Vedarth Singh Yaduvanshi x Manyata Shah
Royal Mafia x Physics professor
Yaduvanshi Family the most powerful family in the world , the family in which all are men . Yaduvanshi's rule the business world as well as the underworld and the backbone of t...
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A man sat alone in a lavish restaurant, an exclusive haven meant solely for him, his impatience palpable as he awaited a visitor. He glanced at his opulent, custom-made watch for the second time, its intricate design gleaming under the soft lighting, perfectly affixed to his wrist.
Suddenly, the restaurant doors swung open, and he turned to see a woman enter, breathless and flustered. His keen eyes took in her every move, his piercing grey gaze dissecting her essence as if searching for hidden truths.
“I’m so sorry for the delay,” she stammered, settling into the chair across from him.
“I abhor tardiness,” he declared, his voice a chilling blend of authority and menace. The woman flinched at his tone, an involuntary shiver traversing her spine.
“I truly apologize,” she muttered, her gaze dropping as she nervously fidgeted with her ring, seeking comfort in its familiar shape.
“Are you being compelled into this marriage?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, unwilling to waste precious moments on pleasantries.
She met his penetrating eyes, taken aback by the abruptness of his inquiry. A lump formed in her throat as she grappled with her thoughts, the truth hovering just out of reach. Unable to speak, she simply shook her head in denial.
“When I ask you something, I expect a verbal response,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“Okay,” she whispered, breaking eye contact, unable to bear the intensity of his grey stare.
“Post-marriage, you will have everything you desire, but do not expect me to adhere to any traditional husband duties. Likewise, I do not anticipate any wife responsibilities from you. You’re free to live as you wish.”
With that, he rose from the table, making his way toward the exit. Pausing, he glanced back at her; she was already looking up at him, her expression a mix of fear and resignation.
“Don’t do anything foolish that could tarnish my reputation or that of my family. If you do, I will ruin you and your family in ways you can't even imagine,” he threatened, his voice dripping with menace. Goosebumps rippled across her skin, and she nodded in silent agreement, unable to meet his gaze.
He rolled his eyes at her submissiveness, then stormed out, donning his shades, which bore his initial etched into the side. As he strode past, every staff member bowed, recognizing the weight of his presence.
In stark contrast, tears streamed down the woman’s face as she sat amidst the restaurant's staff, who regarded her with looks of pity. She wiped her tears and offered them a fragile smile as she walked out into the world beyond.
Before the imposing Yaduvanshi Mansion, ten cars were neatly aligned, a powerful display of wealth. A guard swiftly opened the door of the middle vehicle, from which Vedarth emerged, adjusting his tailored blazer. Without sparing a glance at the guards, he entered the mansion, his footsteps echoing ominously.
“What in the world is going on here?” his deep, resonant voice reverberated throughout the halls. Fear swept through the guards and maids, who braced themselves for his wrath.
Two men, caught in a brawl, halted at the sound of their elder brother's voice. The younger wiped blood from his lips, glaring at the other before lowering his gaze.
“He was pushing my buttons,” the eldest replied, his voice defensive.
“Next time, handle your disputes before I return, or I swear I’ll shoot you both,” Vedarth warned, his tone leaving no room for disobedience as he made his way to his room, massaging his temples in frustration.
“Keep your nose out of my affairs,” Saransh shot back at Abhay, his younger brother.
“Your behavior was unacceptable,” Abhay retorted, his voice rising.
“Know your place, little brother,” Saransh warned, gripping Abhay’s neck, his hold tightening.
Abhay retaliated with a punch to Saransh's face, causing him to release his grip. “Bastard,” Abhay muttered, storming out of the mansion, leaving Saransh seething with anger. In a fit of rage, he smashed a priceless sculpture against the ground, its fragments scattering across the floor.
Just then, his phone buzzed, displaying the name ‘Abhiman.’ He answered, placing the device to his ear, waiting for the voice on the other end.
“That bastard’s in our basement. Should we call bhai?” Abhiman asked.
“No, he’s tied up with other matters,” Saransh replied, his smirk growing as he envisioned the punishment awaiting their captive.
“Alright, you come over,” Abhiman urged, an eager glint in his eye, reveling in the prospect of teaching the man a lesson.
Saransh humored him with a low hum before ending the call, striding out with a sinister smile.
Meanwhile, in Paris, a man sat sketching on his apartment balcony, the Eiffel Tower rising majestically in the background. Suddenly, two small arms wrapped around his own, eliciting a warmth in his heart as he recognized the familiar embrace.
He set his pencil aside, turning to face the little girl with tears brimming in her eyes. “What’s wrong, my love?” he asked gently, lifting her into his arms.
“I can’t find my favorite cookie,” she whimpered, her lips quivering as though ready to burst into tears.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Papa will get you a new one,” he reassured her, his heart swelling at her innocent hope.
“Promise, Papa?” she implored, extending her pinky finger, and he wrapped his around hers, murmuring, “Promise, love.”
“Yay!” she erupted in joyful laughter, clapping her hands in delight as he pulled her close, kissing her forehead tenderly.
“I hope my family accepts you just as I have,” he mused, contemplating the future that awaited them. He was none other than Eshaan Singh Yaduvanshi, the second eldest son of the powerful Yaduvanshi family.
An artist by profession, Eshaan had come to Paris at just seventeen to pursue his creative dreams. Despite his passion for art, he had undergone the same rigorous training as his brothers; the difference lay in their chosen mediums—his was color, while theirs was blood.
(✯ᴗ✯)
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