Two days earlier...

Neerav lay facedown, limbs splayed like a casualty of war, halfway cocooned in his tangled sheets. The shrill screech of the alarm blasted through the tranquility of his room like banshee on steroids.

"Murder me already, who sets alarm?" he groaned, pawing at his nightstand like a blind raccoon, slapping everything but the actual phone.

The phone lit up, vibrated with urgency, then picked itself up--well, metaphorically, because Neerav blindly accepted the call and slapped it to his ear.

"Freshen up! We'll be there in ten!" barked a voice that belonged on a military parade ground, not a call log.

"With all due disrespect," Neerav mumbled into his pillow, "who is this? Death?"

"Prince Philip, my beloved Aurora!" came the theatrical reply, voice dripping with mock romance. "Did I kiss you awake from your cursed slumber, my sleeping beauty?"

Neerav squinted at nothing. The sarcasm hit like déjà vu. "Oh, for the love of Greek gods, it's you two again."

"Bro, enjoy your honeymoon freedom while it lasts. Marriage turns fairy tales into horror sequels. By the way, halloween is in few months," he croaked, half-asleep, rubbing his temples. "Also, please. I was born Greekly handsome. I can't help it if your faces wilt in comparison."

A snort. Then a full-blown laugh echoed over the call.

"You wish, Narcissus," came Niharika's unmistakable shriek, louder than an ambulance siren. Neerav physically recoiled from the phone, his eardrum filing for PTSD.

"Whoa! Turn down the banshee frequency, woman!" he yelped, rolling to his side with a grimace. "You're married now. Time to upgrade from teenager banshee to mature demoness."

There was a loud thud on the other end. Something, somewhere, had been violently slapped--probably poor Sarang's arm and maybe a vase. Neerav grinned. "Aww. Already bankrupting my poor brother emotionally and financially?"

"Regretting it yet, Raag?" he added, voice teasing. "Dying single doesn't seem too bad, considering how you're trying to manage your 'angry bird'."

"Wake up before I marry you off to Rudr,"  Sarang grunted, clearly wrestling Niharika for control of the phone. "And stop calling her 'angry bird'. It's not cute."

"But accurate." Neerav's voice oozed smugness. "You'll be silver-haired by your first anniversary. I'll send you anti-aging kits."

The truth was, Neerav loved annoying Niharika. Their bickering was borderline violent, emotionally scarring, and filled with threats--but it was also his favorite part of the day. She was the little sister he never had but always suspected the universe owed him. Yet something always felt... missing.

"I will sue you to the lowest circle of hell." Niharika declared, her rage now reaching lawsuit levels.

"With your temper, hell might deny you entry," Neerav chirped, stretching like a lazy cat. "Nihariii..." he sang her name, drawing it out like nails on a chalkboard.

He heard muffled curses--probably cursing her choice of brother. Well, he wasn't surprised, It was her proposal to make him her brother when he had been always roasting and annoying her. People do make bad choices at times in life.

"You really do have a death wish," Niharika hissed. "Ten minutes."

"Rude," Neerav gasped in mock offense. "Your dearly beloved was the one serenading me like I'm Aurora. Shouldn't you be suing him for cheating on you within hours of your marriage?" 

Silence.

It was glorious. It was golden.

"I hate you." Her voice was tight.

Neerav's grin softened. "Tell your brother if he ever troubles you. I'll beat the alphabet out of him, bones included. You've got me, Nihariii."

A long pause.

"Why am I always the villain in your friendship arc?" Sarang groaned from the background.

"Because it's fun," Neerav replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Murder him. I'll help you bury the body. You can do better, sis.'

"TRAITOR!" Sarang bellowed, horrified.

But Niharika's soft voice came through, wrapped in affection: "But I love him."

"Always." Sarang muttered.

Neerav gagged theatrically. "Disgusting. Spare me your honeymoon hormones and tongue wars. Some of us are still single and bitter."

"Where are we even heading at this--" He squinted at the clock, "--ungodly hour?"

"It's seven," Niharika deadpanned.

Neerav blinked. "Exactly. Criminal. My organs aren't even online yet."

"Then reboot yourself, Windows 95," she snapped. "We need to reach Rudr's place before he finishes breakfast and locks us out."

Ah yes, the unspoken tradition of invading Rudraj's apartment unannounced. It wasn't friendship if it wasn't intrusive.

"Oh madam," Neerav drawled, voice laced with mock offense, "weren't you and your legally trapped husband enjoying my premium entertainment show? Of course, you were. Who wouldn't want to start their morning with me? It's hard being charismatic. Jealousy is a disease, Nihari. I'll pray for you."

He could practically hear Niharika steam through the speaker.

"And why are we even raiding Rudraj's apartment when--" Neerav's words trailed off as he glanced sideways.

Rudraj was right there, snoring softly on his stomach, blanket half-kicked off, arms wrapped around a pillow like a clingy toddler. A royal toddler, Neerav corrected himself. One who ruled dreamland with zero concern for timing or personal space.

"--when he's snoring right here next to me like a decorative body pillow on sale?"

A beat of silence, and then Sarang's chuckle filtered in.

"You two act more married than we do."

Neerav didn't miss a beat. "I'm too handsome to resist. But I'm straighter than an arrow. If your brother's gaydar twitched, that's on me. I'm a walking Greek sculpture with Wi-Fi."

"Good thing he's asleep," Sarang snorted, "or I'd be ordering a gravestones for you." 

What Sarang didn't know--and Neerav would never admit--was how his gaze lingered little longer on Rudraj. Just a beat too long. Just a little too... aware--anticipating a whack.

"BOYS! Enough!" Niharika thundered, hitting full banshee mode again. "We're on our way. And for the love of hygiene, brush your damn teeth for once in your life."

Neerav opened his mouth for a smart comeback, something about prehistoric oral hygiene, but the line cut with the brutal finality only Niharika could deliver.

He sighed, victorious and defeated in equal measure.

Pulling himself upright with a groan, Neerav winced at the dull throb in his head. The night had been... unkind. Sleep had flirted with him, sure, but never committed. His dreams had been chaotic and stormy, voices screaming--one voice in particular. A girl's. Screaming something that curled around the name in his mind like static electricity.

"Your Ashi?"

The name tasted bitter on his tongue. Of course it was her. The ghost of chaos past. She was always the epicenter of his sleepless nights and cranky mornings.

He groaned and glanced at Rudraj again. Still snoring. Still peaceful. Still offensively adorable in his sleep. His calm face was a personal insult to Neerav's insomnia.

"You're lucky you're unconscious, Your Majesty," he murmured. "because I'm dangerously close to telling you things you'll never unhear."

"Did he ruin my sleep on purpose?" he muttered again, rubbing his temple. "The cursed Khuranas. The ultimate threat to my handsomeness and REM cycles."

Then, a spark of wickedness lit his face. The war had begun.

Without warning, Neerav slammed his foot onto Rudraj's back like a medieval executioner declaring battle. Rudraj let out a yelp that was part outrage, part confused walrus, before tumbling off the bed in a mess of limbs and blanket. He landed on the floor, blinking like a dethroned emperor.

Neerav stood above him, grinning like a victorious cat with a half-dead mouse. In a flash, he yanked the blanket off, twirled it dramatically, and folded it with military precision.

Rudraj remained on the floor, groaning softly. He looked up at Neerav with sleepy betrayal.

"What just happened?" he rasped, rubbing his shoulder.

Neerav beamed and bowed low with a mock flourish. "His Royal Highness Prince Sarang and his darling banshee-wife have declared their arrival. They seek an audience with His Majesty, preferably before he burns toast and ruins the kingdom."

Without waiting for response, he pivoted, marched into the bathroom, and slammed the door like a man who had just won a duel.

Rudraj sat straight, eyes wide, hair sticking up in ten different directions. "His Majesty?" he echoed, baffled. "Who does that to their king?"

The bathroom door creaked open just enough for Neerav's grinning face to poke out. A toothbrush dangled from his mouth like a lollipop.

"Me," he said around the foam. " Your best friend. Also, personal Royal Insulter."

He vanished again behind the door, with another slam.

Rudraj groaned into his hands. "Why am I friends with him?"

Then louder, "Why do you even address me 'His Majesty' after kicking me off the bed like a villain in soap opera?"

The door flew open again. Neerav popped his head out with toothpaste foam threatening to spill.

"Because I'm the King's Justice," he announced grandly, striking a pose. " And you've committed the crime of snoring while I suffered an emotional breakdown."

SLAM.

Rudraj flopped back onto the floor. "What got into him this morning?" he wondered aloud. His brow furrowed as the pieces started to fit and he abruptly sat straight. "Wait... didn't I--didn't I mention her last night?"

A guilty pause. Then: "Oh damn. I did."

He buried his face in his hands, already mourning his own survival.

"Great," he muttered, "I broke the narcissus. Again."

Because if there was one sacred rule in Rudraj Khurana's life--it was that nothing, absolutely nothing could mess with Neerav's beauty sleep and get away with it.

Not even the king himself.

"If I don't make it to breakfast," he muttered, "tell the kingdom I died at the hands of the King's Justice."

The dining table looked deceptively peaceful--like the calm before a food fight. The newlyweds were already in their element, swatting each other between mouthfuls of strawberry and taunts, punctuated by light-hearted slaps. Neerav leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh, nursing a cup of masala chai like it owned him a lifelong favor.

Then, like clockwork, Rudraj strolled in from the guestroom, still glued to his phone, blissfully unaware he'd just walked into the lion's den.

"Fear not, loyal subjects!" Neerav rose, extending his arms like he was hosting a royal court.  "The King has risen!"

Rudraj groaned, dropped into the seat next to him, and thwacked Neerav on the arm without even glancing up.

Niharika grinned, eyes glinting like a cat with a cornered mouse. "And you're the King of Delusions. Honestly, you might scare your own reflection."

Neerav clicked his tongue. "Only if my reflection could rival my charms. Which, unfortunately for humanity, it cannot."

Sarang, chuckled mid-chew. "Right, because your biggest competitor is a mirror. And you're still losing."

The group burst into laughter. Neerav fake-clutched his chest. "Such betrayal! From the man I almost called brother."

As the plates clinked and laughter hummed, Rudraj glanced at the casserole suspiciously. His eyebrows narrowed.

"What's the special occasion for this... suspiciously enthusiastic breakfast? We're already expected for lunch."

Niharika perked up like she was waiting for this. "As your new and only Bhabhi," she said, with the confidence of a general declaring war, "I cooked for my new family today. Rituals, you know."

Rudraj froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.

Neerav, meanwhile, let out a muttered curse and swiftly closed the lid on the nearest bowl like he was diffusing a bomb. "I should never have given Kaka the day off," he whispered.

He'd assumed Sarang would be the one near the stove. The Khurana brothers were practically culinary gods. Niharika, however, had once mistaken backing soda for salt and nearly triggered an indoor earthquake.

"What's wrong?" Niharika blinked innocently.

Sarang's barely concealed laugh didn't help. His angel-faced wife had no clue about the growing threat level of her food. Poor brother-in-laws.

"Bhabhi," Rudraj began slowly, with all the diplomatic grace of a man talking to a ticking time bomb, "you skipped the wedding rituals, but now you want to perform last rites on our stomachs?"

Neerav gasped, clutching his chest. "And I didn't even write my will yet! Who'll inherit my skincare routine?!"

The table erupted into laughter. Niharika gasped in mock offense, but even she couldn't hide the twitch of a smile.

"I'll buy you anything you want, just... let me live, please," Rudraj added, placing his palms together in mock surrender.

Neerav chuckled, already halfway into a monologue. "Let us not forget, this is the same woman who boiled rice with baking soda, broke half the kitchenware, and made the dining hall smell like a chemical lab. The renovation guys still tremble when they hear her name."

"We missed out a royal buffet for this torment!"

Sarang, ever the doting husband, jumped to the rescue. "Enough! You can't insult my wife like that. I've tasted her food. It's... nice."

The word hung in the air like a power outrage.

Neerav and Rudraj to exchange a slow glances.

"Nice?" Neerav repeated, as if Sarang had just committed treason "Not delicious, not amazing, not even edible--just... nice. That's like calling a horror move 'informative'."

"Fear of stilettos is real."

"You don't have to hide the torcher of this little minion from your brothers."

Sarang glared. Niharika pouted, though the gleam in her eyes suggested satisfaction. Her smug little smirk wasn't missed.

With sudden vengeance, she began shoving parathas onto everyone's plates. "Eat. That's an order from Niharika Sarang Khurana."

Sarang beamed proudly like she'd just been crowned queen. Rudraj and Neerav, meanwhile, stared down at their plates like they were choosing between patriotism and poison.

Rudraj whined, "Brother isn't a brother anymore. Had sold his soul for love, now even brotherhood. What happened to us, Raag?"

"Drama queen," Sarang muttered.

"I've been betrayed!" Rudraj declared dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.

Then Sarang, casually, almost too casually, added, "She wasn't alone in the kitchen."

That changed everything.

Rudraj and Neerav instantly perked up, eyes sparkling like treasure hunters spotting a gold mine. "You cooked?" Neerav asked, practically salivating now. "Then we live."

Niharika rolled her eyes. "Honestly. I'm starting to understand why Raag complains about you both."

"Wait. Wait a damn minute. Is this--" Neerav narrowed his eyes. "--a bribe?'

Everyone paused.

"To send Rudr to that headquarters meeting instead of Raag?" Neerav gasped, grabbing Rudraj's wrist mid-bite. "As the King's Justice, I must report a potential conspiracy. You're accepting a bribe! That's unethical. Also--travel involved. Risky."

Niharika groaned and smacked Neerav's shoulder. "You're such a brat."

"I'm just trying to protect His Majesty's digestion and his sanity," Neerav said with mock sincerity.

Rudraj chuckled, though his thoughts were miles away. This morning, he'd sent a discreet message to Richard--food delivery, security protocol, all for someone who technically didn't exist in his apartment. Lashika. The very name pulsed like electricity under his skin.

He hadn't seen her since that night. Since her eyes shattered him. Since her lips trembled in suppressed secrets. Since--

"You both are insufferable." Rudraj said suddenly, dragging himself back to the present.

Sarang looked up.

"Besides, I wasn't going to ruin your newlywed bliss," Rudraj continued, forcing a smirk, "though, we weren't warned about the side-effects of her rituals."

"I should've left these two starving," Niharika grumbled, poking her husband with a spoon.

"You need rest, Rudr," Sarang said quietly, watching his brother closely. "You look... off."

Rudraj offered a grateful smile. Sarang always saw too much. Behind the jokes, beneath the laughs--he noticed the cracks.

Maybe this meeting will quiet the storm--before I have to face her again.

"Cover for me when I get married," Rudraj blurted.

 Silence.

It was the kind of silence that immediately raised alarms.

Neerav choked on his chai. Sarang's brow shot up like a warning signal. Niharika practically levitated with excitement.

"Oh. My. God." she breathed. "You're finally seeing someone?!"

 "Is it serious?" Sarang asked.

"When? Is she beautiful?" Neerav chimed in. "More importantly, does she know about me?"

Niharika clasped her hands together. "We'll be best friends. Matching outfits, midnight gossip--Rudr, I love her already!"

But Rudraj wasn't smiling anymore. He looked down at the platinum band on his finger--the inscription always facing his palm. He touched it absently.

Lash.

He wasn't ready to say her name aloud. Not yet. Not while the air between them was still thick with old wounds and dangerous secrets. He loved her more fiercely than anything. But fate hadn't decided what they were yet--lovers or enemies. And destiny had never been kind to them.

He didn't knew what destiny held for Lashika Mauryavanshi, the deemed betrayer and Rudraj Khurana, the relentless avenger. But he knew one thing with absolute certainty: Rud belongs to his Lash. No matter how our fates twist and clash, you are the only one my heart will ever beat for.

Sarang noticed the change in him instantly. With a smooth pivot, he broke the tension. "We're talking about the Rudraj Khurana here. The man who dodged feelings like bullets. I pity his future wife. Poor soul."

That worked. Everyone laughed.

Neerav jabbed him playfully. "Mystery Man Rudraj Khurana. Plot twist pending."

Rudraj chuckled along, but Niharika wasn't fooled. She caught Sarang's glance and said nothing. Some silences were built on trust.

"I'm hungry," she declared, forcing brightness into the air. "Let's eat my food!"

Neerav glared.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine--our food."

Rudraj exhaled, just a little.

Neerav wasn't done. He squinted suspiciously at  him. He had always felt that Rudraj hide something from him, but he had never pressed. He believed it was time to uncover whatever weight he carried.

Rudraj Khurana might be a tough nut to crack, but it wasn't impossible. Neerav knew his friend too well--behind his carefree demeanor lay a burden he refused to share. As his best friend, Neerav felt obligated to help him shed it.

The newlyweds were deep in their own bubble, Sarang fed her and him bites of aloo paratha, letting her ramble on to her heart's content--an endless stream he never wanted to silence. Niharika giggled as Sarang wiped a smear of chutney from the corner of her lips with exaggerated gentleness. He then bit the same corner of the paratha she was holding, eyes locked with hers in mock seduction.

Rudraj seized the chance to check his phone under the table--strictly in the name of monitoring Lucky's health... or so he told himself. Really, he was refreshing Richard's chat again and again, waiting for an indirect update on her.

Neerav noticed it immediately. Something was off--to liven the mood, he leaned back dramatically and announced, " You know, I've decided--girlfriends and wives are overrated."

Niharika opened her mouth to retaliate, but Neerav raised a hand like a politician about to drop policy.

"I mean, look at you two," he added, gesturing to the smugly-in-love couple. "You've clearly crossed over to the other side. You're basically one soul in two overly touchy bodies."

Sarang smirked. "And jealous men always mock what they can't have."

Neerav ignored him. "In fact, if anyone here should be praised for nurturing skills, it's not our overly-cuddly Bhabhi or you, Raag. It's... him."

He pointed squarely at Rudraj.

Rudraj blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, you," Neerav nodded solemnly. "You could teach these two a thing or two about being a responsible, loving parent."

Rudraj choked slightly. "Can you please complete your thought before headlines are made?" 

"Chiii, minds in the gutter, all of you!" Neerav tutted, eyes gleaming. "I was talking about Lucky. Your child. The only one here who's actually been raised with discipline, love and a monthly vet plan."

There was a pause--a beat of silence where everyone processed that the conversation had narrowly escaped becoming a scandal--and the table burst into laughter.

"I swear," Niharika said through giggles, "I almost choked. Neerav, I hate how your face stays so innocent after saying such sinful things."

Neerav beamed, sipping his tea like it was a mic drop. "I have a sweet eye for the overly sweet," he said, gesturing at the pair now feeding each other kheer like dessert was a love language.

Rudraj raises his bowl in theatrical reverence. "Bhabhi's love is as overloaded as the sugar in this Kheer. One more spoon and I'll start hallucinating fairytales." that doesn't exist. It remained silent on his tongue.

"Jealousy is loud, boys," Niharika shot back, leaning into Sarang's shoulder. He flicked her nose and then patted her head like a proud zookeeper.

"And you," he said, grinning down at her, "are dangerously cute. Like a grenade wrapped in pink frosting."

"Awww..."

The collective sight that followed was filled with mock agony. Neerav slumped against Rudraj's shoulder dramatically. "See? This is emotional harassment. Do you see what I deal with?"

But Rudraj didn't respond immediately. His gaze flickered back to his phone for a heartbeat too long. Neerav noticed.

Still, the teasing continued around them, and the moment passed, coated in laughter and affection.

Beneath the noise, though, something lingered--unspoken and heavy. A truth curled in Rudraj's silence, right between sarcasm and sweetness.

And Neerav? He was watching. Always watching.

The late afternoon light peeked into the living room, muted and gold, washing the space in a deceptive calm. The soft leather of the couch whispered as the two brothers settled in, their movements quiet, familiar--like a ritual long practiced. The air around them was thick with unsaid things.

Beyond the archway, laughter flared and echoed--Neerav and Niharika, locked in one of their usual sparring matches, their voices distant but oddly comforting like a different world.

Rudraj shifted, cracking the silence with his usual smirk. "Where are you two planning to sneak off, abandoning me to deal with that diplomatic circus of a meeting?" 

He feigned irritation, but his voice lacked bite. His thoughts were already miles ahead, somewhere darker, somewhere burnt.

Sarang leaned in, mischief curling his lips. "Treehouse."

Rudraj scoffed in theatrical disbelief. "My brother, the hopeless romantic."

They laughed, Sarang's smile faltered quickly. It slipped away like a curtain drawn back, revealing something raw beneath. Rudraj sat up straighter, alert. He knew that look---had seen it only a few times in his life, and each time, it had changed something irreversibly.

Sarang's eyes darted toward the hallway, confirming Neerav and Niharika were still out of earshot. Then, his voice came low. Unyielding.

"Do you think abducting her was the right move?" 

The question hit Rudraj like a slap across the soul. He looked away, jaw tightening, not ready--never ready--for this conversation. Sarang's tone hadn't risen. No judgement. Just truth, delivered without flinching.

Sarang's continued, his voice steady, deliberate. "What we see isn't always the truth. We like to think it is. Makes life easier, doesn't it? Believing our eyes, our pain. But perspective... it distorts, it can be deceptive. And if we grip our version of the truth too tightly, we risk crushing everything else beneath it, Rudy."

A flicker of doubt passed over Rudraj's features. He felt it--weak, but persistent. Like a ghost that had started whispering louder in recent days. Had he been wrong?

Sarang's next words cut through his haze. "How do you see me?"

Rudraj frowned. "What kind of question--?"

Sarang smiled faintly. "Come on, Rudr. Humor me. How do you really see me? The idiot older sibling who disappears into cafes and poetry while you and Neerav run the empire?"

Rudraj's smirked. "A little dramatic."

Sarang chuckled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "You know, I may act like the wind blows me where it will, but you know who and what I was." His voice softened. "Now I run a publishing company and cafe--out of choice, not accident. I chased what made me feel alive. And I found her." A glance toward the dining area--where his wife's laughter still echoed faintly. "I found peace."

Rudraj said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.

SNR bore their names, but it was Sarang who first dared to dream it aloud. Rudraj had inherited the blueprint, but Sarang had drawn the first lines. Years later, Sarang had chosen to step away--toward a quieter life of collecting stories and brewing coffee--pursuing his own passions for literature and cooking. A perfect match for his wife--his favorite author and pianist. Together, they built a cozy, beautiful life and Rudraj had always pretended not to envy it for its simplicity and warmth.

Sarang exhaled softly. "You see more in me than what I show, Rudr. And I see more in her. Maybe the girl you think betrayed us is still buried beneath the ashes. Have you tried looking?"

Rudraj swallowed hard. His heart knew the answer. His mind refused it.

"What if you're wrong about her?" Sarang asked. "What if the girl you're punishing had a reason? One you just haven't been brave enough to hear?"

He wasn't accusing. He was pleading.

Sarang had always known. He'd seen the way Rudraj's mask would slip the moment Lashika entered a room--the subtle softening in his stare, the stolen glances, the guarded inhale when laughter rang too close. Sarang had never said a word, choosing instead to protect his lil brother's unspoken affection the way one shields a candle from the wind.

"She was... like family to me, Rudr. The sister I never had. Light-hearted. Stupidly brave. Once, she spray painted our car in doodles for a prank, remember?" His smile faded. "I won't believe the girl who once lit up our home could set it ablaze."

Rudraj's gaze was distant, locked somewhere in the wreckage of memory. His father's blood-soaked frame. His mother's scream tearing through the night. And Lashika--stood silent. The girl he would've died for... watched them burnt unflinching.

Rudraj voice was hoarse. "What possible reason could she have to set our home on fire... with us inside it?"

"And her brother," Sarang said quietly, cutting through his pain. "You keep forgetting she lost him too."

A beat.

"She adored him. You know she did. So if you're right--if she lit that match--are you saying she was ready to burn him, too?"

The question hung like a noose in the air.

Rudraj stared at the floor. "Maybe... maybe she didn't know he was there."

"Maybe," Sarang said. "Or maybe she didn't set the fire at all."

That possibility had haunted Rudraj for years, but he never let it grow roots. Guilt couldn't survive in a heart that has decided on rage. Or so he thought, until he met her as nothing like the girl he loved.

Sarang watched him closely. He wasn't trying to win. He was trying to save his brother from drowning in the weight of his deep-rooted fear. If there was anyone responsible for their family's downfall, it was her stepfather, Kunal Dhanrajgir, the man who had haunted their lives.

"You were going to propose her that day, weren't you?"

Rudraj jerked his gaze up, stunned. "What?"

Sarang smiled gently. "Rudr, please. You stare at her like she's the center of gravity. You flinch when she laughs. You hide the ring, but never far from reach."

Rudraj felt exposed. Sarang wasn't teasing now. He was reaching into the fragile remnants of Rudraj's heart and dusting off pieces he hadn't touched in seven years.

"After the fire," Sarang continued, voice thick with memory, "you didn't cry. You didn't speak. You just... searched. For the ring. That tiny velvet box, like it could somehow fix the inferno that swallowed us. You weren't ready to give up on her then. Why now?"

Rudraj closed his eyes. He remembered. He wished he didn't.

Sarang paused, to offer a knowing smile. "You're not selfish for that. You looked for it because you believed she wasn't capable of such horror. So what changed? What made you put chains on her instead of a ring?"

Rudraj stared at the floor again, battling the tide rising inside. He had no answer.

Sarang leaned closer, his voice a thread. "You've been lost since that night and even more since yesterday. The days are not far, sooner or later, Neerav and Niharika will notice, or maybe they already have. No one says it, but we see it. I see it." He paused. "You're here, Rudr... but not really. You move through the days like they're punishment."

"I know you," Sarang continued, glancing once more to make sure no one could hear. "You don't hold onto something unless you believe in it. What changed, Rudy? What made you stop believing in her?"

The words were too close to truth. Rudraj couldn't breath.

Why did you stay silent when you could have saved us all, Lash? Why?

Rudraj clenched his fists, overwhelmed by the storm inside. "I don't know anymore," he whispered.

Sarang didn't press. Instead, he offered the quiet wisdom only a brother could. "You've always had a strong sense of right and wrong. I never said anything when you captured her--but silence doesn't mean agreement. I didn't understand it. But I trusted you. I still do. But I also know you're bleeding inside."

"And I won't lie to you," Sarang added, "If Lashika is guilty--truly guilty--I'll stand beside you, and we'll burn every bridge together if that's what it takes. No hesitation. No regret." He let his words sank before he continued. "But if she's not... and you destroy her anyway--if you break what's left of her soul out of anger and grief--you'll carry that weight for the rest of your life."

"And Rudr... I don't think you'll ever forgive yourself."

He paused, measuring his next words that might be able to change his brother's perspective.

"She wasn't supposed to be at that meeting. If I'm not wrong, since you were going to propose her. You wouldn't be the one who called her. Aru did. And someone made sure she was there the night everything fell apart. So before you condemn her--ask yourself: Is there something you missed?"

Rudraj couldn't speak. His throat burned--with grief, with regret, with the truth he'd buried too deep. This was what he kept running from: not guilt, but hope. And hope was dangerous. Because hope meant everything he'd built--seven years of obsession, of sleepless nights, of quiet rage and wounds stitched shut in silence--might all have been for nothing.

Admitting she might be innocent didn't just unravel the narrative. It mocked his pain. It made his love for her look like a betrayal--to himself.

Sarang sat back, eyes soft. "One last thing, Rudr. Have you ever thought of another woman?" 

It wasn't a casual question. It was a lifeline, a way to gauge whether Rudraj's heart still beat for the same girl.

Rudraj didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence whispered her name louder than words ever could. His fingers found the ring on his finger, tracing it absently--an unconscious confession--as if drawn by instinct, by memory. He didn't even realize he was doing it. But Sarang did.

Sarang's smile returned, quiet and fond. "Didn't think so."

Rudraj broke the silence, muttering. "How long have you known?" 

Sarang's grin widened. "You were fifteen--maybe sixteen. Ever since you were a toddler, you hated hugs. Despised them. Couldn't stand anyone invading your space. Then one day, out of nowhere, you started clinging to me like I was your personal teddy bear. And in your sleep, you'd mumble her name... soft, broken, like a secret slipping through a crack. Sometimes, you'd even whisper things--sweet, ridiculous things. As if she were right there beside you. Like--"

Rudraj's groan was instant. "Don't."

"Oh, but I must." Sarang burst out laughing, relishing the rare chance to tease. "You'd nuzzle in and mutter the sappiest stuff I've ever heard. 'Your smile makes my heart race.' 'Your eyes are a maze I never want to leave.' I mean, Rudr, a maze?"

Rudraj hurled a cushion at him.

Sarang caught it, still grinning. "And let's not forget my personal favorite: 'You're my little angel.'" He wiped a tear from his eye, laughing. "I thought I'd combust from second-hand romance. I had to check your temperature next morning. Thought you were possessed."

Rudraj chucked another cushion at him, crimson-faced. "You're the worst."

Sarang leaned in, quieter now. "You loved her like the world deepened on it. Still do. And maybe... maybe you don't know how to forgive her. Or yourself."

He continued, "I never imagined Rudraj Khurana--the ever-composed, steel-hearted teenager--could be so hopelessly in love. And look at you now... blushing like a schoolgirl. Honestly? My love guru isn't some bestselling author or relationship coach. It's the teenage Rudraj who loved a girl quietly, patiently, without ever asking anything in return. And now... it's this Rudraj--who still loves her, even with every reason not to."

The moment stretched, then fractured.

Rudraj's voice returned, hoarse. "If you knew, why'd you try setting me up with someone else?"

Sarang chuckled, wry. "Desperation. I hoped you would get annoyed, you'd confess. You didn't. You just brooded. Like now."

The laughter faded, replaced by a shadow that passed across Sarang's features. "Did the intruder speak? Did he say who sent him after her?" Ever since he received the reports from their security chief, his restlessness was on the top.

Rudraj's face darkened. "No. He's quiet. Too quiet. Someone taught him to vanish inside his own mind."

"Where is he being held?"

Rudraj hesitated. "The old mansion."

Sarang's breath caught. "Our mansion?" His expression changed instantly. The blood drained from his face. Sarang's alarm was real--and justified. That place held too many ghosts to risk revisiting.

"Isn't--" he swallowed, "Isn't she being held there too?"

Rudraj felt the guilt hit square in his chest. Before he could offer reassurance, footsteps echoed near the hall.

Neerav and Niharika strolled in, still mid-bicker.

Sarang immediately turned toward his laptop. Rudraj mirrored him. The conversation was over--for now.

Niharika flopped down beside Sarang, pouting and linking her arm with his. "Your best friend is a cheat."

Neerav, unfazed, shrugged. "You lost fair and square."

Rudraj sighed, tired of their endless squabbling, rubbed his temples before interjecting. "We leave by evening. Packed?"

Neerav gave a mocking salute. "Always one step ahead, Your Majesty."

As they dove into logistics and schedules, the brothers tucked their truths back into silence. Niharika lay across Sarang's lap, her phone glowing in her hands. Sarang absentmindedly stroked her hair, typing with the other hand.

It was a picture of peace.

But beneath the surface--just under the skin--questions festered like open wounds. And Rudraj knew, no matter how far he ran, some truths were already chasing him. Because the real story still waited to be uncovered.

Richard stepped into the guard's lift precisely one hour earlier than protocol demanded. But neither was guarding a room no one dared enter, housing a guest no one dared name. Besides, the evening held two notable events: a potentially not-so-platonic dinner, and Rudraj was returning tonight. Hence, Richard wanted answers before his own nerves filed for retirement.

He adjusted his shirt collar as the lift ascended. Not for vanity--God, no--but for control. Some kind of order in a job where a well-folded napkin might be the only sign of life inside that sealed apartment. And what a person they must be.

The person, whoever they were, was either deeply polite or unnervingly calculated. On day one, they'd left a note on the food trolley: I don't need this much food. Informing you because food shouldn't be wasted.

No greeting. No name. Just... logistics. Richard had spent five years as a black-ops field tactician and this--this note--was the most disciplined thing he'd ever read. But what followed was worse: every dish, every spoon, returned not just rinsed, but clinically clean and arranged as if they were an OCD ghost. 

Either this guest shared Rudraj's hygiene habits, or Rudraj had cloned himself. Both possibilities kept Richard up at night.

As the lift dinged, he scanned his fingerprint to unlock reinforced glass door, stepping onto the narrow veranda just outside the top-floor suite. The platform was barely wide enough for two people to uncomfortably share oxygen. Beyond, to his left, the staircase curled toward the garden--a space he protected more fiercely than his entire intelligence database. Richard once saw him threaten a pigeon for shedding feathers on the railing.

Richard paused. He didn't believe in omens, but the wind picked up just then, sweeping past like a warning. With a muttered curse, he scanned his fingerprint and opened another reinforced glass door.

He exhaled slowly. He'd done this exact thing for the a past two days--entered, prepared, waited. Nothing had happened. And yet, every instinct screamed something would. The worst battles were always the ones that started with silence.

The door slid open and he stepped into the apartment. Dim lighting, still air, and a silence so dense it hummed. The breeze kissed his face like breath from a crypt. Cautions and preparations define the soul of the soldier: reciting his mantra he took another step. Then--the faintest shift. Curtains rustling. A sound that didn't belong.

Richard's posture shifted subtly. That soldier's intuition--the kind you earn from surviving bomb zones and bad briefings--was prickling like someone had flipped a switch on his spine.

No one should be here. Not without setting off at least three silent alerts and one very angry Rudraj. And Rudraj was still a kilometer away, according to his last GPS ping. Neerav, Sarang, Niharika--all accounted for. Which meant the curtain had either been moved by the guest... or a breach had occurred.

Unlikely. But then again, ghosts didn't need to pick locks.

Training took over. Richard moved like liquid shadow, sidestepping along the wall, eyes scanning, feet silent. He advanced toward the sliding doors to the pool area and froze, back pressed to the wall. His hand brushing the grip of the pistol holstered under his jacket and the other hand hovered over the curtain. 

Then--ping--his device buzzed softly.

Rudraj: Entering perimeter.

Then--scrambling footsteps and a bark came charging toward him.

Richard braced instinctively, heart jacking up--

"Lucky?" he exhaled through his teeth. 

A second later, Rudraj's furry intruder bounded toward him with the force of a tactical missile, made of fur and barks. The little beast landed at Richard's feet, panting unusually happy like he hadn't just triggered every security protocol Richard lived by.

"Bloody hell, you nearly died," Richard informed the furball grimly, and crouched to pat his head. "You know that, right?"

Lucky barked as if to say, I regret nothing.

"Well, since you're clearly in the mood to socialize, come on. Let's prep dinner for the royal mysterious VIP your master's been hiding."

They turned toward the kitchen. Richard had taken two steps when his instincts screamed again.

No sound.

No creak.

No shift in light.

But someone was behind him.

Every muscle in his body locked. His heartbeat slowed. Breath halted. He turned sharply, his hand shot out to grab the intruder.

His grip connected. And then was blocked.

But not with a weapon. Not with a man.

Richard blinked.

There, in front of him, stood A WOMAN!

If you could call her that.

A pretty woman--small, still--drenched in moonlight.

She was dressed like a ghost from a bad dream: ethereal and ghostly--in an oversized white sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, which looked like they belonged to someone twice her size, no shoes. Her face--ghastly pale. Lips bloodless. Skin nearly translucent in the moonlight filtering through the tall windows. Her eyes looked... empty. Not scared. Not hostile. Just unplugged from reality. 

Her hair, long and wavy, cascaded around her like she belonged in an old black-and-white horror film. The sight was both haunting and mesmerizing.

Richard's mind performed a fast, horrifying deduction:

1. No noise.
2. No heartbeat heard.
3. Floating hair.
4. Pale as death.
5. Ghost.

His mind short-circuited.

Dead.

She's dead.

"You've got to be--AHHHHH!" Richard 's scream rippled out before he could stop it. Lucky barked violently, teeth bared--as if confirming the ghost diagnosis.

The woman moved--toward him--hand raised, held his wrist in a death grip. Too strong for a woman like her. Only if she is human, Richie.

"DON'T POSSESS ME!" Richard shrieked, flailing backward, assuming full-blown possession was imminent. 

He panicked.

His hand flew up and shoved the silver cross pendant around his neck toward her face like an exorcist in cargo pants.

She recoiled, as startled as he was.

Ghost confirmed.

But momentum had the cruel irony. Richard's foot hit the edge of the low sofa, or maybe divine punishment for screaming like a civilian. He tumbled back, arms flailing. He reached for stability, anything--

--and caught her wrist.

Which pulled her down.

The next few seconds were chaos incarnate. He crashed onto the sofa. She toppled after him.

They fell. Together.

Onto the sofa.

Off the sofa.

And finally, hit the carpeted floor in a heap of tangled limbs, startled breaths, and Richard's pride lying somewhere under the coffee table, quietly bleeding.

The silence afterward was deafening.

A groan escaped him, muffled slightly as his face landed--unfortunately--right in the crook of her neck.

Then came the ding.

The main lift.

The hiss of the glass door sliding open.

A pause. Then a voice--deep, unimpressed, and dripping with dread.

"...What the hell?"

Rudraj.

Richard stiffened like he'd been hit with a taser.

Groaning, he slowly raised his head. His heart thundered in his chest. She stared at him. He stared back, half-expecting her to flicker into smoke or drag him into the afterlife. Lucky howled, running circles around them. Richard blinked, winded, his brain attempting to catch up with the physics, metaphysics, and general humiliation of the last ten seconds.

His neck tilted upward  just enough to see the man who owned the building--and possibly a missile silo. Rudraj Khurana--tired, tense, and very much not amused--standing at the threshold, eyes locked on the ungodly sight of his trusted guard sprawled on the floor... half-straddling a woman Rudraj intended to lock behind guarded doors.

And not just any woman.

His woman.

Rudraj's expression was unreadable. Fatigue clung to him from the long journey, but it was nothing compared to the war flaring behind his eyes. Richard had seen this look before--usually reserved for enemies about to disappear without a trace.

For the first time in years, Richard felt cold fear crawl beneath his skin.

Even Lucky was backing away slowly like you're on your own, buddy

But Rudraj wasn't looking at any of them.

He was looking at her.

Lashika.

She clutched Richards's shirt tightly, breathing shallow but composed. Richard, meanwhile, still held her wrist like a lifeline, his other hand braced against the floor as if a bomb might drop at any moment. 

Now, Rudraj's expression hardens, his eyes narrowing at Richard, who scrambled to his feet, wincing in pain but fueled by adrenaline. "Can... can you see her?" Richard asked, his voice cracking, ragged with confusion. He held up the cross like it might be his last line of defense. "Tell me, Rudraj. You see her, right? She's real?"

Rudraj's nostrils flared.

"Is that all you've got?" he growled, stepping toward, fury shimmering under restraint. "Ohhh, why can't Tanya be a volcano? With your behavior, I'll ask her to be an earthquake."

"Yell at me, later! Just answer the damn question!" Richard barked, desperation leaking through his fear. "Do you see her like me--or not?"

Rudraj stared at him like he'd grown two heads. "Why wouldn't I see her, you dimwit?"

Richard blinked rapidly as Lashika slowly stood up, smoothing her oversized sweatshirt like this was the most mundane interruption in the world. Rudraj's arms crossed tightly, his jaw clenched.

"Why do you keep stumbling everywhere like a drunk mercenary?" Rudraj snapped. "The woman with you--Tanya--is a result of another stumble somewhere. History repeats, apparently."

Still unconvinced, Richard hesitantly tiptoed closer and poked Lashika's shoulder, cross still dangling cautiously. She blinked at him, confused but calm.

"You're not dead," he breathed.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You should start with 'sorry I tackled you'," she said, voice flat and dry as desert sand.

Richard yelped again, stepping back. "Could you act like you breath? Damn, you nearly gave me a heart failure! You--you nearly made me write my will!"

Then, all at once, the terror began to melt, giving away to irritation and growing disbelief. Richard turned on Rudraj with wide eyes and a finger jabbing accusingly in the iar.

"Ohhhh... so this is what's going on?" His voice pitched up like he'd just caught his parents sneaking out for a date. "I thought, you'd locked a royal assassin. Or someone sentenced to death. But no. You've been hiding a woman. A whole woman!"

"Wait--those clothes were for her." He pointed Lashika while glaring at him. Rudraj's neck reddened but before he could utter a word.

Richard gestured between them, pacing now like a lunatic unraveling conspiracy theories in his head.

"I've been guarding that door like it's Pandora's box and it turns out the King has locked himself in with Eve! Finally!"

Rudraj's jaw ticked. "You're overreacting."

"Oh, am I?" Richard snapped. "Is she your 'volcano'? If so, that name is reserved."

Rudraj's expression shuttered instantly. His gaze shifted to Lashika, something stormy and unreadable darkening his eyes.

"What were you doing outside," he asked, voice sharp, "when I specifically told you to stay in?"

Lucky, ever loyal, stood beside Lashika like her four-legged bodyguard, low growl rumbling in his throat as he watched the rising tension between the two men.

"Hide-and-seek," Lashika said simply deadpan. She pointed at Lucky. "He lost."

Rudraj stared. Richard's jaw dropped. Lucky barked once as if to confirm her story. It was fun with her.

She walked past them as if the last five minutes hadn't just featured holy symbols, ghost screams, and unintentional cuddling. Lucky followed without hesitation.

Richard stared after her, utterly shell-shocked. "Damn, that woman is something else. Not just above ghosts--beyond them! She's got both the stoic Rudraj Khurana and the little beast Lucky Khurana wrapped around her finger. That's--"

"That's supernatural in itself."

Rudraj didn't answer. He didn't need to. His silence was thunderous. Still he asked the one question that bothered him.

"Why would a soldier as brave as you claim to be, rattled by her?" Rudraj taunted, crossing his arms.

"You ask why a soldier like me was rattled?" Richard scoffed. "She's a woman. A woman. In your apartment. That's enough to throw the entire national defense into disarray. I was gearing up for a civil war and it turns out I walked into a--what even is this--romantic hostage situation?! Well--yeah! That's a war of its own kind."

He reached for his sidearm--dropped in the chaos--picked it up with the reflex of a seasoned fighter, and slipped it into his holster.

"Don't breath a word of this outside these walls."

"I'm never coming back to this haunted apartment itself," he muttered under his breath. 

Rudraj raised a brow.

Richard cleared his throat and corrected himself. "I mean... I won't speak of this without your consent, Your Majesty."

With a swift bow, and a face redder than Lucky's chew toy, he left.

Silence returned.

Rudraj walked to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and immediately chocked on it as he opened the surveillance footage on his tablet. The sight of Richard panicking, waving cross like a trained exorcist, then tumbling into a woman who didn't flinch through any of it--had him wheezing with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Can't even blame him," Rudraj muttered between chuckles. "Lashika Mauryavanshi. You really are full of surprises."

A sharp ping from the corner screen ended amusement. 

A priority alert.

His expression shifted--laughter fading, tension crawling back into his bones. He stood, set the glass down, and headed for his room. Purpose steadied his steps.

He knocked.

The door opened.

Lashika stood there, gaze calm and innocent--waiting.

He hesitated. Her presence hit him like it always did--quiet, magnetic, unknowable. And the words from his brother whispered through his mind again: She wasn't supposed to be at that meeting. If I'm not wrong, since you were going to propose her. You wouldn't be the one who called her. Aru did. And someone made sure she was there the night everything fell apart. So before you condemn her--ask yourself: Is there something you missed?

He saw her light the match--he did--and yet, somehow, he didn't.

Years of subtle manipulation had twisted the lines between memory and illusion, between what he saw and what he had to see. His heart warred with his mind, caught in an endless tug between the love he still carried for his mother and the trust he had once placed in Lashika. 

Had she done it? Had she betrayed him? Or had someone else painted that moment, layer by layer, until even he couldn't tell what was real anymore?

He didn't know what to believe. Not about her. Not about himself.

Not yet. 

The answers remained just out of reach, cloaked in shadows he wasn't sure he was ready to step into.

But some conversations couldn't be delayed forever. 

"We need to talk," he said softly.

She nodded, stepping forward.

But he held up a hand. "After I freshen up. I'm... exhausted."

Why he said it, he didn't know. But it felt right. Honest.

She nodded again.

He hesitated at the threshold, then added quietly, "We can have dinner after... together."

There was the faintest flicker in her expression--surprise? Relief? He wasn't sure. But it was enough to pull the ghost of a smile onto his lips. He turned and walked away, the weight of unspoken truths pressing heavier with each step.

He didn't know how much she'd let him in. But he still wanted to trust her--even if his doubts had already drawn the worst out of him and made him, her enemy.

"The coronation is being withheld."

Rudraj delivered the statement with a controlled voice, steady and composed. But the weight behind his words was deliberate--designed to provoke a reaction, to unearth a trace of concern from her. Instead, Lashika remained unmoved. Her expression held no tremor of surprise, no spark of anxiety. She was unreadable, like stone worn smooth by time.

"The official reason," he added, watching her closely, "is that the future queen is... preoccupied with political matters." His eyes narrowed. "Your stepfather hasn't even bothered to initiate a search."

She said nothing at first. The silence between them stretched, a taut wire between two adversaries. Then, she released a low, unsettling chuckle. It wasn't hollow, nor mirthful--but rich and unnervingly dark, the kind of sound that unsettled rather than relieved.

"Isn't this a news for you?" Rudraj pressed, trying again. There was a quiet urgency creeping into his tone now, as if grasping at a thread he feared might fray.

"Isn't it obvious?" she returned smoothly, her voice distant, as though speaking of someone else's fate.

A chill passed through him, subtle but unmistakable. A knot of unease tightened low in his gut.

"What are you implying?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Her eyes locked onto his, sharp and unblinking. "The coronation will only proceed if the queen is no longer alive."

The calm in her voice was dissonant. As though she were discussing the change of weather, not her own potential death.

Rudraj's breath caught. Her words hit him like a hammer--blunt and inescapable. Before he could think or respond, she added, "Thank you."

He blinked. "What?"

Her gaze didn't flinch. "If you hadn't abducted me... I'd already be dead. Or would've been--sooner or later."

The air thickened, her confession slamming into him with a brutal finality, he hadn't anticipated. For seven years, the fact that she was alive had been his tether. A thread of hope, frayed but intact. But now that illusion lay shattered before him, like glass underfoot.

"You can't mean that," he said quietly, the disbelief heavy in his voice. His eyes searched her face, desperate for a smirk, a flicker of sarcasm or humor--anything to soften the blow. But there was none. Her expression remained grave. The truth stood stark between them, cold and uncompromising. 

She might have been dead if I hadn't acted impulsive?

And it shook him. Deeply.

Lashika said nothing more. As if the conversation had reached its inevitable end. Rising with an air of finality and measured grace, she crossed him, lifting a glass of milk from the table. Lucky, ever faithful to him, fell into step beside her. Rudraj didn't move. His gaze followed her, silently searching for a way to pull her back--into the moment, into his understanding.

She stopped a few paces away, and turned. Her eyes met his with piercing clarity, and when she spoke, her voice carried something heavier than emotion--it carried truth.

"Seven years is a long time, Rudraj," she said. "You might not see it now, but you will realize how much you need me." She paused, "And somehow... helping you has become a need I can't explain." 

Something shifted in the air. It wasn't warmth, but something far more dangerous. Intimate and threatening all at once.

"Rud," she said, and his heart faltered at the sound. Just once. She had rarely called him that--until now. He had imagined it so many times, the tenderness of it. But the word came laced with warning.

Her next words cut like a blade.

"You have no idea of the spiral you've thrown yourself into."

A beat.

"It's beyond your imagination... Mr. Khurana."

My lovely readers, this chapter plays an important role in the entire story, even though it seems playful. It's a filler.

Hope you liked it.
I promise that as the story progresses, it'll become more interesting.

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