Rudransh’s POV

The Rathore mansion had always been a place where silence carried more weight than words. Even during family dinners, when all five brothers sat around the same long table, there was rarely any unnecessary conversation. The clinking of cutlery, the quiet movement of servants, and the occasional sound of Mahendra Rathore turning a page of the newspaper were usually the only interruptions to the heavy stillness that surrounded the family. It was not an uncomfortable silence for them. They had grown up inside it. After Rajeshwari Rathore’s death, silence had slowly become the only language the family knew how to speak without hurting one another.

That evening, however, the silence felt different.

Rudransh sat at the head of the table, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. His phone lay face-down beside his plate, though he had no intention of checking it. His mind was occupied with the decision he had already made, the promise he had given, and the consequences he knew would follow. He had spent the entire day dealing with business meetings, legal documents, and calls from people who believed that every problem could be solved with money or authority. Yet none of those matters had disturbed him as much as the thought of what was about to happen inside this house.

Across from him, Ranvijay Rathore was scrolling through something on his tablet, his sharp eyes moving over a document with the same focused intensity he brought into every legal case. At twenty-eight, Ranvijay had already become one of the most sought-after corporate lawyers in the city. He handled the Rathore Group’s legal battles, political negotiations, security-related contracts, and matters that never appeared in official records. He rarely raised his voice because he never needed to. His calmness itself was often enough to make people nervous.

Beside him, Veerraj Rathore leaned back in his chair, one hand wrapped around a glass of water. Unlike the others, Veerraj did not look as though he belonged to the cold, intimidating mansion. His face carried an easy charm, and there was usually a faint smile resting on his lips. But the smile was deceptive. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, Veerraj had learned to observe the smallest changes in people—their breathing, their expressions, the tension in their hands. He noticed far more than he ever said.

Yuvraaj Rathore sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on the table. At twenty-four, he was the Director of Operations at Rathore Group, working directly under Rudransh and handling major projects, business expansions, and matters that required both aggression and control. Yuvraaj was ambitious, hot-headed, and arrogant, and he had never been particularly interested in hiding any of those qualities. His loyalty toward his brothers was absolute, but his patience with everyone else was almost nonexistent.

The youngest, Abeer Rathore, was the only one who seemed incapable of treating dinner like a serious business meeting. At twenty-one, he was still a final-year university student and a management intern at Rathore Group, though he spent more time irritating his brothers than learning anything useful from them. He was currently trying to balance a spoon on the edge of his glass while pretending not to notice Yuvraaj’s murderous stare.

“Bhai, agar yeh spoon gir gaya na, toh iska matlab hai kal mera viva cancel ho jayega,” Abeer announced solemnly.

Yuvraaj slowly lifted his eyes toward him. “Abeer.”

“Ji, Yuvraaj Bhai.”

“Chup.”

Abeer nodded obediently for approximately three seconds before whispering, “But scientifically speaking—”

“Chup,” Yuvraaj repeated, this time with enough warning in his voice to end the discussion.

Veerraj lowered his glass, hiding a smile. “Abeer, if the spoon falls, it only means gravity is still functioning.”

“Thank you, Veerraj Bhai. At least someone in this house respects science.”

“I respect science,” Ranvijay said without looking up from his tablet. “I simply don’t respect your experiments at the dining table.”

Abeer placed the spoon down with exaggerated disappointment. “Iss ghar mein creativity ki koi value hi nahi hai.”

Rudransh watched them without reacting. He had heard this kind of exchange countless times. Abeer created chaos, Yuvraaj tried to crush it, Veerraj occasionally softened the situation, and Ranvijay pretended to remain uninvolved while quietly noticing everything. It was a familiar pattern, one that had remained unchanged for years.

Then Mahendra Rathore entered the dining room.

The moment he stepped inside, the casual conversation died.

Mahendra was a powerful man even when he said nothing. At fifty-eight, he carried the authority of someone who had spent decades building an empire through business, influence, and political connections. His presence had always been enough to straighten the backs of his sons and silence arguments before they became serious. He took his seat at the head of the table, placed his phone beside his plate, and looked at each of them.

Rudransh knew immediately.

His father had already decided how the conversation would begin.

Mahendra waited until the servants had finished placing the food on the table. Then, with an unsettling calmness, he said, “I have something important to tell you all.”

Abeer’s hand stopped halfway toward the bowl of rice.

Ranvijay finally looked up from his tablet.

Veerraj’s expression became attentive, while Yuvraaj’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Rudransh remained still.

Mahendra folded his hands on the table. “Rudransh is getting married tomorrow.”

For a moment, no one reacted.

The sentence remained suspended above the dining table, so unexpected that none of them seemed capable of understanding it immediately.

Then Abeer blinked.

“Tomorrow?” he repeated.

Mahendra looked at him. “Yes.”

“As in… tomorrow tomorrow?”

Yuvraaj’s head snapped toward Rudransh. “What?”

Veerraj placed his glass down slowly. “You mean an engagement?”

“No,” Mahendra replied. “A wedding.”

Ranvijay stared at his father for several seconds before turning his gaze toward Rudransh. “You’re getting married?”

Rudransh picked up his glass, took a measured sip of water, and placed it back on the table.

“Yes.”

The reaction was immediate.

“What the fuck?” Yuvraaj demanded, his voice echoing through the room.

Abeer looked from Rudransh to Mahendra and then back again. “Wait. Hold on. Are we being pranked? Because if this is some kind of family joke, I would like to officially say that the timing is terrible. I have an assignment due tomorrow.”

“Your assignment is not the issue,” Ranvijay said sharply.

“It is always an issue for me.”

Veerraj leaned forward slightly. “Rudra Bhai sa , when exactly were you planning to tell us?”

Rudransh’s gaze shifted toward him. “You know now.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the only one you’re getting.”

Yuvraaj let out a humourless laugh. “This is ridiculous. You cannot just sit here and announce that you’re getting married tomorrow as if you’re informing us about a business meeting.”

“I can,” Rudransh replied calmly. “And I just did.”

Yuvraaj’s eyes hardened. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Krisha.”

“Who is Krisha?” Ranvijay asked. His voice was controlled, but the question carried a lawyer’s precision. “Where is she from? What does her family do? What do we know about her?”

“Enough,” Mahendra said.

Ranvijay’s eyes shifted toward him. “Baba Sa, with respect, we know nothing. Bhai sa has never mentioned her. There has been no discussion, no meeting, no formal announcement, and now you’re telling us the wedding is tomorrow morning.”

“She is from a respectable family,” Mahendra said. “Her father is Devendra Mathur. They are simple people.”

Yuvraaj leaned forward, his palms pressing against the table. “Simple people? And that is supposed to explain everything?”

“No one is asking you to explain anything,” Mahendra replied.

“That is exactly the problem. Nobody explains anything in this house.”

The words struck the room harder than Yuvraaj probably intended. For a brief moment, something shifted in Mahendra’s expression, but it disappeared before anyone could properly read it.

Rudransh remained silent.

He had expected anger. He had expected questions. He had expected Yuvraaj to react as though someone had announced an invasion of their home. What he had not expected was how strange it would feel to hear Krisha’s name spoken aloud at this table, among people who had never seen her and who already seemed determined to reject her.

Abeer leaned toward Veerraj and whispered, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Do you think the bride knows that Rudra Bhai doesn’t smile?”

Veerraj glanced at him. “I’m sure she will discover it soon enough.”

“Does she know he speaks only when necessary like only 12 words per day ?"

“Probably.”

“Does she know he looks at people like he is mentally calculating their funeral expenses?”

“Maybe.”

“Does she know he has hair?”

Rudransh’s eyes moved toward him.

Abeer immediately raised both hands. “I’m just asking important compatibility questions.”

Yuvraaj rubbed his forehead. “I swear, if you say one more thing—”

“No, but seriously,” Abeer continued, turning to Rudransh. “Bhai, does she know what she is getting into? Because you are not exactly the warm, welcoming, family-man type. You are more like a merger agreement with anger issues.”

Ranvijay’s mouth twitched, though he quickly hid it behind his glass.

Rudransh looked at Abeer. “Are you finished?”

“Not emotionally.”

“Abeer.”

“Fine. Yes. Finished.”

Mahendra’s gaze moved across the table. “The wedding will take place tomorrow morning at the temple. It will be private. Only the immediate families will attend. There will be no unnecessary guests, no media, and no public announcement until I decide otherwise.”

Ranvijay’s expression grew more serious. “Why the secrecy?”

“Because I want it that way.”

“Does the girl agree to this?”

“She does.”

Yuvraaj gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Of course she does. Does she even know Bhai sa has agreed to marry her without meeting her?”

The question was directed at Mahendra, but everyone looked at Rudransh.

Rudransh did not move.

“Yes,” he said.

A strange silence followed.

Veerraj’s brows drew together. “You haven’t met her?”

“No.”

“Spoken to her?”

“No.”

“Then how exactly did this happen?” Veerraj asked.

Rudransh’s face remained impassive. “It happened.”

Abeer looked horrified. “That is not how marriage works.”

“It is clearly how this one works,” Ranvijay replied.

Abeer shook his head. “No, no. This is not marriage. This is a corporate acquisition. Baba Sa found a company, checked the paperwork, and handed Rudra Bhai the signing authority.”

“Watch your words,” Yuvraaj warned.

“I am watching them. They are running away from me because everyone here is terrifying.”

Mahendra’s voice cut through the argument. “Enough. This marriage has been decided. Rudransh has agreed, and that is all that matters.”

Yuvraaj turned toward his father. “No, Baba Sa. It is not all that matters. A woman is going to enter this house tomorrow. We have never needed anyone else here. We have managed perfectly well without—”

“Without what?” Veerraj asked quietly.

Yuvraaj’s jaw tightened. “Without outsiders.”

“Krisha is not an outsider after tomorrow,” Mahendra said.

“She will be.”

The words were blunt and cruel, but Yuvraaj did not take them back.

Rudransh finally turned his gaze toward him. “Choose your next words carefully.”

Yuvraaj met his eyes without hesitation. “Why? Am I wrong? We don’t need a so called bhabhi. We don’t need someone coming into this house and changing everything. We have enough problems already.”

Abeer raised one finger. “For the record, I personally think we need someone who can stop Yuvraaj Bhai from shouting before breakfast.”

“Keep quiet.”

“And someone who can convince Rudra Bhai to attend family functions without looking like he is attending a funeral.”

“ Abeer,” Ranvijay warned.

“And someone who can teach all of us basic emotional communication.”

Yuvraaj pushed his chair back slightly. “Do you want me to throw you out?”

Abeer leaned back. “See? This is exactly why we need a bhabhi. Its been so long i am living with you robots .Now i want a human in this family ."

Veerraj sighed. “Can everyone stop behaving like this is a war?”

“It is a war,” Yuvraaj replied. “And nobody bothered to inform us that the battle had already begun.”

Mahendra’s expression hardened. “You will all attend the wedding tomorrow.”

Yuvraaj turned toward him. “Baba Sa—”

“You will attend,” Mahendra repeated. “You will behave respectfully. You will not insult Krisha, her family, or anyone who comes with her. She is entering this house as Rudransh’s wife, and you will treat her accordingly.”

Yuvraaj’s eyes flashed with anger. “I cannot promise that.”

“You will not be asked to welcome her with flowers,” Mahendra said coldly. “You will only be expected to show basic manners.”

“Even that is unnecessary.”

“Yuvraaj.”

The warning in Mahendra’s voice made the room go quiet.

Yuvraaj looked away, but his expression remained hostile.

Ranvijay placed his tablet on the table. “Baba Sa, there are legal and practical matters that need to be handled before tomorrow. If the wedding is private, we need to ensure the registration, documentation, security, and—”

“Everything has been arranged.”

“By whom?”

“By me.”

Ranvijay held his father’s gaze for a moment. “That does not answer my question.”

Mahendra’s eyes narrowed. “You will receive the documents tonight.”

Ranvijay leaned back, studying him carefully. He knew his father too well to believe that this sudden wedding was merely a decision made out of convenience. Mahendra never acted without a reason. He never revealed the entire truth when half of it was enough to control a situation. And tonight, there was something hidden beneath his calmness—something that even Rudransh was refusing to discuss.

Veerraj looked toward his eldest brother. “Bhai sa are you sure?

Rudransh’s expression did not change. “Yes.”

“You know this girl?”

“No.”

“You trust Baba Sa’s decision?”

Rudransh’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table, though his voice remained steady. “I know what I’m doing.”

Veerraj observed him for a few seconds. “That was not what I asked.”

“It is the answer.”

No one spoke after that.

Mahendra rose from his chair. “The wedding is at eight in the morning. Be ready by seven. The cars will leave together.”

He looked at Yuvraaj. “And I will not repeat myself.”

Yuvraaj said nothing.

Mahendra turned toward Rudransh. “Come to my study after dinner.”

Rudransh gave a small nod.

As Mahendra walked out, the room remained frozen for several seconds. The moment the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the corridor, Abeer exhaled dramatically.

“Well,” he said, “that went wonderfully.”

Yuvraaj glared at him. “Shut up.”

“I am trying to process the fact that I am apparently getting a bhabhi tomorrow.”

“You are not getting anything.”

“Technically, we all are. She will be living here.”

“She will not change anything.”

Abeer looked around the mansion. “This house has the emotional warmth of a locked bank vault. If she changes even one curtain, I will support her.”

Yuvraaj’s eyes narrowed. “You will do nothing.”

“Fine. I will support her silently.”

“You don’t know how to stay silent.”

“That is a hurtful and accurate observation.”

Ranvijay stood up, gathering his tablet. “I have work to finish. Someone needs to make sure this wedding does not turn into a legal disaster.”

Veerraj rose as well. “I need to call the hospital and rearrange my morning schedule.”

Abeer looked at both of them. “Are you seriously leaving me alone with Yuvraaj Bhai?”

“Yes,” Ranvijay said.

“Why?”

“Because you deserve consequences.”

Veerraj gave Abeer an apologetic smile. “Try not to provoke him.”

“I never provoke him. He arrives pre-provoked.”

Yuvraaj pushed his chair back and stood. “Abeer.”

Abeer immediately stepped away from the table. “Goodnight, everyone. Congratulations, Rudra Bhai. May your marriage survive this family.”

Rudransh did not respond.

One by one, the others left the dining room. Yuvraaj was the last to go. He paused near the doorway and looked back at Rudransh.

“You should have told us.”

Rudransh lifted his eyes. “Would it have changed anything?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Rudransh said quietly. “It would only have started this conversation earlier.”

Yuvraaj’s expression darkened. “I don’t want her here.”

“That is not your decision.”

“For once, it should be.”

Rudransh stared at him, cold and unyielding. “Leave.”

Yuvraaj held his gaze for a moment longer before turning away.

When the room finally emptied, Rudransh remained seated alone at the table. The food had gone cold, but he had barely touched it. Outside, the mansion stood beneath the dark Jaipur sky, its massive windows reflecting faint pools of light. Somewhere upstairs, Abeer was probably complaining about the wedding, Ranvijay was already preparing legal documents, Veerraj was rearranging his hospital schedule, and Yuvraaj was convincing himself that anger could stop what had already been decided.

None of them knew the truth.

None of them knew why this marriage had become necessary.

And none of them knew what Rudransh had agreed to sacrifice.

He rose from his chair and walked through the silent corridor toward the old family wing. The portrait of Rajeshwari Rathore hung there beneath a soft yellow light. His mother’s face looked exactly as he remembered it—gentle, composed, and full of warmth that had disappeared from the mansion after her death.

Rudransh stopped in front of the portrait.

For years, he had believed that nothing could enter the Rathore household without being destroyed by its silence. Every emotion had been buried, every wound had been locked away, and every relationship had been reduced to duty. He had accepted that life because it was easier than expecting anything different.

But tomorrow, Krisha Mathur would enter this house.

A girl he had never met.

A woman who knew nothing about him beyond his name and the decision she had made.

A stranger who would become his wife before either of them had the chance to understand what that meant.

Rudransh’s gaze remained fixed on his mother’s portrait.

He did not know what Krisha would bring with her. He did not know whether she would fear him, hate him, or eventually learn to live around the darkness that surrounded the Rathore family. He only knew that once she stepped into the mansion, the carefully controlled balance of their lives would be disturbed.

And nothing in the Rathore house ever changed without leaving a scar.

Behind him, Abeer’s voice suddenly echoed from the hallway.

“Rudra Bhai!”

Rudransh closed his eyes for a brief second.

“What?” he asked without turning.

Abeer appeared at the end of the corridor, holding his phone in one hand and looking deeply concerned. “Important question.”

“Go away.”

“The wedding menu. Have you decided what we are eating tomorrow?”

Rudransh slowly turned his head.

Abeer continued before he could answer, “Because if Baba Sa is arranging everything, I need to make sure there is enough dessert. Weddings are emotionally exhausting, and I refuse to experience emotional exhaustion without gulab jamun.”

From somewhere behind him, Yuvraaj’s voice rang out sharply.

“Abeer, shut up!”

Abeer looked over his shoulder. “That is not a menu option, Yuvraaj Bhai!”

For the first time that evening, something almost resembling a smile touched Rudransh’s lips.

It disappeared before anyone could notice.

He turned back toward his mother’s portrait, his face once again becoming cold and unreadable.

Tomorrow, Krisha would come.

And after tomorrow, the Rathore mansion would never be the same again.