CHAPTER 1 - THE STORM

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.

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