𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞
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Where passion simmers beneath a veil of ambition, Rajasthan simmers under the Malhotra dynasty.
This Malhotra clan isn't just wealthy, they're woven into the state's fabr...
The grand hall of the palace shimmered under the soft glow of a thousand flickering diyas. Intricate gold filigree outlined the high arches, casting dancing patterns on the pristine marble floor. A mesmerizing fragrance filled the air, a symphony of scents emanating from the breathtaking floral arrangements that adorned the space.
Billowing cascades of crimson roses, cascading down ornately carved pillars, intertwined with the purity of white lilies. In the center of the hall, a low marble table overflowed with lotus blossoms, their delicate pink petals cradled by lush green leaves. Strings of twinkling fairy lights, woven like celestial threads around the archways and along the frescoed ceiling, bathed the scene in a warm, ethereal glow.
The celebration was a microcosm of the world itself. Dignitaries from the political arena, their crisp suits a stark contrast to the vibrant traditional attire worn by the Rajasthani nobility, mingled with international guests, their languages and laughter creating a delightful cacophony.
But beneath the surface glamour, whispers flowed like the hidden currents of a river. Mafia kingpins, their faces etched with a mixture of respect and wary curiosity, exchanged curt greetings. This was a day of celebration for Rudra Abhimaan Malhotra, the one-year-old son of the King, Abhimaan Malhotra, and heir to a legacy as multifaceted as the guests themselves. Rudra, the precious nephew of both the esteemed, Abhimanyu Malhotra , Chief Minister of Rajasthan and the notorious Abhiveer Malhotra, the unseen ruler of the underworld, held the weight of a dynasty in his tiny, grasping hands. _____________________________
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As I descended the stairs, my gaze fell upon the hall brimming with people. My body froze, turning to stone at the sight of the crowd. Insecurity gnawed at me; I loathed being engulfed by so many faces. Nervousness threatened to make me clumsy, and Maan's warning echoed in my mind, amplifying my fear.
In my arms, Rudra was a stark contrast to my trepidation. He observed the throng with sparkling eyes, his one-year-old gaze devoid of fear, brimming with curiosity. His giggles were a balm to my frayed nerves. As my eyes scanned the hall, they halted at the sight of Him. It was as if he had sensed my presence, for he turned and our eyes locked. His pupils dilated briefly before his expression settled into its usual stern facade. Clad in a black suit that accentuated his muscular physique, there was no denying his striking appearance.
"Deep breaths," I whispered to myself, trying to mirror Rudra's innocent courage. "I can do this."
I shivered under his gaze. At that moment, Rudra placed his hands on my face and gently turned it towards his. "Like father, like son," I thought, as they both shared the same endearing traits. Rudra pouted and uttered, "Papa," when our eyes met. I couldn't help but smile at his adorable behavior. His love for his father was a mirror of the unconditional love he received in return.
