DISAPPROVAL

Anirudh stepped into the lavish villa, his tall frame exuding an air of authority and composed strength. His hair, dark but streaked with subtle shades of gray, added a touch of maturity to his otherwise strikingly sharp features. His shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealed a faint tattoo on his forearm—a silent testament to a past only he knew. His eyes scanned the room, sharp and calculating, but there was no mistaking the restrained storm behind them.

Across the room, Shiv stood casually near the grand staircase, his hands buried in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet brimming with confidence. His lips curled into a victorious smile, one that held the unmistakable air of a man who had just seized a significant victory. The soft glow of the chandelier above illuminated his sharp jawline, making his presence even more commanding.

“Welcome,” Shiv said in a low, deep voice, the word deliberately drawn out, filling the space with a quiet intensity.

Anirudh’s lips twisted into a smirk, his gaze unwavering as he responded, “Bring my sister. Now.”

There was no mistaking the weight in his tone—a mixture of protectiveness and simmering anger. But Shiv remained unfazed. If anything, his smile grew sharper, more pointed, as he tilted his head slightly and replied in an almost amused whisper, “Why so hurried, sale sahab? First, meet your jija ji.”

The deliberate emphasis on "jija ji" hung in the air, heavy with provocation. Shiv’s tone, laced with mockery, was enough to spark a flicker of tension in Anirudh’s expression, though he masked it well.

Before Anirudh could respond, a pair of footsteps echoed softly down the curved staircase. Arya descended, her movements hesitant, her face a blend of shock and apprehension. She looked at Anirudh with wide eyes, her lips parting slightly in disbelief.

“Anirudh Bhaiya…” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Anirudh’s sharp gaze softened, just for a moment, as he turned to his sister. But beneath the flicker of warmth was an unmistakable edge, a question unspoken but loud enough to fill the silence.

The air grew thicker, charged with emotions—confusion, defiance, and unspoken tension—as the three stood there, their gazes locking and a story untold simmering just beneath the surfac

rya moved to stand beside Shiv, her posture straight and her face devoid of emotion. It was as though she'd armored herself, refusing to reveal anything to the man who stood across from them. Anirudh’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted between his sister and Shiv.

“I need to talk to my sister,” he commanded, his voice sharp and unwavering, before he added with deliberate emphasis, “In private.” His piercing gaze settled on Shiv, making it abundantly clear this was not a request but an order.

Shiv didn’t move immediately. Instead, his smirk deepened, his hands still casually buried in his pockets. For a moment, it seemed he might refuse, but then he took a measured step to the side, his eyes never leaving Anirudh’s face. The unspoken battle of wills lingered for a few beats before Anirudh grabbed Arya’s wrist firmly—not enough to hurt her, but enough to show his intent—and stormed toward the study.

Arya let herself be pulled along, her face still a blank slate, giving nothing away. Shiv’s gaze followed them, his smirk unwavering as he turned slightly, now watching their silhouettes through the tall glass windows of the study. He leaned back on the edge of a nearby table, one hand casually resting on his hip as if this entire scene was unfolding exactly as he had planned.

Inside the study, Anirudh closed the door with a sharp click and turned toward Arya. She settled herself on the edge of the desk, her arms crossed, her chin lifted in quiet defiance. Anirudh’s eyes briefly flickered toward the large window where Shiv was watching from. He stepped forward, gripping the drawstring of the blinds, and pulled them shut in one swift motion, blocking Shiv’s view.

Anirudh then turned back to Arya, his tall frame looming over her, his arms crossed as he stood commandingly before her. “What is this rubbish happening here?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Arya didn’t flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her expression still stoic, though her fingers gripped the edge of the desk a little tighter. “What kind of rubbish are you talking about?” she countered, her voice calm but laced with quiet challenge.

Anirudh’s eyes narrowed, his frustration evident. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “You, here, in his house, standing beside him like…” He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief, his hands balling into fists.

Arya tilted her head slightly, her tone icy as she replied, “Like what, Anirudh Bhaiya? Say it.”

Anirudh took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but the storm brewing inside him was clear. “Like you’re his. Do you even understand what this means? Do you know what people will say? What he’s capable of?”

Arya’s expression hardened, her voice sharpening as she retorted, “And do you know what I’m capable of? Or do you think I’m still the girl who needs your protection, your approval for every decision?”

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension between them palpable. Outside, Shiv’s smirk lingered as he casually glanced at the now-covered window, clearly entertained by the drama unfolding within.

Anirudh laughed mockingly, the sound sharp and dripping with derision. His hands found his hips as he leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing on Arya. “You…” he began, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. “You were missing for six years,” he said, his tone now tinged with anger. “And after all that time, you come out of nowhere, holding the hand of…”

He paused deliberately, the words hanging in the air as his gaze flicked toward the door, where he knew Shiv was probably still waiting. Disappointment clouded his expression, quickly turning to something close to disgust. “This lowly…” he sneered, his lip curling slightly. “Man, who isn’t even close to our standards.”

Arya’s sharp glare cut through his words, her body tense with controlled anger. There was a flicker of caution in her eyes, but it didn’t diminish the steel in her voice as she interrupted, “And you are talking about my husband here.”

Her words hit like a whip, silencing the room for a moment. Her gaze locked with his, unwavering. “Take his name with respect,” she added, her tone cold and firm, each word carrying its weight.

For a brief moment, shock flickered across Anirudh’s face. He hadn’t expected her to say that. But just as quickly, he masked it, letting out another mocking laugh. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers raking through the strands as he exhaled deeply. His jaw tightened as his eyes narrowed once more.

“Husband,” he repeated, the word laced with disbelief and scorn. “So this is what happened in six years?” His laugh was bitter now, almost hollow, as he took a step closer to Arya. “And you expect me to just… accept this? Congratulate you like some proud older brother and pretend this is fine?”

Arya’s expression remained unreadable, her face a mask of indifference. She’d prepared herself for this, knowing exactly how this confrontation would go. “There’s no need for explanations,” she said calmly, her voice steady and devoid of emotion. “Just congratulate us and accept it, Bhaiya. That’s all I ask of you.”

Anirudh’s bitter laughter echoed again, louder this time, as if her words were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Accept it?” he repeated, his mocking tone back in full force. “You really think I—”

Arya didn’t flinch, didn’t move. She simply sit there, her posture rigid, her face unreadable as she stared him down. She didn’t need to hear his answer; she already knew the outcome.

Anirudh stood frozen in disbelief, his face a tumult of emotions—anger, hurt, and frustration swirling into a storm. He took a hesitant step closer to Arya, his polished leather shoes making a dull sound against the thick Persian rug that covered the wooden floor. The room, Shiv’s study, was dimly lit with the warm glow of a crystal chandelier, casting faint reflections off the dark oak furniture and glass cabinet holding rows of untouched books. The air smelled faintly of cigars, leather, and an unplaceable musky cologne—a stark contrast to the tension crackling between the siblings.

Anirudh lowered himself onto one knee before Arya, his tailored suit creasing slightly as he bent down. He grasped her hands, his touch hesitant yet firm. His dark eyes searched hers, desperate for a trace of understanding, a trace of the Arya he thought he knew.

“Listen, Arya,” he began, his voice calm but quivering at the edges. “This isn’t you. He’s not right for you.” He gestured vaguely toward the door, where Shiv had last stood, his disdain for the man seeping through his tone. “He’s going to hurt you. I know men like him—he doesn’t have the right intentions. He’s using you.” His voice softened as if pleading would somehow break through her stoicism. “And I can’t watch you get hurt.”

Arya’s expression didn’t falter, her gaze locked firmly on him. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled her hands free from his grip. There was a faint tremor in her movements, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “In these years, Bhaiya,” she began, her words deliberate, “I’ve learned what intentions people have for me.” Her eyes, once soft, were now sharp and unyielding as they bore into his. She gave him a small, sardonic smile. “And I can tell you, I don’t need you to tell me who’s right for me anymore.”

Her words struck Anirudh like a slap. His calm demeanor cracked as he rose to his feet abruptly, stepping back as if the distance could shield him from the sting of her defiance. His face was a portrait of betrayal, his jaw tight and his fists clenched at his sides.

“You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration and disbelief. His fingers ran through his hair, a habit of his when he was on the brink of losing control. His usually composed self now seemed rattled, even vulnerable.

He turned abruptly, heading toward the door, his hand gripping the antique brass handle. But before he could push it open, Arya’s voice rang out behind him, clear and unwavering.

“Bhaiya.”

The word froze him in his tracks. He turned his head slightly, just enough to see her from the corner of his eye, her figure framed against the warm tones of the room.

She continued, her tone calm but sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “All these six years… I was living just miles away from you. I never changed my appearance, my name, or even my identity. Not even my city.” She gave a bitter chuckle, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But still, it was so hard for you to find me. Strange, isn’t it? I was living like a normal person, but not once did I see the police or hear about articles looking for me. The daughter of the late Dhananjay Shekhawat…”

The weight of her words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. The room, with its lavish decor and expensive taste, now felt like a cage, trapping Anirudh in his guilt. His mouth opened as if to respond, but no words came. He stuttered, his usual confidence reduced to a fragile shell.

Arya stood slowly, her movements deliberate and poised, like someone carrying the weight of years’ worth of battles won and lost. Her fingers grazed the edge of the mahogany desk as she walked past him toward the door. She didn’t spare him a glance as she opened it, stepping into the hallway where the sound of her heels clicked against the marble floor.

From the study’s large bay window, Anirudh could see her walking toward Shiv, who stood casually leaning against the bannister, his hands in his pockets and his expression smug. The chandelier above cast a faint glow on his face, highlighting the mocking smirk that tugged at his lips.

Anirudh felt the burn of rage rising in his chest, his fists clenching once again. His breath quickened as he watched Shiv’s smirk widen when Arya approached him. Shiv didn’t even need to say anything—the victory was written all over his face.

Unable to take it any longer, Anirudh stormed out of the study. The door slammed against the wall, reverberating through the grand hallway. His footsteps were heavy, echoing in the otherwise silent villa. The marble staircase gleamed under the soft golden lighting, but Anirudh’s bloodshot eyes saw nothing but red.

He strode past Arya and Shiv without a word, his body stiff with barely contained fury. The main doors of the villa were thrown open as he stepped outside. The cool night air hit him, but it did nothing to temper the fire raging within. His G-Wagon stood waiting, sleek and imposing under the moonlight.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. His grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to turn his knuckles white. With a growl of frustration, he started the engine. The roar of the car echoed in the quiet driveway as he sped off, leaving behind the villa, his sister, and the man he couldn’t bear to see her with.

Shiv stood there, his eyes locked on the door with an intense focus. The silence stretched between them, filled only with the soft hum of the evening. Arya stood beside him quietly, her gaze meeting his, searching for the reason behind the faint smile that had curled the corners of his lips.

"Why are you laughing?" she asked, her voice commanding, but her curiosity evident in her eyes.

Shiv didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured her a glass of water with a calm precision, sliding it towards her with a graceful motion. Arya took it, sipping slowly, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. Afterward, she wiped her lips with a gentle gesture and rose to her feet. Without a word, she made her way upstairs toward her room.

Once inside, she closed the door softly behind her, her breath catching slightly in her throat. She fell onto the bed, covering her eyes with her arms to shield herself from the world. A tiny tear slipped from beneath her closed lids, tracing a path down her cheek. Her chest tightened, and though she managed a small, restrained chuckle to control her emotions, the sound felt more like a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of tears threatening to fall

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***