Prakhar came down after his shower, dressed in a black T-shirt and grey trousers. Everyone was already at the dining table. He bent to touch his father Dev Singh Rathod's feet, then quietly took his seat.
His mother served him food and offered him the first bite, but he gently took it from her and fed her instead-then did the same with his grandmother. When he turned to his father, who sat silently in a wheelchair, a flicker of pain crossed Prakhar's face, quickly hidden.
Dev couldn't speak, but the look in his eyes said it all. His fingers twitched, trying to lift–he wanted to feed his son. Kanak noticed and stepped in, placing the bite in Dev's hand and helping him guide it to Prakhar's lips.
Prakhar ate in silence maintaining his rugged, icy exterior, he kept his emotions in check, revealing no hint of vulnerability beneath his stoic facade.His mother, sensing his distress softly said,
"Don't feel bad... He's happy."
While all of this was happening, he could feel someone's gaze on them —a quiet yet persistent presence that seemed to linger in the air. A part of him knew exactly who it was, but he chose to keep a stoic expression, his features unreadable. He didn't even move his head to look toward the source, refusing to acknowledge the pull of curiosity.His focus remained on his father, on the delicate moment they were sharing. But the weight of that gaze pressed against him, unspoken words hanging heavily in the silence, as if waiting for him to break the tension.
Dev's eyes, however, shifted—slow, deliberate —towards the kitchen doorway.
There stood Rida. Still. Quiet. Watching.
Her face was unreadable, like a painting you couldn't quite interpret.Not wanting to intrude their tender moment she turned to retreat to her room.
Because somewhere deep down, a small voice echoed that she couldn't be a part of it, even if she wanted to.
Kanak saw it—the hesitation, the ache hidden in Rida's stillness.
She didn't let it slide.
"Rida... where are you going?" Kanak's voice rang clear. Not loud, but impossible to ignore.
Then, with a teasing glint and a touch of theatrical flair, she added,
"Tumhara pati itne dino baad wapas aaya hai... milogi nahi usse?"
(It’s been days… your husband is finally back. Aren’t you going to see him?)
She didn't stop there. Her voice dipped, deliberately drawing out the next line like a script delivered on cue:
"Aao mil lo... apne Pati Dev se." (Come on… go greet your dearest husband)
"Come on, don't act shy now."
Her smirk held both affection and mischief.
Because she knew-sometimes, people needed a little push... especially when the heart's involved.
Rida froze.
Kanak's words hung in the air like perfume-sweet, bold, impossible to ignore.
Her eyes widened, a soft blush painting her cheeks, warmth rising under her skin. The teasing jab had caught her off guard, slicing through her carefully maintained composure.
She swallowed hard.
Her gaze flicked to Prakhar-once, twice.
Still. Silent.He didn't look at her.Didn't flinch.Didn't move.
His eyes remained fixed on his father, as if she didn't exist in the frame of his world.
Still, her legs carried her forward—reluctantly, nervously. Each step echoed in her chest louder than it did on the marble floor.By the time she reached the table, the air felt thick, like something unsaid had wrapped itself around all of them.
She stood beside Dev. Close, yet entirely alone.
And then—
"I'm done, Mom," Prakhar said suddenly.
His voice was clipped. Final.
"I'm going to my room. I need to rest."
His voice firm as though trying to escape the suffocating tension in the air.
As Prakhar turned to leave, his father's eyes followed-wide, pleading, wordless. A faint breath escaped Dev's lips, more ache than sound.Prakhar paused,catching the silent desperation in his father's gaze. It was as if the weight of his father's unspoken request reached out to him, filling the room with an invisible, pressing force. Dev desperately tried to lift his arm almost imperceptible, desperate plea for an embrace.That look... it gripped him like a chain pulled tight around the heart.Prakhar turned back slowly, jaw clenched.He walked over, sat beside him again & without a word, his arm gently wrapped around his father's frail shoulders offering a silent comfort.His head bowed slightly, his cheek brushing against his father's head, sharing the tender, silent moment.
Dev fumbled with his attempts,his body stiff and uncooperative. This time reaching toward Rida.
His body failed him.
Before anyone could move, Rida sank to the floor beside him, arms circling around him in quiet act of solidarity embracing him.
She said nothing—just held him.
Prakhar's gaze lingered upon face. For a fleeting moment, he was struck by the quiet sorrow etched upon her features as she took became a part of this fragile moment while a storm was brewing within him.Her eyes were cast downward, her lashes a dark veil that shielded her emotions.A strange warmth stirred within him, yet it was quickly overshadowed by a turmoil that ruffled through his mind.The internal conflict churned violently, making him pull away even more.Rida didn't look up, but she felt it—his unrest.She didn't move. Didn't speak.
They stood frozen, suspended in a moment of tense silence as they both grappled with the turmoil unraveling inside them-Prakhar, trying to maintain his distance & Rida, sensing his inner conflict.
She lifted her lashes and their eyes met. A Spark of warmth flickered within him—a sensation which was unexpected & unwelcomed—one that threatened to disrupt the carefully constructed wall he had build around himself.He quickly averted his gaze, trying to regain control, but the feeling lingered and it unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
Their silence shattered with the screech of tires outside.
Rida rose to her feet, startled, just as the front doors burst open..
"Bhaiii!"(Bhai means Brother)
Akansha's voice rang through the hall like a badly tuned trumpet.
Prakhar winced. Shivansh, right behind her, winced harder.
"Akshi, for God's sake," he groaned, dragging her duffel bag behind him, "you sound like a dying peacock with a megaphone."
Akansha threw him a glare, but Shivansh was already moving forward, his eyes locking onto Prakhar.She flung herself into Prakhar's arms, practically squeezing the breath out of him.
Shivansh dropped the bag with a solid thud on the sofa.
"Bhai... why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"
Prakhar's voice was calm, clipped.
"Would it have made any difference?"
Shivansh rolled his eyes. "Still allergic to emotions, I see."
As the chairs shuffled, everyone moving closer to the table, Shivansh flopped into one with all the grace of a bored cat and glanced sideways.
Akansha beamed.
"Bhai, we missed you so much..."
Then–like a grenade tossed with a smile—Shivansh added,
"So did Bhabhi.."
His grin? Pure mischief.
He tilted his head toward Rida, voice lilting with mock innocence.
"Right, Bhabhi?"
Rida froze.
Her eyes widened, her heart stumbled.A deep flush crept up her neck to her cheeks.
For a moment, Prakhar's gaze inadvertently drifted toward her.His eyes met hers, and a rush of heat swept over him at the teasing comment,a mix of discomfort and frustration rising within him.He quickly turned his gaze away, trying to mask the reaction, but the awkwardness of the situation pressed on him, and the silence between him and Rida became thick, charged with all the unspoken complexity of their relationship but he couldn't shake the faint, unsettled feeling it left behind.
She opened her mouth to protest, to deny the term, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her speechless and awkward in the moment.
Shivansh wasn't done.
He leaned forward, grinning.
"You've been so quiet, Bhabhi. Kya hua? Ab to pati-dev aa gaye hain. Kuch to boliye... ya sirf aankhon se hi baat karni hai?"
(Bhabhi… what happened? Your husband’s finally here—say something!!
Or are you planning to speak only through your eyes?)
[Bhabhi :- Elder brother's wife]
Rida's blush deepened, her fingers curling into her dupatta, eyes darting toward Prakhar instinctively– Who, of course, remained unreadable. The king of stone-faced reactions.
Their mother chuckled softly as she watched Rida fumble for words, clearly flustered, clearly cornered.
Shaking her head, she placed a gentle hand on Rida's shoulder and turned to the younger two with a look that managed to be both amused and commanding.
Rida quickly retreated to the kitchen, her movements swift and deliberate as if to escape the further teasing and the tension that had begun to coil around her.
"You two notorious kids..." she said, her tone light, but the glint in her eyes unmistakable.
"Don't tease my daughter. She's already had enough of your nonsense for one day."
He raised his hands innocently.
"What? I'm just helping them reconnect. With emotion. And awkwardness."
"Go freshen up, now. My son has just come back after so long-he needs rest, not your endless drama."
She gave Shivansh a pointed look but still loving.
Akansha and Shivansh exchanged exaggerated, comically disappointed looks, clearly before reluctantly heading off to freshen up.
•─────✧─────•
AT FARMHOUSE
The modern farmhouse, with its sleek glass and steel facade, seemed out of place in the rural landscape. But its tranquil appearance belied the sinister activities that took place within its walls. This was the domain of a merciless man, a fortress where his ruthless ambitions came to life.
As he stepped out of his Lucid Air Sapphire and onto the driveway, the sound of crunching gravel echoed through the stillness. His driver, a towering figure with a menacing scowl, remained by the vehicle, eyeing the surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
Dressed in a tailored black suit, strode towards the farmhouse, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a mixture of paranoia and habit. The bodyguards opened the front door, and a warm golden light spilled out, illuminating the darkening landscape.
As he entered, the sound of muffled screams and groans drifted from the basement, mingling with the scent of sweat, blood, and fear.His eyes gleamed with a sadistic light as he made his way down the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing off the cold concrete walls.
In the basement, a figure lay tied to the floor with iron locks,his eyes mirroring a mixture of resignation and fear.
The jailers, two burly men with faces like stone, stood guard over the man, their eyes fixed on their boss with a mixture of loyalty and fear. They were well-known to his ruthlessness, and they knew that their own lives depended on their loyalty to their master.The Man's lips curled into a cruel smile as he stepped closer to the prisoner, his polished boots echoing against the damp concrete.He eyes filled with an unsettling calm–too calm.
Then, without warning, his boot drove into the prisoner's stomach with brutal force. The impact sent a sickening thud reverberating through the basement. The prisoner gasped, his body folding inward as pain tore through him, but his eyes-clouded with defiance and resignation-remained locked onto the Man.
The jailers watched the scene unfold with a mixture of detachment and curiosity, their faces expressionless. They had seen it all before.
The shot rang out, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade. Then another.
A strangled, broken cry tore from the prisoner's throat as his knee shattered beneath him. He buckled, crumpling like a discarded puppet, blood spreading beneath him in thick, sluggish pools. His breath came in ragged gasps, pain carving deep lines into his face.
Across from him,the man leaned back in his chair, his posture unnervingly relaxed, as if he had all the time in the world. He watched, impassive, letting the agony sink in. Letting the man feel every second of his mistake.
"Pathetic," He finally murmured, exhaling slowly, almost as if bored. He tilted his head slightly, studying the man writhing before him. "This is what they sent? A stray dog, barely worth the bullet."
The prisoner's chest heaved, his hands clawing at the ground, trying to steady himself. "P-Please..." His voice was fractured, hoarse. "I-It wasn't my call. I swear-I was just following orders."
Prakhar let out a slow, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "You think I care?"
The words were barely above a whisper, yet they carried the weight of a death sentence.
His fingers trailed along the hilt of his knife-slow, deliberate, as if considering. Then, without hesitation, he drove the blade into the man's shoulder.The sound of the metal piercing flesh echoing through the air.
The enemy's eyes widened in agony as The Man twisted the knife, the blade tearing through muscle and sinew. A scream of pain ripped from the enemy's throat, his body arching in torment.He twisted the knife again, the enemy's scream growing louder, more desperate.
His eyes bulged, hands trembling as they instinctively tried to grasp at the wound, as if he could will the agony away.
Prakhar twisted the knife, watching as the prisoner convulsed, breathless sobs racking his body.
"You think tailing my sister would make a difference?" His voice was soft, almost thoughtful.
"You think that'd make me flinch?-PRAKHAR SINGH RATHOD" He scoffed, his grip tightening around the hilt. "You don't even get to think about her."
The prisoner whimpered, the fight draining from him. "I- I didn't- I just-"
"Following her to college. Lurking in shadows. Thinking you could rattle her-or me." His gaze flicked down to the trembling man, void of amusement. "You really thought you could walk into my world and go unnoticed?"
Prakhar pulled the knife free in a swift motion, the metallic scent of blood thickening in the air. He wiped the blade on the man's shirt, watching as he sagged forward, his breath coming in wet, ragged bursts.
His expression stilled, the last trace of feigned amusement vanishing. When he spoke again, his voice was calm-too calm.
"I don't like my family to be dragged into things that don't concern them."
Then, softer-deadlier-"And I don't let it slide."
The prisoner sobbed, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps. "I- I swear, I-"
"They are off-limits..You crossed a line that you were never meant to cross. And now..."His face was a mask of ruthless intensity, his eyes blazing with a fierce light.
"You're going to learn exactly what that means.
"You were never a threat," Prakhar muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "You were just bait."
"So, whoever sent you..." A slow, almost thoughtful smirk ghosted across his lips.
"Even if they're rotting in the depths of hell, I'll drag them out myself-whether you name them or not."
"Please.. Don't kill me" Prisoner pleaded
His eyes darkened, his voice final.
"You were dead the second you stepped into my world."
He turned to his men devoid of emotions "Throw him to Ravenor.". (Their Panther)
The henchmen dragged the struggling man outside, where the panther's enclosure loomed under the cold midnight sky. With a nod, they hurled him over the fence. A scream tore through the night-cut short by a thunderous roar.
Prakhar didn't bother watching. As the beast claimed its prey, he strode back to his chamber, changed, and disappeared into the shadows, heading for the mansion.
[ RIDA'S POV ]
The night felt endless, wrapping around me like a quiet secret, thick with a silence that clung to my skin. I stirred, caught in that in-between space where dreams fade but reality hasn't quite settled in.Something felt off—a subtle discomfort tugging at the edges of my mind. And then I felt it. The dryness. My throat, rough and parched like old paper, made me groan softly. Water. I needed water.
I turned my head toward the bedside table, already knowing what I'd find. The jug—empty. Of course. A useless, hollow thing just sitting there like it had failed me when I needed it the most.
With a sigh, I pushed the covers away, the cool air licking at my arms as I left behind the warmth of my bed.The floor was cold beneath my feet, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of sleep. I hesitated for a second, taking in the stillness of my room. The soft rustling of the curtains against the windowpane was the only sound, like the night itself was breathing.
I made my way to the kitchen, my footsteps barely making a sound. The house felt different at this hour–like it was holding its breath. The kind of quiet that wasn't just silence but something... more. Something alive. Or maybe it was just me, hyper-aware of everything in the stillness.
The kitchen was familiar in a way that made me feel a little less like a ghost drifting through the home. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only sign of life. I reached for the jug, my fingers brushing against the smooth glass before twisting the tap. Water rushed out instantly, clear and cool, swirling like liquid silver. The sound filled the space, steady and soothing, breaking the eerie hush.
I filled the glass and lifted it to my lips and took a sip. The first taste hit like a shock-cold, crisp, almost electric. A rush of relief spread through me, chasing away the dryness, grounding me in the moment. I exhaled slowly, my body finally relaxing.
For a few seconds, I just stood there, holding the glass, staring out at the quiet world beyond the window. It felt smaller in that moment, more intimate. Just me, the moon, and the simple satisfaction of quenching a thirst only the stillness of midnight seemed to understand.
The hallway stretched before me, quiet–too quiet. The kind of silence that wasn't empty, but waiting. My pulse was still steady, the taste of cool water lingering on my tongue, but something in the air had shifted. The silence wasn't empty-it was thick, charged, filled with something unseen yet undeniably present.A weight pressed against my chest, a sense of unease tightening its grip.Then, from the depths of the shadows, he emerged.
Dark. Overpowering. A presence that didn't just enter the space but owned it. He moved without urgency, yet each step felt deliberate, like a predator savoring the slow descent of its prey. This wasn't the hesitant shuffle of an intruder. No–he moved like he belonged, like the very night had delivered him to me.He moved like he was the night itself, born from the darkness and now standing in front of me.
The sheer audacity of it knocked the breath from my lungs. My heartbeat roared in my ears, pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I forced my body to remain still, calculated. No sudden movements.
With careful silence, I set the jug down, the faint clink drowned in the thick, electric tension curling between us. My fingers brushed against the vase on the console-cold, delicate, a pitiful defense against the force standing before me. My other hand hovered over the remote, my thumb trembling over the button, the only barrier left between me and whatever this was.
But I never got the chance.
A strong hand seized mine before I could press it.
A gasp barely left my lips before another hand clamped over my mouth, stealing the sound, stealing my breath..My voice— stealing my control. His grip was unyielding, the heat of his palm searing against my skin in cruel contrast to the cold fear lashing through me.
I felt my body tense as his grip tightened, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the chill running down my spine. My breath hitched, muffled against his hand, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird.
I stiffened as he pushed me back, my spine hitting the railing with a muted thud. He followed, pressing into me, his presence suffocating, his body an unrelenting force I couldn't escape.
The contrast burned. The icy tendrils of fear twisting deep in my gut-and the heat of him, intoxicating, undeniable. A sinful contradiction.
His Leather. Spice. A dark, masculine scent that threatened to drown me.
I fought back, my nails digging into his wrist, desperate to break free, but he didn't even flinch. His grip was iron—unyielding, merciless-a silent reminder that I was caught, that this moment belonged to him now.
His fingers curled around my arm, tightening just enough to send a sharp jolt through me. A warning. A challenge.
I jerked against his hold, twisting, pushing, but it was useless. He was faster. Stronger. Like the very night had taken form, wrapping around me, laying claim in a way that left no room for escape.
His breath ghosted along my jaw, slow, deliberate-each exhale a searing contrast against the chill running down my spine.
Then came the sound. Low, velvety, a vibration against my ear that slithered beneath my skin, igniting something treacherous, something I refused to name.
"Darr gayi?"
(Scared already)
The words coiled around me, dark and teasing, more felt than heard. A challenge. A taunt. A truth I wasn't ready to admit.
IT WAS HIM
*************
Thanku For Reading..
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