His Enigmatic bride

(Chapter - 47)

On the Other Side…

In a luxurious white bedroom, a strikingly handsome young man lay shirtless on his stomach, his face serene in slumber.

His eyes remained closed, yet a faint smile played on his well-defined lips, as if he were lost in a beautiful dream.

The tranquility of the room was interrupted as the door creaked open, and a third person stepped inside.

Pausing at the sight of the sleeping figure, the newcomer let out a weary sigh before speaking.

“Pratham, how much longer do you intend to sleep? Do you have any idea what’s happening in the Arya family? Do you even know what Maya is going through?”

At the sound of his voice, the corners of Pratham’s lips twitched, his smile deepening ever so slightly.

With a quiet, almost amused tone, he repeated the last words, “What Maya is going through…”

His voice was soft, yet the underlying sarcasm was impossible to miss.

A heavy silence lingered for a moment before Pratham stretched his toned body and rose from the bed.

As he stood, the morning sunlight spilled through the windows, casting a golden glow over his sculpted physique.

Towering at 6 feet 4 inches, Pratham was the embodiment of raw masculinity—his chiseled features sharp and captivating, his presence effortlessly commanding. His physique, a masterpiece of strength and symmetry, exuded both power and grace.

Though only twenty-four, his aura was nothing short of extraordinary—a perfect balance of electrifying intensity and unshakable calm. His perfectly sculpted V-shaped torso and eight-pack abs were enough to make any woman weak in the knees.

Reaching for a cigar, he placed it between his lips and lit it with practiced ease.

Taking a slow, deliberate drag, he exhaled a swirl of smoke into the air before turning to the man before him. A smirk curved his lips as he spoke.

“Maya doesn’t suffer through circumstances, Neeraj. My Maya bends them to her will.”

A flicker of tension passed over Neeraj’s face. Though he was of the same age as Pratham, their lives had been vastly different—yet intertwined since childhood.

Neeraj had grown up an orphan. It was Pratham who had lifted him from the depths of hardship, shaping him into the successful businessman he was today. If Neeraj had made a name for himself in London, it was because of Pratham.

A year ago, when Pratham had been on the brink of death, it was Neeraj who had saved him. And at Pratham’s request, he had kept his survival a secret from both Maya and the Arya family.

Now, with clear frustration, Neeraj sat on the edge of the bed and said gravely, “Pratham, this time, the odds are not in Maya’s favor. Vidyut Singhania knows everything. He has taken your son away from her. That man is dangerous—unhinged. And Maya’s greatest vulnerability is your son. Vidyut has taken precisely that from her.”

The air in the room shifted. Pratham’s gaze darkened.

Taking another long drag from his cigar, he exhaled slowly before speaking in a voice laced with chilling calm.

“How did this happen? How did Vidyut Singhania learn about Ayaan?”

Neeraj inhaled sharply before recounting every detail—how Maya had ended up in Vidyut’s grasp, the storm that had torn through the Arya family, and the events that had unfolded since.