𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 (𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐞𝐬

Author's POV

Rathore Mansion

Everyone was settled at the breakfast table, with Ansh and Anika bickering as usual. Their light-hearted banter, however, came to an abrupt end when Ranvijay Singh Rathore entered, exuding his usual stern demeanor. Known for his unreadable expressions, Ranvijay nodded a quick greeting to the couple before quietly beginning his breakfast.

Once the meal was over, Shiv Rathore cleared his throat to gain everyone's attention. "Ranvijay, I have something important to discuss with you," he began.

"Yes, Dadu-sa, please go ahead," Ranvijay replied, turning his full attention to him.

Shiv leaned forward, his voice firm yet warm. "Ranvijay, the time has come for you to take over the throne and let Rudra retire."

Ranvijay gave a silent nod, waiting for him to continue.

"But you know the tradition," Shiv added. "You must be married before you can ascend as king."

Ranvijay's jaw tightened at the mention of marriage. He had made his stance on the subject clear before. "But, Dadu sa, you know I don't want to get married."

Just then his mother Mahima joined in her tone firm. "Ranvijay, it's decided. You're already 28, and we've even found a suitable match for you. There's no room for a 'no' this time."

Ranvijay clenched his fists, but the next second the face of the girl he'd unexpectedly bumped into a few days prior flashed in front of his eyes.

"Maa-sa, but..." he began, only to be cut off by his mother's determined voice.

"No more arguments. By this evening, we'll send you her biodata and photo. We expect an answer by tomorrow so we can speak to her brother" Mahima said, leaving no room for further discussion. She left, and Ranvijay groaned inwardly.

Though he was known for his ruthlessness, he never opposed his family especially his mother. He glanced around, noticing his siblings snickering at his predicament. One sharp glare from him, however, was enough to make them quiet.

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Shekhawat Mansion

Anvi's POV

I was in the middle of reading my favorite steamy novel when my phone suddenly rang. I glanced at the screen it was my brother.

"Do you not have work at the office today, bhai, that you're calling me at this hour?" I teased, answering the call.

"Plenty of work," he replied, "but right now, I want you to bring over that pasta you made an hour ago."

I froze, surprised. "How did you know I made pasta?"

"I saw it through the security camera," he chuckled. "And before you ask, you said it out loud too."

"Were you spying on me, Mr. Shekhawat?" I shot back, pretending to be annoyed.

"I wasn't spying. I just happened to check in," he stammered, trying to sound innocent.

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Mr. Shekhawat," I teased, rolling my eyes.

"Now, can you please bring me some pasta? I'm starving here," he pleaded.

"Nope, I'm busy," I replied, leaning back smugly.

"Busy with what? Reading one of those 'stupid fictional men' books of yours?" he retorted, knowing how to push my buttons.

How dare you call my books and fictional men stupid! They're a million times better than you!" I huffed, genuinely offended.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he said, laughing. "Your books are great, and your fictional men are the best."

"Better," I replied, mollified.

"Now, please bring the pasta?" he asked again, softening his voice.

"Fine, I'll bring it over," I sighed, giving in. After all, I could never stay mad at him.

Hanging up, I headed downstairs, reheated the extra pasta I had, changed into something more presentable, and left for his office with our driver, Ramesh uncle.

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After a short drive, the car pulled up outside Shekhawat Corporation. "Anvi baby, we're here.  Call me when you're ready to go back," Ramesh uncle said, smiling.

"Thank you, uncle," I replied, stepping out and looking up at the towering building with "SHEKHAWAT CORPORATION" boldly emblazoned on the top.

It had been years since I'd last visited. Before moving to London, I used to come here all the time, especially with my grandfather or my brother. The office had always felt like a second home back then, and the staff would shower me with affection.

I shook off my nostalgia and walked inside, heading straight for the private elevator to my brother's floor. His personal assistant, Maria Aunty, who had been with the company for over 35 years and was like family, wasn't at her desk today.

Puzzled but not wanting to wait, I continued to his office. Checking my phone, I saw a message from a friend and replied quickly while pushing open the office door. "Mr. Saddu, here's your lunch..." I trailed off, my voice catching when I finally looked up.

Seated with my brother were two men. One of them made my heart skip a beat cause...

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Miss Sharma ❤️