Bride of Youngest Rajvanshi
Closer to death
As the four of them stepped out of the car, their eyes fell on an abandoned house standing lifelessly under the moonlight. The walls were cracked, windows shattered, and an eerie silence hung in the air. With hesitant steps, they moved forward, the crunch of dried leaves under their feet the only sound breaking the stillness.
Pushing open the rusty door, a wave of stale air hit them—thick with dust and neglect. Darkness engulfed the interior, the faint moonlight seeping through broken windows barely illuminating the way. Their footsteps echoed as they navigated through the narrow hallway, hearts pounding with unease.
As they reached a spacious, once-grand living room, the sight before them froze them in place. There, in the center of the room, Prem Rajvansh sat tied to a chair, unconscious, his clothes disheveled and face bruised. Surrounding him stood several men clad in black suits, their faces cold and guns held firmly in their grasp.
Samira Rajvanshi
Bade papa!!!
Shock rippled through the group, disbelief evident in their wide eyes. What was he doing here? Who were these men?
Before they could process the scene, another door creaked open on the side, drawing their attention. From the shadows emerged Vedanth and Meera, their expressions hardened, steps firm. Beside them walked a man in his late fifties—face weathered by time and exhaustion, yet his eyes burned with fury. Each wrinkle seemed to tell a story of betrayal and loss, and the anger radiating from him was almost palpable.
Rupali Rajvanshi
Bhaiyya bhabhi?!!
Rupali gasped, her breath caught in her throat. Without a second thought, she, Akant, and Samira sprinted toward them, confusion and relief clashing in their minds.
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