the reaction she expected.
—
Later that day, both sisters officially joined the Singhania Company under Shekhawat partnership. The announcement surprised many in the business circle.
Aadhya handled creative strategy and branding.
Shreya took over finance restructuring.
At the office, Rudransh entered the boardroom mid-meeting and deliberately asked:
“Mrs. Shekhawat, what do you suggest?”
Aadhya froze slightly — not because he used the title, but because he asked her opinion in front of senior executives.
She explained her idea confidently.
The room approved.
And Rudransh didn’t interrupt once.
Outside, when the meeting ended, she turned to him. “You didn’t correct me.”
“I didn’t need to,” he replied simply.
That small validation meant more than grand gestures.
—
That evening, back at home, the mood was lighter.
Shreya was laughing for the first time in days as Sahil dramatically complained, “So now you’ll be my boss in meetings?”
“I already am,” she shot back playfully.
He placed a hand over his heart. “Cruel woman.”
For the first time, her laughter didn’t carry anger.
—
Later that night, Aadhya sat on the balcony, reviewing company files. Rudransh walked out with two cups of coffee.
“You’ll ruin your eyes,” he muttered, handing her one.
She looked at him carefully. “You’re being unusually nice.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Don’t get used to it.”
She smiled softly. “Too late.”
A comfortable silence settled between them.
After a few moments, he spoke again — quieter this time.
“When you said you loved me…”
Her heart skipped.
“I didn’t say it back,” he continued.
She tried to act unaffected. “You don’t have to.”
He turned his head toward her fully.
“I don’t say things unless I’m sure,” he said calmly. “And I am not a man who loves halfway.”
Her breath caught.
“I am trying,” he added. “To be better. For you.”
The sincerity in his voice felt more intimate than any dramatic declaration.
Aadhya reached forward hesitantly and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve — a small, gentle gesture.
“You don’t have to change completely,” she whispered. “Just… let me stand beside you. Not behind you.”
His hand slowly covered hers.
“Beside me,” he agreed.
Inside the mansion, Sahil was teaching Shreya how to analyze a market report, purposely making small mistakes so she would correct him.
“Wrong,” she said, tapping the file.
“Oh?” he challenged. “Then teach me properly.”
She rolled her eyes but moved closer, pointing at the figures. He didn’t miss how near she stood.
Neither did she.
And for the first time, the house that once felt like a battlefield began to feel like something else.
Not a prison.
Not a contract.
But a place where love was quietly, steadily growing.
Unaware that somewhere in the city, Kunal Rathore was watching the latest business headlines — and realizing that instead of breaking them apart…
He might have just made them stronger.
In the far end of the Rathore mansion, behind a concealed wooden panel in Kunal’s private study, there was a room no one knew about.
No servants entered.
No cameras were installed.
Only him.
The room was dimly lit, a single warm spotlight falling on one wall.
That wall was covered in photographs.
A girl.
Her face sometimes half-turned.
Sometimes hidden by loose hair.
Sometimes captured from behind.
Sometimes smiling faintly beside the Shekhawat brothers.
In some pictures, she wore a saree.
In others, a modern gown.
In one frame, she was laughing at a corporate event.
In another, she looked serious during a board meeting.
It was impossible to immediately tell—
Was it Aadhya?
Or Shreya?
Kunal stood before the wall, his expression unreadable.
“You shouldn’t have stayed,” he murmured softly.
He picked up one photo — taken from the charity gala night. The girl’s hand was extended forward, concern visible on her face.
His fingers tightened around the frame.
“You had a chance to walk away.”
He placed the photo back carefully, almost respectfully.
“I told you I would help you escape. I meant it.”
His eyes darkened.
“But you chose them.”
He walked closer to the wall, studying another image — this one from the Singhania office inauguration. The girl stood confidently between the two brothers, strong, composed.
“You think they will protect you?” he whispered. “They don’t even know how to protect themselves.”
There was no loud anger.
Just quiet intensity.
He moved to his desk and opened a file marked only with a single letter.
Inside were financial reports. Security layouts. Media contacts. Internal weaknesses of both the Shekhawat and Singhania companies.
“This isn’t about business anymore,” he said calmly to the empty room. “This is about correction.”
He turned back toward the photographs.
“You made a mistake marrying into that house.”
A slow, chilling smile appeared on his lips.
“And I will make sure you realize it.”
- Writer
