𝗣𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗢𝘃𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱

Chapter 3

The morning of the reception arrived with a certain stillness that clung to the air, an unspoken tension weaving through the Dutt mansion. Outside, the rising sun cast a soft golden hue over the sprawling estate, but inside, the quiet was interrupted by the rhythmic clinking of china, the hurried footsteps of servants, and the low murmurs of preparation. The mansion had an air of grandeur, but today, it buzzed with a sharp undercurrent of anticipation. Every detail had been accounted for under Rajan Dutt's watchful eye, and nothing would be left to chance.

Rajan Dutt, the patriarch, was already awake and commanding the household with his usual unyielding authority. His cane, which was both a symbol of his dominance and a tool of discipline, tapped methodically as he walked through the halls. Clad in an impeccable white kurta embroidered with gold, he radiated an aura of absolute control, his cold eyes surveying the surroundings with practiced precision. Today’s event was not just a celebration; it was a statement—of power, of prestige, and of the iron grip his family held over the underworld.

In a quieter part of the mansion, Samriddhi was being fussed over by the women of the family, who were dressing her for the morning festivities. She sat still, her heart racing, as her new aunts and cousins flitted around her like bees, adjusting her saree, placing jewelry upon her, and offering half-hearted reassurances that did little to quell her nerves. The mustard-colored saree, intricately woven with gold thread, shimmered under the dim light, though Samriddhi barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, trying to process the weight of her new life.

“Oh, look at her!” one of the aunts said with a wide smile, her eyes gleaming with approval as she adjusted the pallu of Samriddhi’s saree. “So poised, so graceful. You’re a true Dutt bahu now.”

“She fits in perfectly,” another chimed in, pressing a delicate gold bangle into Samriddhi’s hand. “We couldn’t have asked for a better match for Ishaant.”

Samriddhi forced a smile, her lips curving gently as she murmured a polite thank you. Their words were meant to comfort her, to make her feel accepted into the family fold, but to Samriddhi, they only served to highlight the hollow reality she now faced. *A true Dutt bahu.* The title felt foreign, an ill-fitting garment that she hadn’t quite learned how to wear yet. 

The women continued to chatter, adjusting her saree and offering her tips on how to navigate life as Ishaant’s wife, but Samriddhi’s mind wandered. It had been hours since she’d last seen Ishaant. The night before, after their painfully quiet conversation, he had disappeared into the shadows of the mansion, leaving her with nothing but his absence and an unsettling silence. This morning, he was nowhere to be found, and it gnawed at her.

“Where is Ishaant?” she asked softly, glancing toward the doorway as if he might suddenly appear.

One of the aunts waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, he’s with his father and grandfather, dear. You know how men are, always talking business. They’re planning for tonight.”

Samriddhi nodded, forcing herself to relax. Business. The word carried so much weight in this family, veiling all sorts of dealings in the mafia world. Even today, on the day of the grand reception, the undercurrents of their world ran strong and deep. 

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As the day gave way to evening, the mansion was transformed. The soft, natural light of morning had been replaced by the warm glow of golden chandeliers, casting the vast halls in a rich, opulent light. Everything gleamed—the polished floors, the ornate decorations, the guests themselves, draped in luxurious silks and glittering jewels. It was a spectacle, but beneath the surface of elegance lay the shadowy undertones of power and influence.