𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏:- 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫

【Ａｕｔｈｏｒ＇ｓ　ｐｏｖ：】

The palace is alive-but not with joy.

You exist to serve me so you better act like one

Servants rush through its grand halls, hands trembling as they adjust flower arrangements, straighten paintings, and polish the already gleaming floors. The air is thick with tension, each hurried breath a reminder of who is returning today.

The beast.

After ten years, Rudraksh Martin is finally coming back. Not because he wants to, not because this place holds any warmth for him-but because of his mother.

He built this palace nine years ago, but never once lived in it. Never even set foot inside. Instead, he ruled from afar, a shadow no one dared to challenge. The last time he was here, it was to bury his father-and he didn't even stay till the end. He left halfway through the funeral and never looked back. Since then, he created an empire so vast, so terrifying, that both the French and Asian mafia bow to his name. But for all his power, all his riches, he never returned home.

Until now.

And everyone is afraid.

"Jaldi karo! (Hurry up!)" Suruchi barks, clapping her hands sharply. Her usually kind face is taut with urgency as she watches the workers scramble.

"If 'Chhoti Maa' sees a single mistake, she will scold us like hell!" Another servant mutters under his breath.

Suruchi huffs, her lips curling in a small smirk. "Woh toh hai.(That's true.)" She brushes off imaginary dust from a vase before glancing around. "But where is she? I thought she'd be taking the whole palace by storm by now, making sure everything is exactly the way 'Master' likes it."

The other servant scoffs, shaking his head. "Chhoti Maa kisi ki bhi nahi hai jab baat Maalik ki ho. (Chhoti Maa belongs to no one when it comes to the Master.)"

Suruchi hums, nodding. "That was true. When it came to 'him', Vania belonged to no one else."

A deep voice cuts through the air. "Stop standing around. Keep moving."

Rana strides past them, his sharp eyes scanning every corner. Even after Sekhar's death, even in Rudraksh's absence, he was the one who kept this palace running. The man never let it fall apart.

Suruchi quickly steps toward him. "Rana ji, did you see Chhoti Maa?"

Rana doesn't even stop his inspection as he answers, "Haan, she is with Ma'am. (Yes, she's with Ma'am.)"

Suruchi lets out a soft sigh, her expression turning understanding.

"She needs her." There's a tremble in her voice now. "It's a tough time for both of them. Pata nahi bhagwaan achhe logo ke saath aisa kyun karta hai. (I don't know why God does this to good people.)" Her eyes glisten, filling with tears.

Rana stops, turns to her, and sighs. "Phir shuru ho gayi.(Not again.)" He crosses his arms, giving her a look. "Ma'am ne kya bola tha? (What did Ma'am say?) No crying now. She is still with us. Enjoy the moment. The Master will land any second. Move!"

Suruchi swallows hard, nodding as Rana walks away, his presence as commanding as ever.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The soft scent of jasmine lingers in the air.

Sunita Martin lies on the bed, her frail body resting against the silk pillows, but her eyes-her eyes are still full of life. She watches with quiet amusement as Vania kneels on the floor, carefully painting her toenails.

"Are you sure, Bari Maa? He will like it?" Vania's voice is soft, but her fingers are precise, delicate. "We still have time. I can change the arrangements." Vania is softness in a world of brutality, a presence so gentle it feels like a whispered prayer in the chaos. At 5'5, she carries herself with the quiet grace of a flowing river-never rushing, never faltering, just endlessly calm and composed. Her hourglass figure, draped in delicate sarees, speaks of timeless beauty, accentuated by traditional accessories that reflect the culture she holds close.

Her brown skin glows like burnished gold under the sun, her beauty untouched by arrogance, yet impossible to ignore. Thick, jet-black hair cascades down to her hips, smooth as silk, framing a round face so serene, it's as if the goddess Lakshmi herself sculpted her. But it is her eyes-big, deep brown doe eyes, brimming with purity and quiet strength-that leave the deepest mark. They do not demand attention, yet they capture every soul that dares to look into them.

Her smile is radiant, a rare gift that feels like light breaking through darkness. And her voice? Soft, melodious, a lullaby of warmth and comfort. She speaks in a way that soothes even the most restless heart, carries a presence that makes even the cruelest man hesitate. She is an angel walking among devils, untouched by the darkness that surrounds her.

Sunita laughs-a tired, breathy laugh that still holds warmth. She shakes her head, watching the young girl fuss over details.

"**I have never seen anyone as eager as you.**" A knowing smile plays on her lips.

Vania blushes. Hard.

Sunita just chuckles, shaking her head again. "I know my son. Woh pasand karega.(He will like it.)" Then, her expression softens, a teasing glint in her tired eyes. "And tell me, why are you putting nail paint on a woman who is on her deathbed, counting her last days?"

Silence.

The brush in Vania's hand stills. Her heart clenches.

She swallows, hard, her throat burning as she sets the bottle aside. Her hands tremble as she stands up, moving to the window.

She doesn't turn around.

"You will never stop saying that, will you?" Her voice wavers, thick with emotion. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop this?"

The first tear falls. Then another.

She grips the window frame, her knuckles turning white.

"You are my everything, Bari Maa."

Her voice is barely above a whisper, choked, raw. A confession of devotion. A desperate plea to fate.

"I don't know what I would do without you. Every time you say this, I get so scared."

The weight of the truth hangs heavy between them.

And outside, the sky darkens.

Because somewhere in the distance-the Beast is coming home.

Sunita watches her with eyes filled with a quiet, knowing sadness. The kind of sadness that does not scream, does not wail-but lingers like the scent of wilting flowers.

She sighs, shaking her head. "I am sorry. So sorry." A tired smile tugs at her lips. "I promise, I won't say it again. But tell me, Vania, if I don't speak it, will it all be a lie? Will it change the fact that I am in my last stage of cancer and have mere days left?"

The words hit like a dagger.

Vania rushes to her, falls onto her knees, and wraps her arms around Sunita's frail body. A soft sob escapes her lips, her grip tightening as if she can hold Sunita here forever-as if her love alone can defy death.

"I love you," she breathes against Sunita's shoulder. "I love you so much. Never forget that."

A tear rolls down her cheek, soaking into the soft fabric of Sunita's saree.

"I'll carry you with me. I'll make your pickle business bigger, I promise," she whispers, like a daughter making a sacred vow to her mother's soul.

Sunita chuckles, brushing a gentle hand over Vania's head. "Aur agar mujhe kuch aur chahiye ho toh?" (And what if I want something more?)

Vania lifts her head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She takes Sunita's hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

"Anything."

Sunita sighs, her eyes turning distant. "Take care of Rudraksh."

The name itself brings a storm into the quiet room.

Sunita's voice drops to a whisper. "He changed so much after his father died. He loved his father dearly, and he suffered as much as I did in his absence. But... Rudraksh became something his father never wanted him to become." She pauses, her throat tightening. "A heartless beast."

A monster crafted by grief. A man molded by vengeance.

She inhales sharply. "He never came back. Not once in ten years. He didn't visit his home, his people, his mother. But now, when he heard about my condition, he is coming."

She looks up at Vania with fragile hope flickering in her tired eyes.

"He does care for me, right?"

Vania doesn't answer immediately. Because what answer is there?

She only squeezes Sunita's hand, trying to pass all her warmth, all her reassurance, into the touch.

Sunita wipes her own tears and lets out a shaky laugh. "Bas... shaadi ke baad, ek kaam aur karna hoga." (Just one more thing after marriage.)

Vania doesn't hesitate. "You don't have to say it," she whispers, her voice filled with unwavering devotion. "I'll take care of him. More than anything."

Sunita smiles, her eyes crinkling with a hint of relief. "I know you will." She watches Vania closely, tilting her head. "You love him. I know that."

Vania drops her gaze, her fingers tracing small circles on Sunita's palm.

Sunita hums knowingly. "Selfishly speaking... I did influence you a little." A teasing glint flashes in her tired eyes. "Because I knew-you are perfect for him."

Vania bites her lip, holding back a watery chuckle. But then, her smile falters.

"And what if Rudraksh doesn't want to marry me?" Her voice is small now. Afraid. "Even worse... what if after marriage he divorces me?"

Her throat tightens. "For his happiness, I can divorce him. I'll do anything he says."

Sunita sighs, shaking her head. "Yahi toh baat hai." (That's the point.)

She lifts a frail hand and cups Vania's cheek, her touch feather-light, yet grounding.

"He will try to push you away. He will do everything to make you leave him." Sunita's voice is steady, unwavering. Certain.

"And that's why I need you to promise me something."

Vania's heart pounds. "I'll do anything. Just say it."

Sunita grips her hand with surprising strength.

"No matter what he does, no matter how much he tries to push you away, you will never leave him." Her voice trembles, but her words remain unshaken. "And you will never divorce him."

She exhales, closing her eyes for a second before opening them again.

"Because I can assure you, he can't divorce you. Not unless you request it. Not unless you want it."

Silence.

The weight of the words crashes into Vania like a tidal wave.

She breathes in sharply, her resolve hardening. She would endure anything-for Sunita's happiness. And for his safety.

She nods. "I can endure any pain for your happiness."

Sunita smiles-a mother's knowing smile-and presses a soft kiss to Vania's forehead.

"Now get ready." Her voice is barely above a whisper. But there is a strange kind of peace in it.

"He will land any moment now."

Vania swallows the lump in her throat, wipes her tears, and stands up.

And as she steps away, she feels it.

The storm is near.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The air tenses, thick with something unspoken.

The helicopter slices through the sky, its powerful blades tearing through the wind like a storm's warning. The palace grounds tremble under its force, dust swirling in golden waves as the massive aircraft lands.

Men in black suits step out first, their movements crisp, efficient. Guns in hand. Eyes scanning.

And then-he arrives.

Vania stands near the window, her fingers clutching the edge of the sill. Her heartbeat races like a wild horse.

"He's here!" she shouts, her voice bubbling with excitement.

She turns to the servants, expecting the same thrill, but instead-they shiver. Their hands tremble, eyes flickering with unease. As if a storm is about to walk through those doors.

Her gaze darts back outside.

A sleek black Koenigsegg Jesko glides towards the palace like a predator approaching its territory. Silent. Dangerous. Untouchable.

Vania doesn't wait.

She runs down the grand staircase, her saree pallu flying behind her like a whisper of forgotten dreams. Her anklets chime like a melody of longing, her dark curls bouncing with every hurried step.

The palace entrance stands grand, adorned with fresh marigolds, their scent mixing with the thick evening air. Her fingers grip the doorframe tightly. Excitement. Anticipation. A surge of raw, unfiltered happiness.

She has waited. So many years.

And now-he is here.

The car comes to a halt.

A guard rushes forward, opening the door.

And then-she sees him.

Rudraksh Martin.

Her breath catches.

Steel-gray eyes. A face carved in sharp, ruthless perfection. A presence so powerful, it drowns the world in silence.

He steps out-an enigma wrapped in tailored black.

Cold. Untouchable. Regal.

His piercing gaze sweeps over the palace like a man evaluating a battlefield. And then-his lips curl in displeasure.

His voice, deep and edged with impatience, cuts through the air.

"What is this nonsense?"

Josh, his ever-loyal right-hand man, barely flinches.

"I guess it's a welcome theme," Josh mutters in his usual dry tone, barely masking his amusement.

Rudra's jaw tightens. "Nonsense."

The word lands like a whip crack.

The servants bow lower, their fear palpable. Their king has returned, but he is not pleased.

He strides forward, each step exuding dominance, power.

And then-their eyes meet.

For the briefest second,he looks at her. Really looks at her.

And then-he walks past.

No greeting. No acknowledgment.

Nothing.

Vania's fingers tighten around the frame, her knuckles whitening.

Not even a simple hello?

The sting is unexpected, a sharp jab to her chest.

But she exhales, shaking her head. Of course. He must be worried about Sunita. His mother is dying.

Losing a mother is a grief that shatters men.

She clutches onto that thought, convincing herself.

He's here for Bari Maa.

Why would he look at me?

Swallowing the ache, she turns away. Focuses on what she can do.

Lunch.

She disappears into the kitchen, hands moving swiftly, preparing a meal fit for royalty. Because no matter how cruel he is, how distant-he is home.

And home deserves warmth.

But warmth does not reach all hearts.

Vania climbs the stairs, her soft footsteps barely making a sound against the polished marble.

She pauses at his door, hesit

ating for a second before lifting her hand to knock.

But before she can-

The door swings open.

Hard. Sudden. Brutal.

And there he stands.

Rudraksh.

Frustrated. Unhinged. Burning with fury.

The storm has arrived.