# 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬
Aayansh Agniwanshi a king of jaipur and CEO of Agniwanshi CO. Lit. A mafia king with ruthless, grumpy, cold.
'Love is a trap. When it appears, we see only its light, not its shadows.' A...
Guy's seriously you make me emotional I read each one comment and I'm thankful that you guy's are so sweet and seriously my intension was not to make you guy's guilty I'm just saying my side part and if you think I'm making you guilty so I'm so sorry for that.
Aur bus me itna kehna chahungi ki jitna aapne comment book band na karne me kiya hai agar aap uska thoda percent bhi aaj wala chapter me kar doge toh mujhe khushi hogi baaki aapki marzi
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Few Days Later
Ishanvi had not spoken a single word to Aayansh.
Not a glance, not an acknowledgment-nothing.
She moved around the palace like he didn't exist.
And it was driving him insane.
At first, he thought it was just her usual anger-she would explode, throw some taunts, and eventually cool down. But no. This time, she was truly furious.
She ignored him during breakfast, walked past him in the hallways, and even when they were in the same room, she acted as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture.
It was worse than their fights.
Fights meant she still cared.
But this? This silence was killing him.
He had tried everything-standing in her way, casually brushing against her shoulder, even purposely dropping things near her just so she'd look at him.
Nothing worked.
And to make things worse-Avni was everywhere.
She tried her best to cling to him, always finding some excuse to stand beside him, talk to him, or touch his arm.
But he didn't even spare her a glance.
His entire focus was on his wife-the woman who refused to look at him.
The only two people who noticed the tension between them were Ahaan and Ayesha.
Ahaan's sharp eyes followed Ishanvi's every move, watching how she avoided Aayansh at every turn. Ayesha, on the other hand, kept giving Aayansh amused looks, clearly enjoying his misery.
And today was Holika Dahan.
The entire palace was glowing with warm golden lights, diyas lining the corridors, marigold garlands hanging from every corner. The scent of sandalwood, incense, and fresh flowers filled the air.
Ishanvi stepped out of her room, draped in a stunning traditional ensemble.
She wore a deep maroon lehenga, embroidered with intricate golden threadwork, making her look every bit the queen she was supposed to be. The blouse had a modest round neckline, but the fitted sleeves hugged her arms gracefully. A sheer golden dupatta rested lightly over her shoulders, a symbol of elegance and tradition.
