The Veiled Hearts

🌹A world of Luxury🔪

I sit in my room, the stiff fabric of my bodyguard uniform weighing me down, holding all the letters in my trembling hands. They feel heavier than they should-the ones from the Singhania and the cryptic ones from the unknown person who calls themselves 'Echo.' It's been days since the last letter from Echo, and the silence gnaws at me. What am I waiting for? Am I being led down a path that will only end in more blood?

My mind drifts back to this morning. The memory refuses to fade, burned into my mind like a brand. It wasn't the sight of the dead body that shook me. Death in this place is almost routine. But his reaction-the way Yash tore into the corpse with such violence, is such fury. The sound of bones snapping, the lifeless face mutilated beyond recognition. I couldn't look away, but it wasn't fear that rooted me to the spot. It was the realization of what he's capable of. What will he do if I make a mistake?

And now, more than three days without a word from Echo. I can't help but wonder if this was the plan all along. To use me like a pawn, a puppet, to stir chaos. More bloodshed, more bodies, and I'm right in the middle of it all, hands stained but never knowing why. Am I just another player in their twisted game where they are using my emotions for my unfounded brother as my vulnerability?

A sharp knock pulls me from my thoughts. My heart jumps, and I quickly shove the letters under my pillow, burying the secrets and confusion along with them. I force myself to move, to open the door, where one of the bodyguards stands, impatience etched on his face.

"Vansh, let's go. We need to be there before the guests arrive," he says, voice clipped and professional.

I nod, trying to buy time by gesturing. "Just give me five minutes-"

But he's already shaking his head. "No, we need to go now. Orders from Savitriji." He reaches out, pulling me by the arm, leaving no room for argument.

As I step out, my mind is still in that room. The letters, the door left unlocked, the whispers of doubt and danger trapped beneath a pillow. I can't shake the feeling that the noose is tightening, and I'm running out of time.

I step closer to the mansion, the brilliant lights strung across the estate pierce my eyes, making the entire place glow like a beacon. Every inch of the mansion is illuminated, not a single space left untouched by the extravagance. I watch as luxury cars pull up, guests stepping out with bouquets in hand, and I still have no idea what this grand celebration is even for. I nudge the bodyguard beside me, but he seems just as clueless.

Inside, the scene is breathtaking-yet unsettling. A massive chandelier bathes the grand hall in golden light, and the room is adorned with flowers, elegant vases, and silk curtains that shimmer under the glow. It's all so perfectly orchestrated, a display of elegance and power, but it feels almost unnatural, as though beauty itself has been weaponized. The sheer scale of it leaves me uneasy.

What gnaws at me most is the thought that those who decorated this grand spectacle, who arranged every petal and draped every curtain, will never step foot into the party. They're likely paid the bare minimum and sent away, unseen and forgotten, while the wealthy bask in the luxury they created. It makes the entire scene feel hollow, a beautiful mask covering the ugly truth beneath it all.

The moment I approached the entrance, the senior bodyguard intercepted me. His face was stern as he delivered his orders, "You're assigned to stay near the buffet area and ensure the guests' safety from there. It's an order from the CEO. He also mentioned that you protected him during this morning's attack. Frankly, I doubt someone with your physique could protect Yash sir, but if he said it, who am I to argue?"

I clenched my jaw, swallowing the rising tide of frustration. His words kept stinging, each one a reminder of how little they saw me-how Yash and the others seemed to think of me as weak. Sure, I wasn't the tallest or the strongest, but that didn't mean I was incapable. Yash may have stepped in and protected me during the chaos, but he wasn't the only one fighting. I took down half of those attackers in the storage room myself. And yet, here I was, relegated to the buffet, like an afterthought.

Instead of causing a scene, I nodded and walked away. There was no point in arguing, not now. As I neared the buffet area, the aromas of delicacies from around the world filled the air. My eyes scanned over the spread until I reached the section dedicated to Indian cuisine. My breath caught when I saw the dishes from Uttar Pradesh, tucked into the far corner of the table.

A surge of happiness bubbled up inside me-the Banaras girl in me almost leaped out. The nostalgia of home hit me hard, but I quickly composed myself. I couldn't let these emotions show, not here, not now.

As I stood by the U.P. counter, a soft voice called out, "Vansh, that's your name, right?"

I turned to find Yash's mother, Anita aunty, walking toward me. There was always something gentle about her, something that set her apart from the rest of the Singhania's. Her voice was warm, filled with genuine kindness, no matter who she spoke to. She approached with that same familiar grace, and I straightened my posture, holding my position firm, bracing myself for whatever was to come.

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