The rain that night felt endless.

It poured over the city like an angry tide, drowning the streets, hammering against the tall glass windows of the Rajvansh villa. Lightning split the skies apart every few minutes, its silver streaks casting harsh, fleeting light across the marble walls. Thunder followed, deep and rolling, shaking the very foundations of the estate.

But the storm outside was nothing compared to the one raging inside.

The grand hall, usually alive with warmth and grandeur, sat in a silence that felt suffocating. Heavy curtains billowed faintly in the wind that slipped through narrow cracks, chandeliers swayed with a faint creak, and yet no one moved. The air was thick with tension, every pair of eyes fixed on the tall iron gates just visible through the rain.

The King paced the length of the hall. His polished shoes struck the marble with an authority that never wavered, yet tonight there was impatience in his stride. His jaw was set, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his eyes stormier than the skies outside.

The Queen sat rigid on one of the carved sofas, her hands twisting the edge of her dupatta over and over again. Her usually serene face was pale, her lips pressed together in prayer though she spoke no words. Every now and then, her eyes darted to the doors, her chest rising sharply with every sound that came from beyond the gates.

The uncle stood at one end of the hall, his arms folded, his gaze steady but troubled. The aunt, beside him, tried to keep her composure, though the flicker of restlessness in her eyes betrayed her.

On another sofa, Kavya wrapped her shawl tighter around herself, her body drawn in as though to shield herself from the storm of emotions swirling in the room. Her husband stood close, one hand on her shoulder, his eyes moving between the family and the grand staircase that led to the upper floors. Their child slept upstairs, untouched by the weight of the night, but Kavya’s heart refused to calm.

And then, there were the twins.

Ekansh sat forward, elbows on his knees, restless energy coursing through him. His eyes never strayed far from the main gates, his fists tightening and loosening with impatience. Beside him, Devansh appeared calmer, his posture upright, his expression composed. But his stillness was a mask. Beneath it, his sharp mind ticked relentlessly, weighing possibilities, calculating consequences.

No one spoke.

No one dared.

They were waiting for him.

For the heir.

For Reyaansh.

And then it came.

The deep, commanding roar of an engine cut through the storm. The sound grew louder, closer, until headlights pierced through the rain like blades of light. A black SUV rolled past the barricades, its tires splashing through flooded ground. Guards rushed to push back the media crowding against the gates, but cameras still flashed wildly, reporters still shouted, their voices lost to the thunder.

The vehicle slowed. Stopped.

The driver’s door opened.

And he stepped out.

Reyaansh Singh Rajvansh.

The crown prince. The future king.

The rain clung to him instantly, soaking into the fabric of his sherwani, running down the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t shield himself. His stride was steady, unyielding, as though the storm dared not touch him.

But it wasn’t his return alone that froze the breath in their throats.

It was what he carried.

In his arms lay a woman.

Her body limp, her head resting against his chest, her saree drenched in rain. The deep red fabric clung to her fragile frame, the water-darkened pleats trailing from his arms. Strands of wet hair stuck to her face, her lips pale, her eyes closed. She looked unconscious, almost lifeless, and yet two details shone too vividly to be ignored.

The bright streak of sindoor cutting through the parting of her hair.

The golden mangalsutra glinting faintly at her throat.

She was not just a woman.

She was his bride.

The family inside froze.

The King stopped pacing, his eyes widening in disbelief. The Queen’s breath caught in her throat, her hands frozen mid-twist of her dupatta. The aunt’s lips parted, but no sound escaped. The uncle stiffened. Kavya gasped softly, her husband’s hand tightening on her shoulder. Even the twins—so often unreadable—couldn’t mask their shock. Devansh’s calm cracked for an instant, his jaw tightening. Ekansh leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in confusion, almost disbelief.

But no one spoke.

No one moved.

Reyaansh did not glance at them. His jaw was carved from stone, his gaze fixed ahead as he walked up the marble steps. The storm outside followed him in, water dripping from his clothes, trailing onto the polished floors.

He crossed the hall in silence. Past his father’s stunned expression. Past his mother’s trembling lips. Past his siblings’ wide eyes and his relatives’ questions trapped in their throats.

He climbed the staircase, every step echoing like a proclamation none of them could deny.

The storm roared outside. But inside the Rajvansh villa, silence reigned.

The heir had returned.

But not alone.

And in his arms, he carried a secret that would change everything.

...****************...

The hall of Rajvansh Villa was heavy with silence. Outside, the storm still raged, the sound of relentless rain pressing against the tall windows. Inside, the storm had shifted—now it brewed between family members, unspoken but palpable.

Maharaj Veerandra Singh Rajvansh, the King, stood tall at the center, his face a mixture of fury and disappointment. His hand clenched the armrest of his chair, knuckles whitening, as his eyes flickered toward the staircase Reyaansh had disappeared up with the unconscious girl in red.

His wife, Maharani Mrinalini, sat frozen beside him, her expression stunned, lips parted yet unable to form words. She had seen many storms in her life, but none had prepared her for this sight—her heir, the future king, walking in drenched, carrying an unknown bride.

On the opposite side, Rajendra Singh Rajvansh, the King’s younger brother, moved forward quickly. “Bhai sa, shant ho jaiye,” he urged, raising a hand with quiet restraint. “He is Reyaansh… he must have a reason. Gusse se faisla lena sahi nahin hoga.”

The King’s eyes blazed, his voice sharp. “Reason? Do you call this a reason, Rajendra? The boy walks in, past the police, past the media, drenched like a fugitive… and with a stranger draped in red. Mangalsutra. Sindoor. And not a word to his family. Tell me, Rajendra—when did Rajvansh reduce to such theatrics?”

Rajendra lowered his gaze, respectful yet firm. “Bhai sa, Reyaansh hamesha se zimmedar raha hai. Aise bina soche kuch nahi karega.”

But the King cut him off, his voice cold. “He is my eldest son. The one meant to carry the weight of Rajvansh’s name. If he acts in shadows, hides his decisions from us—how different is that from betrayal?”

The words struck everyone like thunder. The Queen flinched slightly, but said nothing.

On the far side of the hall, Kavya stood still, her heart pounding. Her hands, cold and trembling, clenched the edge of her dupatta, but her voice when it came was clear, steady. “Bade papa… Reyaansh bhai sa would never dishonor Rajvansh name. If he brought that girl here tonight, it means she is already a part of this family, whether we accept it now or later.”

All eyes turned to her. For a moment, even the storm outside seemed to hush.

Kavya stepped forward, chin lifted, though her throat tightened. “I know you are angry, Bade papa. And you have every right to be. But if we cannot trust our own blood, then how do we expect the world to trust us?”

Her words echoed across the marble, sharp yet respectful. She wasn’t pleading; she was reminding.

The King’s jaw tightened, his silence heavier than any reply.

Across the hall, Devansh leaned against a pillar, his calm demeanor a mask for the calculations running behind his eyes. His gaze was fixed on the staircase, sharp, unblinking. He spoke at last, voice low. “We need answers. But not here. Not with tempers high.”

Beside him, Ekansh shifted restlessly. His fists were tight, his jaw clenched, his entire being unable to stand still. “Bhai sa can’t be left alone,” he muttered, already moving toward the staircase.

“Ekansh—” Devansh’s voice stopped him halfway. The elder twin’s eyes met his brother’s, unreadable. Then, after a beat, he straightened. “I will come with you. Bhai sa will speak, but only when he chooses to. And he will choose us first.”

Ekansh nodded once, relief flashing across his tense features. Together, the twins began walking toward the grand staircase, their footsteps echoing against the still hall.

Behind them, the King’s voice rose again, firm and commanding. “Bring him to me when he is ready. But until then—this stays within these walls. The world already waits at our gates. If even a whisper escapes tonight, samajh lo… it won’t just be Reyaansh’s reputation at stake, it will be the entire Rajvansh legacy.”

The warning sank into the marble, into their bones.

No one dared reply. The storm outside roared again, but within the Rajvansh Villa, the silence of fear, loyalty, and unanswered questions swallowed them whole.

The corridor outside Reyaansh Singh Rajvansh’s room was heavy with silence. The storm had softened to a drizzle, but the tension inside the mansion remained thick. Ekansh’s steps were measured now, his anger restrained and focused. He didn’t want to lose control — not here, not with Reyaansh.

“Bhai sa…” Ekansh said, voice steady but firm, mixing Hindi and English naturally. “We need to understand. We are confused . This… situation… it wouldn't stay hidden from the world for too long. Tell us — who is she? Why is she here?”

Devansh followed closely, calm as ever, expression composed. “Ekansh, slow down. Think strategically. Bhai sa isn’t hiding from disrespect; he’s choosing timing. We are asking questions, but carefully, with respect.”

Ekansh paused at the door, hand hovering reading to knock, “Yes, I know, bhai sa. Respect is obvious. Lekin… media, police, are waiting outside. We need clarity — otherwise it’s chaos. We can’t afford that.”

Devansh’s gaze swept the corridor, calculating. “Exactly. That’s why we approach logically. Ekansh, ask what’s necessary. I’ll handle the implications.”

Ekansh rapped lightly on the heavy wooden door. “Bhai sa… hum dono aapke saath hain. But hum samajhna chahte hain. please bataiye — who is she? Why is she in the house?”

From inside, only the soft rustle of fabric answered. A maid, worked quietly, already sliding Reyaansh’s white shirt and trousers over the unconscious girl. Every movement was careful, deliberate — ensuring she remained protected, unseen, and safe.

Reyaansh appeared in the doorway, dripping from the earlier rainstorm, eyes dark, commanding, unreadable. His presence alone silenced the twins.

“She is my wife and your bhabhi sa” he said simply, voice low, carrying authority and finality.

Ekansh’s brows knitted, but his tone remained measured. “Bhai sa… wife. I understand the word… but not the timing, the secrecy. Explain… at least enough so we can manage things.” He carefully chose his words, aware of Reyaansh’s temper and the respect owed.

Devansh’s voice was calm, analytical. “Bhai sa, the media is outside, police are waiting, and questions will flood by morning. If this is handled wrong, it will become a scandal. We need a strategy before sunrise. Statements, press, control — everything.”

Reyaansh’s eyes met Devansh’s, dark and unreadable, a hint of approval flickering for the calm twin. “Handle it. All of it. By morning, everything under control. Make sure there’s no room for misinterpretation.”

Devansh inclined his head once. “Understood, bhai sa. Everything contained before morning.”

Ekansh’s anger was restrained, sharp, and purposeful. “Bhai sa… hum samajh rahe hain aapne reason dekha hoga. But hiding it completely is risky. We are ready in every possible way to support you. But I think a little… guidance would help. Strategy, not interference.”

Reyaansh’s lips quirked faintly. “Ekansh… you will understand in time. Till then… trust my choice, and trust me. That is all I ask.”

Inside the room, the maid finished adjusting the girl’s clothes. Aradhya lay unconscious, unaware of the world outside, dressed now in Reyaansh’s attire. Every fold and tuck of the shirt was deliberate, protective — a silent act of guarding both her and the secret she carried unknowingly.

The twins exchanged a glance — Ekansh’s fire now channeled into sharp calculation, Devansh’s calm a steady anchor. Neither was satisfied, yet neither dared push further. Respect held them back, strategy kept them grounded.

Reyaansh moved aside slightly, allowing the corridor light to spill faintly, a silent signal: their questions had reached their limit for now.

“Go,” he said finally, voice low and commanding. “Everything done here is for the house… and for her. Trust me.”

Ekansh nodded, carefully measuring his words. “Humein samajh aayega, bhai sa. Timing ke saath. We are ready.”

Devansh added, calm, precise. “Yes, bhai sa. Everything will be controlled. Don’t worry.”

The twins left, the door closing softly behind them. Rain continued to tap against the roof, echoing the unanswered questions. Inside, Reyaansh returned to the unconscious girl, adjusting his clothes over her carefully, guarding both her and the secret he alone bore.