She looks absolutely breathtaking. Her light brown eyes remind me of her.
I have never felt like this before—the urge to hold her close, to feel her in my arms, to touch those luscious lips.

I snapped out of my thoughts when Lakshya remarked, "What a sexy performance you gave us!"

I shot him a warning look.

"It was nothing. Just an act," I said flatly.

"But it looked so real. You seemed so composed when she was close. Admit it, my man, you’re already falling for her," he teased.

"Shut up, Lakshya. I can’t fall in love with her. I can’t be with anyone," I replied, casting a glance in her direction as she stood with Abhinav and Agastya.

“You’re forcing yourself to become someone you were never meant to be. In my opinion, she is the perfect match for you and seems completely genuine. I’m always on her side,” he declared, irritating me further.

Why does everyone see her as some innocent girl? My mind compels me to view her as a threat, but my heart tells a different story, one I refuse to believe.

“Let’s see what the future holds,” I muttered, watching as he made his way over to her.

Such a bastard.

I can’t help but think about the upcoming reception. We’ll have to face the media and a host of foreign mafia leaders and business magnates.

I’m hesitant to take her along, but it’s necessary to solidify our standing in both the business and mafia worlds.
We must do this.

I would love to see her in a gown.
The thought of a gown brings back a memory—a memory of 16-year-old Jeet.

“Maa, this gown is stunning.” I gazed up at my grandmother’s large painting.

“It is. It was a gift from the Spanish Royal family when they visited India in 1980. Your grandmother did a photoshoot wearing it because, as you know, she always loved trying new things. The gown was crafted by 18 artisans, made from the finest real silk,” my mom explained.

“Maa, we should keep this gown. When I get married, I’ll give it to my wife,” I said, hopeful.

“Abhi, your grandmother already gifted it to Abhimaan’s parents, as she wanted it to go to her favorite grandchild,” she responded, her expression apologetic.

“It’s alright. I’ll have a special one made for my wife then. This gown was gifted by others, but mine will wear something made especially for her. Just for her,” I said optimistically, smiling at my mother as she caressed my head with a broad smile.

Flashback ends.

The boy I used to always try to create joy and comfort for my loved ones. But now, I’m a man who can only offer pain and sadness.

My thoughts were interrupted when Abhimaan approached. “We’re leaving tonight. I’ve put my friend Sidharth in charge of the company, but something urgent has come up, so he called me. We need to go.”

I nodded in understanding.

“Let’s have dinner. Everything is arranged,” he added, looking at me.

We’re both in pain. His stems from love’s betrayal, but my life is nothing but pain itself.

I glanced around and noticed Kritika had already settled in.

I took the seat beside her. Her scent invaded my senses. Control yourself, Abhijeet. She’s getting under everyone’s skin.

He sat beside me, and I noticed a woman, probably in her 50s, joined us with a young girl. They sat in front of me and gave me a condescending look, making me look down.

But then Abhinav whispered, "She is my maasi and her daughter. Whatever she says, just ignore it."

I glanced at him, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile.

We started eating, and then his maasi spoke, "We had hoped that some royal blood would come into the family. But here, we don’t even know whose blood she carries."

I felt humiliated beyond measure. I despised my family for never telling me my surname as if it made a difference in the world.

To my surprise, no one spoke up; instead, they ignored her nonsense.
Kanak Kakisa then asked if I wanted more food, which I declined with gratitude.
I have always eaten the bare minimum since childhood. I continued eating silently when I heard a bold voice.
I turned to see maasi’s daughter addressing me.

“So, Rani Sa, how much have you studied?”

“I completed my Bachelor of Arts from MP University,” I replied.

She added, “Didn’t you pursue further studies? No post-graduation or any course?”

I shook my head.

“You must be lucky to have married into such a family. Otherwise, it must’ve been hard living without a proper income.”

I knew exactly what she was insinuating.

Taking a deep breath, I replied, “I do work. I was a manager at the Royal Orphanage. Now, I serve as its head. I’m happy to fulfill my dream of running an orphanage and providing the children with the best life possible. Not everyone works for money; some work for love and care.”
I smiled as I finished.

Agastya and Abhinav spoke together, “Great Bhabhisa. Masterstroke,” while grinning.

Their faces fell, but my eyes were drawn to Abhijeet, who had stopped eating and was staring at me.

They seemed determined to humiliate me, and this time maasi said, “In our time, we would check caste, surname, and everything. I can’t believe, Devika, that you allowed your son to marry her just because he loves her. Who knows where she hails from? You know many single women leave their children at orphanages because they can’t give them a father’s name.”

I clenched my saree in my fist. It reminded me of them.

"Let’s take her to a brothel. They’ll pay a nice amount for her."

But then I heard a sharp voice. Abhijeet was glaring at them. “Enough. For the last 10 minutes, I’ve been listening to your mother-daughter nonsense, and no one here is interested. In love, neither surname, caste, nor bloodline matters. To become a Queen, one needs compassion, kindness, and humility, which she possesses more than anyone here. And I won’t tolerate a single word against my wife. Keep that in mind. Now, apologize to her, both of you.”

He was the first person to stand up for me in my life. I kept looking at him. Even if this was an act, it was still satisfying. I fought back my tears, knowing I’d been warned not to look sad or weak.

But my trance broke when maasi exclaimed, “Why should we apologize? I’m older than her. Do you want me to apologize to this little girl?”

He groaned, standing up from his seat.

“Then get lost from here, right now, with your daughter. I never disrespect women, but when it comes to my woman, I don’t care who he or she is. Leave now before I ask my men to throw you out with respect.”

The two women stood up and looked at Mom. Maasi turned to her and said, “This girl will be the end of your family, Devika. Abhagan.”

They left, but her last word stung.

Abhagan.

It was the word used against me many years ago.

Why is this marriage bringing my past back? The era of my panic attacks and anxiety is starting again. I clutched my chest, unable to see the people around me. My breathing became heavy. The sounds began to resonate in my head again:

Abhagan ladki, jabse aayi hai sab barbaad ho gaya.
Manhoos.
Panoti.
Ashubh.

Everything started turning black.

But then, I saw him, my childhood comfort.

He ran towards me and hugged me to his chest. My nerves calmed in his embrace. The peace I felt—I snuggled closer. My serenity. My home.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling, covered with curtains. I adjusted my gaze and sat up on the bed. I looked around and saw the white curtains surrounding it.

How did I end up here?

We were at the reception. I clutched my head. Why can’t I remember anything? Did I say something? Did I reveal anything? What must they think of me? They told me not to be vulnerable. They’ll hate me. I felt like crying.

But then, the door opened, and I saw him enter the room in a black shirt and pants. He headed straight to the bathroom, ignoring my presence.

I didn’t realize how long I sat there in sadness until he emerged wearing a white t-shirt and grey track pants.

“What will it take for you to change your clothes, Miss?” he asked, his gaze fixed on me.

I looked at him through the curtains and realized I was still in my saree. Nodding, I stepped out of the bed.

Who even likes curtains around their bed ? I thought.

I entered the wardrobe, which was enormous. I hadn’t noticed it in the morning. One entire shelf was dedicated to his watches and shoes. His clothes were only in white and dark colors. I despise dark colors, even though my life is painted in them.

But then, I noticed the other side and saw my clothes neatly arranged. There was everything—kurta sets, sarees, and western outfits.

And then my eyes landed on the last shelf, where I saw several nighties hanging. Eww, who even wears those? I thought.

I grabbed a pink t-shirt and pajama and rushed to the bathroom, which was attached to the wardrobe.

The bathroom was divided into three parts. I looked at the first one and saw a large pool. To be honest, I’m terrified of water.

I backed away.

Then, I looked at the bathtub. It’s not even something I can feel comfortable in. I’m afraid of rain and gathered water. My breathing quickened, and I glanced at the shower area.

I quickly went there and took a shower.

How could she speak ill about someone close to me? Anger surged within me, and I said more than I should have.

They left, but my gaze remained on Kritika. She was breathing heavily, clutching her chest. I felt an inexplicable urge to embrace her.

I dropped to my knees, ignoring everyone else, and cupped her face as she slowly sank onto my lap. She was having a panic attack.

“Abhinav, get some water,” I ordered. He nodded.

She snuggled into my chest, murmuring something incoherent. I held her tightly in my arms.

“Shh, calm down, Kritika.” She shook her head.

I took the glass of water to make her drink, but she swatted it away, causing it to shatter on the floor.

She was clutching my nape tightly, her eyes squeezed shut.

I looked at everyone and declared, “I’m taking her.”

Everyone nodded. I lifted her effortlessly. She felt weightless. I’ve noticed how little she eats.

I carried her to my room and placed her on my bed. How peaceful she looked now. Unconsciously, I tucked her baby hair gently. I want to know who the people from her past are and what she’s hiding from us. I know there’s more to her story.

I left her alone and headed to the living hall, where everyone was gathered as Abhimaan and his family prepared to leave for Mumbai.

I nodded at his parents, who blessed me.

Then Abhimaan hugged me and said, “Take care of my little sister.”

I nodded.

Agastya came over, grinning mischievously. “Use my gift soon,” he teased and winked. This bastard.

They left, and I turned to look at Mom. Her eyes were moist.

She whispered, “I remember the day they left the palace like this—20 years ago.”

I wanted to comfort her, but the man I’ve become now doesn’t allow me to express such emotions.

Taking a deep breath, I returned to my room.

When I arrived, she was already awake, looking around like a lost child.

After my shower, I found him sitting on the bed, working on his laptop.

Where will I sleep?

I glanced at the couch. It would fit me perfectly. I took a pillow from the bed. He didn’t look up once.

I lay down on the couch in front of the bed.

He stood up and said, “Chose a better place. I thought the balcony would suit you better, wouldn’t it?”

Why does he always hurt me with his words?

I stared at him, keeping my face devoid of any expression. He casually pulled off his white t-shirt and tossed it onto the bed.

He had perfectly sculpted abs. I couldn’t help but admire his broad shoulders, messy hair, and well-built physique. Even the prominent movement of his Adam’s apple caught my eye, making me swallow hard. Denying that he is attractive would be a blatant lie. He’s the most handsome in his family—perhaps even in the entire world.
Yet, the scruffy stubble along his jaw makes him look a bit older, as if he were in his thirties. Who would believe this man is only twenty-six? And his pierced ear gives him a royal look.

He suddenly interrupted my thoughts, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Was it a nice view?”

My gaze darted up to meet his, and I inwardly cursed myself. Damn it, Kritika! You shouldn’t have ogled him.

Before he could comment further, I spun around and covered my face with the quilt, praying for invisibility.

After a few minutes, curiosity got the better of me. I peeked out, glancing at his side of the bed. He was already lying down, his figure partially obscured by the curtains he had drawn around the bed. I frowned, feeling an inexplicable irritation. I hate these curtains separating us.

I let out a quiet sigh and pressed my palm against my forehead. What the hell are you doing, Kritika? You need to get a grip.

If I truly want to start afresh, I have to let go of my past.

But Abhijeet’s words from earlier kept echoing in my head—the way he declared I was nothing but his responsibility and burden.

My rational mind urged me to despise him as much as possible, yet my heart was being inexplicably drawn to him.

His presence, his warmth—it felt familiar, almost as if I had experienced it before.

No. It can’t be.

He’s not my Jeet.

He can never be.