Veer's POV

It had been fifteen minutes. Fifteen whole minutes since Abhishek messaged me that she had started climbing the stairs. Thirty-two floors. For a normal person, ten minutes was more than enough. She was late. Too late.

I placed the file on the table, pretending to stay focused, flipping through pages with the same sharp precision that built my empire. But somewhere in the hollow of my chest, there was something I didn't like. An odd uneasiness. A feeling I had no name for.

It was irritating. Annoying. Unfamiliar.

Almost like the moment when your heart senses something before your mind accepts it. A strange pull. A tether that shouldn't exist, but somehow did. I clenched my jaw. What the hell was this?
I was about to call Aarav when the faintest sound at the door made me look up.

And there she was.

She hadn't stepped inside yet. She just stood there, her trembling hand still on the door, as if gathering courage to breathe in my presence. My brows furrowed. What is she doing? Why isn't she entering?

I composed myself immediately, throwing away every trace of that unfamiliar tightness in my chest. My mask was back on-the mask the world feared. The mask of Veer Chahun: mafia king, ruthless business icon, the man who bows before none.

The handle moved, and the door finally opened.

"You are late, wifey," I said in a low, cold voice that echoed in the silence of my cabin.

The word rolled out of me like venom. A reminder. A punishment. A claim.

She stood at the threshold, drenched in sweat, her breathing ragged, face pale. I had expected her to be tired-it was thirty-two floors after all-but this? This was more than I imagined.

For a fleeting moment, my lips curved into a smirk. Triumph. Satisfaction. I had made her climb each floor with her fragile body, and she did it. She obeyed.

But then... my eyes betrayed me.

Because when I looked at her-really looked at her-I saw something that I wasn't prepared for.

Her brown hazel eyes weren't just heavy with exhaustion. They held something far deeper. A loneliness that screamed in silence. A craving for something no empire, no wealth, no ruthless command could ever give-love, care, warmth.

I clenched my fists under the table. Why does this bother me?
She was supposed to be the pampered princess of the Rathore family. The youngest daughter. The most spoiled one. The girl who had always gotten everything handed to her. The very reason I was venting my fury on her-because she had taken a seat in the mandap that wasn't hers. Because betrayal stung worse than poison.

And yet... she stood there like she had never been loved at all. Like she wasn't the cherished princess I imagined. Like she was carrying more weight than I gave her credit for.

I refused to let the guilt surface. Guilt was weakness. Weakness had no place in my world.

So I leaned back, mocking her with the very tone that shielded me from my own conscience.

"Oh, wifey," I drawled, a smirk tugging at my lips, "how wonderful it must feel to keep your husband waiting. Or is this your way of announcing to the world that you're the boss here?"

Her lips parted, as though she wanted to speak. But nothing came. Not a word. Only the trembling of her lower lip betrayed her silence.

Pathetic. Weak. And yet... why did it twist something inside me?

I rose slowly from my chair, each movement deliberate, predatory. My eyes didn't leave her face, and as I walked toward the table, I folded my arms across my chest. My gaze pinned her, sharp and unrelenting, until I saw her flinch. She lowered her eyes instantly, unable to withstand the storm in mine.

For some reason, that stirred something strange in me. A part of me wanted her to look up. To meet my gaze. To fight.
But she didn't.

"I thought," I said at last, breaking the heavy silence, "that I would take you to meet Grandpa after your first rasoi."

Her head snapped up at once. Her eyes widened, her face brightening instantly as though the sun itself had just risen in her chest. The exhaustion, the weakness-all of it washed away in a single heartbeat.

"Really?" she asked, her voice carrying an innocence I hadn't heard till now. Hope shimmered in her tone, fragile but fierce.
And for one insane moment, I felt... undone.

That smile. That hope. That childlike trust in my words. It shouldn't matter. It couldn't matter. Yet it did.

I looked away, forcing my jaw to tighten again, forcing that momentary weakness back into the cage I had built around my heart.

"Yes," I said casually, but then my lips twisted, cruel and deliberate. "But only if you had managed to come on time."

I watched the light drain from her face. The hope that had just blossomed wilted instantly, leaving behind a pale ghost of the smile. Her gaze fell, lashes heavy with unshed tears. She bit her lip, struggling not to break.

Good. She needed to learn. To know that in my world, weakness cost everything.

And yet... the sight of her fighting her tears burned me.

I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping into that calm, dangerous tone I was infamous for.

"But..." I continued, "I'll still take you-if you agree to one condition."

Her brows furrowed softly, confusion dancing in her eyes. She hesitated only a moment before nodding, too desperate to cling to whatever hope I dangled before her.

My lips curved, but my eyes stayed cold, watching her every twitch, every movement, every breath. She didn't realize it, but each flicker of her gaze, each nervous shift of her hands told me everything I needed to know.

She was fragile. Yet she was fire, hidden somewhere deep.

And I... I couldn't decide whether I wanted to protect it or destroy it.

🦋Author's POV🦋

Veer leaned back against his desk, his eyes sharp, voice colder than ice as he laid out the first of his rules.

"First," he said, his tone deliberate, "if you think you can control me just because you took your sister's place and became my wife, then you're wrong. I will never consider you my wife. To me, you will always remain a prisoner-someone who obeys me, who does exactly as I say."

The words fell like chains around Aranya. Her heart twisted, but her face stayed composed. It wasn't new. She had been a prisoner in her own house for as long as she could remember. She knew what it felt like to live in a cage-even if the cage had different walls now. But still, hearing it from him, in that cold, merciless voice, made her stomach knot. Something inside her ached in a way she couldn't explain.

She wanted to say nothing, but his eyes narrowed.

"I need words," he said, his voice carrying a warning edge.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she whispered, "Okay."
Her voice was faint but steady enough.

Veer didn't pause. He didn't give her space to breathe.

"Second," he continued, his gaze unflinching, "whatever I have-my property, my money, my empire-none of it will ever be yours. I won't spend a single rupee on you. If you want something, you can earn it yourself."

Aranya's lips curved into the faintest, almost invisible smile. Was this supposed to break her? She had already lived through this exact life. No one in her family ever spent money on her. She grew up with second-hand clothes, cast-offs, and scraps. If she wanted something, she stitched it from discarded fabric, or saved the little pocket money Grandpa had given her. She had even written online under a fake name, earning a few rupees here and there.

So when Veer thought he had placed another cruel condition before her, she simply nodded and said, "Okay."

Her calm acceptance made something flicker in his chest. He expected her to fight, to scream, to show even a little resistance. But instead, she accepted too easily. Too quietly. And that made him angry-angrier than her refusal would have.

He leaned forward, his jaw clenching. "Third," his voice grew sharper, "in my house, even in my room, you are not allowed to touch anything. You will not take anything from anyone. You will sleep on the floor-not even the couch. And you will do all the household work. As for my family... you have no relation with them. You will call them 'sir,' 'ma'am,' or 'malik.' Nothing else."

Aranya closed her eyes for a brief second. That, too, wasn't new. Her own family had never treated her like one of them. To call someone 'sir' or 'ma'am' wasn't very different from what she already lived with. Still, the sting of his words pushed at her heart.
But once again, she looked at him and whispered, "Okay."

Her soft agreement, her lack of resistance, struck Veer harder than an argument would have. How could she accept everything so easily? He wanted her to break, to fight back, to throw her princess tantrums. That was what he had pictured. That was the Rathore princess he thought he had married.

But she wasn't that.

"Fourth," he said finally, his voice dropping lower, harsher. "You cannot leave this marriage unless I say so. You will not make any decisions for yourself. Every decision regarding you will be mine, and mine alone."

He paused, letting the weight of those words settle between them. Then, he pointed to the file she still held.

"If you're okay with this," he said, his tone leaving no space for argument, "then sign the paper."

He picked up a pen and handed it to her.

Aranya didn't waste a second. She opened the file, her hand moving to sign. But just as the pen touched the paper, she froze. Her fingers trembled slightly as her eyes lifted to him.

And then... she did something Veer did not expect.

She placed the pen down and folded her hands, tilting her head slightly, her brown eyes carrying a spark of quiet defiance.

"You said," she began softly, but there was a steel edge beneath her voice, "that only you can make decisions for me, right?"

Veer narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

Her lips curved into the faintest, sassiest smile, one that didn't reach her eyes but burned him all the same.

"So if I wanted to die..." she asked, her voice calm but laced with a sting of mockery, "should I also ask your permission for that?"

The room froze.

Veer stiffened. That question hit him harder than he expected. Death. Permission. It wasn't something he thought she would dare to bring up.

For a moment, the mask slipped. For a moment, he was caught off guard, his chest tightening with something that felt dangerously close to fear.

But before he could answer, a sharp knock on the door interrupted.

The moment shattered.

Aranya immediately bent down, signed the paper with a steady hand, and placed it on the table. Then she quietly stepped aside.
The door opened, and Abhishek entered. "Sir, it's meeting time."

Veer nodded curtly, hiding the storm that brewed inside him. Aarav left, closing the door behind him.

Aranya, however, didn't waste the silence. She looked at him, her voice calm, almost casual.

"So... when are you going to take me to the hospital?" she asked, her tone holding no emotion, as though she already knew the answer.

Veer smirked coldly, his mask back on. "Nothing will happen according to your will. If you want it, you'll have to wait."

She glanced at the clock. It was already one in the afternoon. Her chest tightened with worry for her grandpa, but she only nodded. "Okay."

He picked up his coat, sliding his arms into it with his usual arrogance. "I'll take you after my work." His tone was sharp, dismissive. And with that, he walked out of the room, not sparing her another glance.

The door closed behind him, leaving Aranya standing alone.
She let out a small sigh, her shoulders sinking. Grandpa... I'm sorry. I know you're waiting for me. But you'll have to wait a little longer... because this...Her lips twitched, and she whispered to herself, this arrogant, heartless... Mr. Stone-face Supreme Dictator won't let me go yet.

For the first time, she allowed herself a faint chuckle at the ridiculous nickname she had given him. It was her little rebellion, her little weapon against the crushing weight of his control.

But deep inside, the truth weighed heavy: she wanted to escape. She wanted to run. Yet she knew if she even tried, her father would destroy her mother's property, and she could never forgive herself for that.

So she stood there, helpless, trapped. A prisoner not just in his house, but in fate's cruel game.

And still, even in her helplessness, there was that ember. That small spark of defiance that refused to die.

Veer's steps echoed against the empty corridor as he walked toward the conference room on the 30th floor. Each step should have been calculated, focused on the meeting ahead, the contracts, the power plays-but his mind refused to cooperate. It kept replaying her words, sharp and fearless, cutting deeper than any boardroom betrayal. "So if I want to die, do I need your permission?"

The memory lodged itself in his chest, twisting into something unfamiliar. His heartbeat raced, chest tight, and a strange unrest gnawed at him. He was Veer Chahuhan, ruthless, unyielding, a man who never wavered-but somehow, her defiance had unsettled him in a way he refused to name. It wasn't concern, he told himself. It was control. Authority. Punishment.

Yet as he walked, he couldn't shake the thought that she must be starving. She hadn't eaten, hadn't drunk water. She had climbed thirty-two flights of stairs under his orders, soaked and trembling, sweat-drenched hair plastered to her face, exhaustion written into every line of her body. And still... he had refused to let her rest.

That thought made a strange heat rise in his chest-a mix of irritation, guilt, and something he stubbornly denied. He had ordered her punishment, but her frailty lingered in his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch. He clenched his jaw and shook it off. She was his "mistaken bride." She was nothing more than a test. A challenge. Not someone to feel anything for.

Almost instinctively, he stopped by Abhishek, who was walking nearby. Veer's eyes, sharp and calculating, fixed on him. "Abhishek," he said, his voice low, commanding, leaving no room for argument. "Buy her something to eat. Water. Juice. Make sure she drinks it. Nothing extra, nothing unnecessary. Understood?"

Aarav nodded sharply, used to the weight behind Veer's words. "Yes, sir."

Veer didn't wait to see it happen. He didn't care about the delivery, only that the act-small, almost meaningless-would reach her. He squared his shoulders, pushing the gnawing unease deeper down, and opened the door to the conference room.

At Hospital

The smell of disinfectant lingered in the hospital corridor, and the beeping sound from inside ICU echoed in the silence. Aarav, Vikram and Kavya stood outside, waiting anxiously for the doctor to come out.

Vikram's face was calm, but his clenched fists gave away his tension. Aarav, on the other hand, kept staring at the ICU door, his expression unreadable. Only Kavya seemed different-at first she pretended to cry, but when no one was looking, she slipped to a nearby bench and started scrolling through her phone. Vikram didn't notice, but Aarav did. His sharp gaze caught every little act of hers, though he didn't say anything.

Finally, the doctor stepped out, pulling down his mask. All three rushed toward him.

"How is my father, doctor?" Vikram asked immediately.

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Rathore had a massive heart attack. His condition is very serious. We have stabilized him for now, but the chances of recovery are very low."

Vikram's face paled, while Aarav stood there without any expression. Kavya, however, began wailing loudly, almost as if she was auditioning for a movie. If there was an award for overacting, she would have won it right there.

The doctor looked at Aarav. "Who is Aarav and Aru?"

"I'm Aarav. Aru is my sister," Aarav replied.

"Your grandfather was repeatedly asking for both your names. Please call the other person quickly," the doctor instructed. "The nurse will let you see him, but don't let him talk too much. He's very weak."

Aarav nodded silently.

"Aarav, did you inform her?" Vikram asked.

"Yes, I told her this morning itself," Aarav answered while dialing her number again. It rang, but no one picked up. "She's not answering," he muttered.

Kavya smirked and spoke with a mocking tone, "See? After marrying into a rich family, she forgot the people who raised her. We gave her food, a roof, and still she has no loyalty. That brat even took my Shanaya's place, and now she doesn't care if her father lives or dies."

Her words cut through the air like poison. Vikram stayed quiet, though his eyes didn't approve. Aarav's patience, however, finally snapped.

He turned to Kavya, his eyes sharp and voice cold, carrying a weight that silenced the corridor. "Don't you dare talk about her like that. You didn't raise her-you destroyed her. You call yourself her guardian? No. You were the reason she suffered. If you ever insult her again, I swear, I won't stay quiet. Think twice before opening your mouth about my sister, or I'll shut it for you."

The sudden shift in his tone sent chills down Kavya's spine. For the first time, Aarav had stood up fiercely for Aranya, his aura dark and intimidating. Vikram, though silent, felt a strange satisfaction at Aarav's words.

Kavya's smirk vanished instantly. She froze, stunned by the intensity in his voice. Before she could argue, the nurse arrived.

"Mr. Aarav, you may come in now. Please keep it brief," she said softly.

Without sparing Kavya another glance, Aarav walked into the ICU, his steps heavy but determined.

🌼Aranya's POV🌼

It had been four long hours since he left for his meeting. Four hours that dragged on endlessly, each minute heavier than the last. The silence of the room pressed down on me, broken only by the ticking of the clock and my own shallow breaths.

On the table, Abhishek had left food for me hours ago, the silver lid still untouched. The aroma lingered faintly, but I couldn't bring myself to eat. My throat had only accepted water, and even that felt forced. It wasn't about hunger. Hunger I could endure. It was about trust-something I lost years ago.

After I was poisoned and ended up in the hospital, my body had survived, but my mind had changed forever. Food became something I feared, not something I craved. That day, I realized how fragile life was, how easily someone could decide if you lived or died. Nobody came to see me during those dark days-nobody except him. Grandpa.

The thought of him squeezed my heart painfully. When he learned I couldn't eat food made by others, he didn't call me weak or dramatic. He didn't dismiss my fears. Instead, he became my strength. He cooked for me himself, every single day, making sure I never went hungry. He gave me pocket money when no one else cared, he brought me little things I needed, and he stood up for me whenever the world tried to push me down. He wasn't just my grandfather-he was my only safe place, my only home.

And now, when he was lying sick, when he needed me the most, I wasn't even allowed to see him.

"Why, God?" I whispered, pressing my fist against my lips as the tears slid down my cheeks. "Why give me this life? A life where I can't make my own choices... where I can't even meet the only one who loves me..."

My chest tightened, my face grew hot, and I didn't even notice how long I had been crying until the sound of the door opening snapped me back.

Veer walked in.

He didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge my presence. His tall frame moved across the room, steady and confident, like I wasn't even there. His cold aura filled the space, making me shrink into myself. He placed his files on the desk and sank into the chair, opening his laptop. Not once did his eyes flicker toward me.

I glanced at the clock-5 PM. My heart raced. Gathering every bit of courage I had, I walked up to him slowly, hesitant steps echoing in the heavy silence.

"Is your meeting over?" My voice was soft, uncertain, as though I was afraid it would shatter against his indifference.

He didn't even look up. "Hmm."

"So... we can go now?" I asked again, my hands clenching in front of me.

His fingers paused on the keyboard. "Go where?"

I bit my lip. "To the hospital. To see my grandpa."

That was when his eyes finally lifted, cold and piercing, locking onto mine. The pause stretched painfully before he spoke.

"I told you," he said, voice low and firm, "I'll take you after my work. My work is more important than your grandpa. Now shut up and go. I hate repeating myself."

The words hit harder than a slap. I lowered my eyes quickly, afraid he would see the storm inside me. Quietly, I walked back to my corner and sat down, pressing my trembling hands against my lap. I didn't say another word.

Hours passed, or maybe only minutes-I lost track. Exhaustion finally claimed me, and I drifted into uneasy sleep, tears still drying on my cheeks.

When I woke, it was to the faint sound of his laptop shutting. My heart skipped. Veer was standing, his tall figure framed against the dim light. He walked toward the door but paused midway, his head turning slightly.

"Do you need an invitation to come?" His voice carried no warmth, only command.

I quickly stood, obediently falling into step behind him. But then, he stopped. His gaze wasn't on me. It was on the table. On the untouched food.

"You didn't eat?" His question was abrupt, his tone unreadable.

I nodded faintly, my eyes fixed on the floor.

"Why?" His voice grew sharper, and this time, his eyes pinned me in place.

I swallowed, my throat dry. I couldn't tell him the truth-that I was scared of food, that I hadn't trusted a single bite in years unless Grandpa had made it. He wouldn't understand. He didn't want to.

So instead, I said the only thing that came to my mind. "Didn't you say you can't spend a single penny on me? That your money isn't mine? Then how could I eat food bought with your money?"

The silence that followed was suffocating. His eyes lingered on me, searching, but I didn't look away. For a brief moment, something flickered in his expression-confusion, maybe, or something softer. But it was gone in an instant, replaced with his usual cold mask.

He turned toward the door again without another word, and I followed him out.

🦋Author's POV🦋

The ride to the hospital was suffocating in ways silence alone couldn't explain.

Veer's hand gripped the steering wheel lazily with one hand, the other resting on the gear, his sharp gaze fixed on the road. Yet, even without looking directly, she could feel it-his eyes kept flicking, as though he could sense the tears she tried so hard to hide.

Aranya sat rigid, pressed against the window, her hazel eyes blurred with unshed tears. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but the heaviness in her chest betrayed her.

And then, his voice broke through the silence, smooth but laced with mockery.

"Now why are you crying?" Veer asked, not bothering to hide the smirk in his tone. "Another act? To show your family that your husband hit you? That the pampered little princess was treated unfairly and now deserves justice?"

His words cut sharp, but she didn't flinch. Instead, she let out a faint laugh, soft but sharp enough to sting.

"Why should I tell my family," Aranya whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her lips, "when I am more than enough to handle it myself?"

The words were spoken low, but they sliced through the air like a blade.

Veer's eyes flicked toward her for a second, surprise flashing before he masked it again. "What did you say?" he asked, his tone harder this time.

Aranya turned, finally meeting his gaze. Her hazel eyes shimmered-not with weakness, but with a stubborn fire that made his grip on the wheel tighten.

"I said," she repeated softly, but clear enough this time, "if my crying bothers you, sir, then drop me here. I can go myself."

His jaw clenched, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. No one ever dared to speak to him like that-certainly not her.
"You think you can survive without me?" he asked coldly, his eyes narrowing.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, bitter and broken, but proud all the same. "I've been surviving without anyone my whole life. Don't flatter yourself into thinking I need you to breathe."

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, Veer didn't have a comeback. His tongue pressed against his cheek, his eyes burning holes into the road ahead, but not a single word left his mouth.

Aranya turned her face back toward the window, hiding the way her tears slid down quietly. She wasn't weak, not anymore. And though her heart ached, though her body felt heavy, she wanted him to know one thing-she wasn't someone he could break easily.

The rest of the ride was swallowed in silence. No more mocking words, no more sassy replies-just the sound of the engine, the faint hum of the city, and two hearts carrying storms of their own.

When the car finally halted in front of the hospital, Aranya's chest grew restless. Her hands trembled as she unbuckled the seatbelt, and without sparing him a glance, she pushed the door open and ran inside.

Her steps were unsteady, almost tripping as she asked for directions at the reception. Her breath came faster with every hallway she crossed, the sterile smell of antiseptic clawing at her senses. Each step toward the ICU felt like walking on shards of glass.

And then-she saw them.

Vikram. Standing stiff, his strong shoulders slumped, his eyes hollow. For the first time in her life, Aranya saw her father broken. He wasn't shouting, he wasn't scolding-he just stood there, helpless.

On the bench nearby, Aarav sat, his face pale, expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw said everything. He didn't move when she entered, his eyes distant, as though trying to grasp reality.

And then... Kavya Maa.

Crying loudly, dramatically, her voice echoing through the hallway. Her hands dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, but her phone was clenched tightly in the other, screen lighting up with notifications she couldn't seem to ignore. It was an act-a bad one-but no one dared to point it out.

Aranya's chest burned. She forced herself forward, her lips trembling. "Bhai..." she whispered, her eyes locked onto Aarav, "how is Grandpa?"

Aarav didn't respond, his throat bobbing as though the words were too heavy to speak.

But Kavya Maa's voice cut through instead, sharp and merciless.
"He is gone."

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