Abeer Malhotra , a 6'2 male with bossy attitude and arrogance is the CEO of famous multimillionaire company Malhotra industries and corporations and King of Rajasthan .He is short tempered and egoistic manner sometimes even scares his beloved famil...
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A few blocks away from the grand Royal Palace stood the towering mansion of the Sharma family. From the outside, the house exuded an air of respectability—its pristine white façade, lush gardens, and stately gates a clear indication of wealth and power. But beneath that glossy exterior, the Sharma household hid secrets as dark and twisted as the lives of those who inhabited it.
At the head of this family was Virendra Sharma, a man whose charming smile masked a heart as cold as stone. Though he had risen to prominence as the chairman of Sharma Industries, his reputation was stained by whispers of heinous crimes—human trafficking, drug rackets, and illegal dealings that were conveniently buried by the influence of his powerful connections. To the outside world, he was a respected businessman, but behind closed doors, he was nothing short of a predator, willing to cross any line to maintain his power.
His wife, Vajaiyanti Sharma, was no less ruthless. Known for her cruel elegance, her every movement was a performance, designed to show the world a composed, poised woman—untouchable in her refinement. But beneath her poised facade lay the heart of a murderer, a woman who had coldly orchestrated the death of Virendra's first wife, Meenakshi, eliminating any obstacle in her path to power. With ice in her veins, Vajaiyanti ruled the household with an iron fist, ensuring everyone knew where their loyalty must lie.
Their daughter, Riya Sharma, was the perfect reflection of her parents—vain, entitled, and utterly devoid of compassion. Raised in the lap of luxury, Riya's world revolved around herself, and she knew only one goal: to marry into wealth. The thought of love or integrity never crossed her mind; her ambition was clear—to secure a wealthy husband and continue her life of privilege. She saw people as tools, things to be manipulated or discarded, depending on how they could serve her needs.
But among these thorns grew a rare rose—a flower untarnished by the mud surrounding it. Mehek, Virendra's daughter from his first wife, was the polar opposite of the family she was born into. A successful cardiologist by profession, Mehek had inherited the grace, humility, and kindness of her late mother, Meenakshi. Her heart, unlike her father's, was pure, and she had always strived to help others, living a life driven by compassion rather than greed. Where her family had chosen deceit and cruelty, Mehek had chosen healing and integrity. It was a choice that set her apart and often made her the target of her stepmother and stepsister's venomous words.
It was an ordinary morning at the Sharma mansion, the golden rays of the Rajasthani sun bathing the opulent halls in light. In the grand dining room, the crystal chandeliers glistened above as breakfast was served in elaborate silverware. Mehek, dressed in her usual crisp white salwar suit, was preparing to leave for the hospital where she worked tirelessly, saving lives. Her work was her sanctuary, the one place where she could escape the suffocating atmosphere of her family's home.
Just as she was about to step out of the door, her stepmother's voice cut through the air like a whip.
"Kaha jaa rahi hai?" Vajaiyanti's voice dripped with contempt, her cold eyes narrowing as she regarded Mehek with disdain. (Where do you think you're going?)
Mehek turned to face her stepmother, her heart sinking. It was the same routine every morning—taunts, insults, and veiled threats. Vajaiyanti never missed an opportunity to remind Mehek of her place in the family—a place far below her and her precious daughter, Riya.
"I'm heading to the hospital, Maa," Mehek replied, keeping her tone polite, even though she knew the conversation would lead to nothing but more mockery.
"Hmph," Vajaiyanti scoffed, looking her up and down. "You may be a doctor, but you'll always just be a servant in this house. Don't forget where you came from, Mehek. You're no queen, like me." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air with venomous precision.
Riya, lounging on a chaise nearby, flicked her perfectly manicured nails and chimed in, her voice sickly sweet but with an edge of malice. "Why do you even bother dressing up, Mehek? It's not like anyone at that hospital cares what you look like. You're not exactly parading yourself in front of eligible bachelors there, are you?"
Mehek clenched her fists at her sides but kept her expression neutral. She had learned long ago that reacting only gave them more fuel. Still, every insult stung. Riya, with her flawless beauty and luxurious lifestyle, had always made Mehek feel like an outsider in her own home.
Vajaiyanti raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "Riya's right. You're wasting your time on patients when you should be thinking about securing your future. Look at Riya. She knows her worth—how to find the right match, the right wealth. You're chasing after nonsense."
Mehek looked down, her jaw tightening. Her profession wasn't nonsense to her. It was her calling, her passion. Every life she saved mattered, but explaining that to people like her stepmother and stepsister was futile.
"I'll be late if I don't leave now," Mehek said quietly, trying to keep her voice steady, and made her way toward the door.
"Oh, of course. Run away like you always do," Vajaiyanti sneered, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. "But don't come crying to us when you realize you've wasted your youth on meaningless work. We won't be here to help you."
Mehek paused for a moment at the door, her hand gripping the handle, but she didn't respond. Instead, she opened the door and stepped out, leaving the oppressive atmosphere of the mansion behind.
Outside, the world felt different—lighter, freer. The busy streets of Rajasthan bustled with life, and Mehek took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. She pulled her dupatta closer around her shoulders and hailed an auto-rickshaw, her thoughts still swirling from the morning's encounter. It wasn't new, but it never got easier.
As the auto weaved through the crowded roads, Mehek's mind drifted back to her late mother. Meenakshi Sharma had been the complete opposite of Vajaiyanti—a woman full of warmth, love, and grace. Mehek had always admired her mother's strength, even in the face of Virendra's cruelty. Losing her had been the hardest moment of Mehek's life, but she had vowed to carry on her mother's legacy by helping others, no matter how difficult her own life became.
The hospital came into view, and as the rickshaw stopped, Mehek felt the familiar sense of purpose return. Here, at least, she could make a difference. Here, she wasn't just Virendra Sharma's daughter—she was Dr. Mehek Sharma, and she was proud of that.
Back at the Sharma mansion, however, things were far from peaceful. In the grand sitting room, Riya was lounging on the sofa, flipping through her phone. Vajaiyanti sat nearby, her eyes narrowed in thought.
"I don't like that girl," Vajaiyanti muttered, more to herself than to Riya. "She's too much like her mother. Too independent, too... pure. She doesn't belong here."
Riya rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Maa. Mehek is harmless. She's too busy playing saint at the hospital to care about what happens here. Let her be."
Vajaiyanti, however, was not convinced. She had dealt with Meenakshi before, and she had no intention of allowing Mehek to become a threat to her plans.
"Mark my words, Riya," Vajaiyanti said, her voice cold. "I will not let her ruin what we've built. Not now, not ever."
Riya, bored of the conversation, simply shrugged and returned to her phone. But Vajaiyanti's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, her mind already working on her next move.
The thorns in the Sharma household were sharp, but Mehek was determined to rise above them, no matter how much they tried to pull her down.
