𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝟒

The air was thick with tension, a palpable force that seemed to weigh down the very atmosphere of the opulent office. Sharthak, my secretary, stood before me, his average height complemented by a well-built frame and a face that often made people take a second glance. His presence was usually a comfort, a reliable constant in the ever-shifting tides of business. But today, his voice carried an edge of urgency that belied his composed appearance.
"Sarthak, I want all the other reports and inform Veer and Manyu that I want to meet them," I commanded, my tone brooking no argument, the words slicing through the silence like a blade. He nodded, a silent acknowledgment, his posture straight as an arrow, the epitome of efficiency.
He was almost at the door when he paused, a slight hesitation in his step that caught my attention. "Sorry sir, I forgot, but this morning I got a call from some of the builders. Their construction work was stopped due to the election, so they are asking whether to start the work or not. They are having huge losses," he reported, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the concern that lurked beneath.
Frustration simmered within me, a slow burn that threatened to erupt. "Where is Ekansh? I told him to oversee all these works that are stopped," I snapped, the irritation clear in my voice. Ekansh, always the maverick, had a habit of dancing to the beat of his own drum, much to my chagrin. If I reprimanded him, he'd run to Shraddha with complaints, like a child seeking solace after a scolding.
"Sir, he's in a meeting with the industrialists about the matter of investment," Sarthak informed me, his sigh betraying his own frustrations.
"Is something wrong?" I probed, my curiosity piqued by his sudden change in demeanor at the mention of Ekansh's name.
"Sir, don't say I complained, otherwise, he will shoot me," he replied, half-joking yet with a tinge of genuine fear. This boy, always caught between loyalty and self-preservation.
"What did he do this time?" I demanded, my voice a low growl of barely contained anger.
"Sir, he killed a Rajput," he confessed, and the words hit me like a thunderbolt, leaving me reeling in shock.
"What? When?" I pressed, my mind racing with the implications.
"Yesterday night," he answered, his voice a mere whisper.
"What happened, any action from them?" I asked, well aware that the Rajputs were not a group to take such matters lightly.
"No sir, not a single movement; everything is normal," he assured me, but the news did little to quell the storm of thoughts raging within me.
"Make security tight around the haveli and always follow Shraddha. Did you get it?" I ordered, my voice laced with a seriousness that left no room for doubt. "Ask Ekansh to report to me just as he is free from the meeting," I added, my mind already strategizing the next steps.
Sarthak nodded, a silent sentinel, before turning on his heel and disappearing through the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the weight of leadership heavy on my shoulders. The game of power was a dangerous one, and I was all too aware that every move could be a matter of life and death.

In the tense silence of the room, the unspoken thoughts hung heavy like a storm cloud ready to burst. The Rajputs' quiet was not of peace but of a brewing storm, a silent strategy woven with the threads of sacrifice and valor.
Ekansh, with his temper as short as a fuse, was the spark they needed. It was clear that provoking him was part of a larger ploy, a catalyst for conflict. His anger was not just a flame but a beacon, calling forth the wrath of those who lay in wait.
Despite his fiery nature, Ekansh's roots were tender, intertwined with Shraddha's as they grow up in same orphanage. They were family, not by blood but by bond. Shraddha, his sister in all but name, held him dearer than her own spirit. Her affection was his shield, her approval his quest. Shraddha adores him and he is so close to her heart that even if I will scold him ,he will tell her and she will not even look at me until I apologise not to him but her.
As the door creaked open, Ekansh's silhouette appeared, his hair tousled, eyes clouded with the remnants of sleep, and his head bowed in a rare moment of contrition. Perhaps he sensed the gravity of his actions, the ripples of discord he had unwittingly cast into the still waters of their lives. The Rajputs might not have been a looming threat before, but after Shraddha's unintended provocation, they were a clear and present danger.
The air was thick with the scent of impending conflict, and the soft shuffle of Ekansh's feet on the floor was like the ticking of a clock.
Ekansh's greeting was a mere whisper, uncharacteristic of his usual boisterous self. It was as if the dawn had swallowed his voice, leaving behind a quiet echo of the storm that raged within him.
I met his subdued tone with a sarcastic quip, "Morning, someone ate crow in the morning huh!!" But the jest fell flat, lost in the gravity of the situation. He stood silent, a statue of remorse, his usual fire replaced by the ash of reflection.
"Toh shayad aap ko pata hi hoga ki aap ne kya kiya hai(,You probably know what you did)" I pressed, my voice carrying the weight of seriousness. "Yeh mazak nahi hai, Ansh. Aap ko acche se pata hai ki vo aap ko nuksaan pahucha sakte the. Waise, kis ko mara hai aapne?"("This is not a joke, Ansh. You know very well that they could have harmed you. By the way, who did you kill?")
His eyes, those windows to his soul, lifted slightly, meeting mine in a fleeting moment of vulnerability before retreating once more. "Samar Rajput," he murmured, and I felt a mix of shock and a strange sense of relief wash over me.
"You killed that Fucker?" The words left my lips before I could weigh them, but it was his reaction that caught me off guard. His eyes, wide and searching, found mine again.
"You are not mad? Are you not going to kill me?" His voice was a blend of fear and hope, a cocktail of emotions that mirrored my own internal conflict.
"Have you gone nuts? Why would I kill you?" I responded, my tone softening. "You are my brother, Ansh, and not just in name. You are like Veer and Manyu to me. Don't talk nonsense next time. You are my brother, and I mean it."
He exhaled, a storm of words tumbling out. "Jiju, hame gussa aa gaya tha.(Brother-in-law, I was angry.) We both met at the base last night, not his, ours. I don't understand what he was doing there at our base. I caught him and ordered to take him to the basement. When I was done with work and went to check on him, he started speaking nonsense about Di, which... I can't tolerate. I would die but not let anyone say anything about my Di." His fists clenched, his jaw set, the battle within him as fierce as any he'd faced outside and his lips cursing in between.
I nodded, appreciating his concern. what Shraddha did was totally unexpected and the worst part she is not even telling me the truth , why she did so.All she say is to believe her but how can I. It hurts me to say her hurtful words because she is not telling the truth. It hurts when she cry , each and ever drop of her tears is a knife stabbed in my heart.It felt like a punch to the gut.And the worst part? It was my fault. My careless words, a moment of frustration. Am I pretending to hate ? Well I didn't know but if she is not telling the truth then let us be like this.
"Ansh, aap ghar jaiye aur rest kariye. Hum warning de rahe hain, bina guards ke aap bahar nahi jayenge. Did you get it?"("Ansh, you go home and rest. I am warning you, you will not go out without guards. Did you get it?" )I instructed him. He nodded, leaving promptly.
As he disappeared down the hallway, I reached for my phone and dialled Shraddha . The first ring went unanswered. The second, too. Fear gnawed at me. Was she outside the haveli? Was she in danger? I needed answers, and I needed them now. The weight of uncertainty settled heavily on my chest, and I dialed her number again and again but no answer.
Panic surged through me, a tidal wave of fear and desperation. She-the queen, the one person who could make a king like me tremble-held my heart in her hands, and she didn't even know it. I didn't want her to know, not yet, not when vulnerability felt like a luxury I couldn't afford.
I rose from the chair, my movements swift, driven by a sense of urgency that clawed at my insides. My fingers fumbled with the blazer, sliding it on. The phone , was secured in my pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the silence on the other end.
The car keys were cold and metallic in my grasp-a stark contrast to the warmth of her touch that I longed for. I stormed out, the haveli's ancient walls beckoning me, promising a sanctuary that seemed so distant now.If she was in danger, if some vile soul had dared to cast a shadow over her, I would unleash hell itself. My wrath would know no bounds; it would be fierce and unrelenting. I would burn the perpetrator alive, erase every trace of his existence from this earth. No stone would be left unturned until she was safe again, until I could see the light of assurance in her eyes.
"Shraddha Abhimaan Malhotra, hamare hai, unpe ek kharoch aur Rajput ka pura khandan narak mein pahucha denge hum"("Shraddha Abhiman Malhotra is mine , one scratch on her and I will send the entire Rajput family to hell")