His Enigmatic bride

(Chapter - 61)

Vidyut was not unaware of the storm brewing inside Varun, but he chose not to speak right away.

From the cigar case, he drew out a thick, charcoal-black cigar and set it between his teeth. Every movement of his carried an air of calm precision, exuding both calmness and class.

He lit it, leaned back in his chair, and without a word, began taking long, unhurried drags. His cold, emotionless eyes never left Varun.

For nearly half an hour, Vidyut sat in silence, smoking one cigar after another.

Under that relentless, impassive gaze, Varun felt an unbearable pressure creeping into his chest. His nerves tightened, his breaths grew shallow, and before long, his legs trembled on their own.

Vidyut’s eyes on him were not the eyes of a brother—they were the eyes of a judge. As if Varun were not a man at all, but merely a subject under trial.

He continued to draw deeply, the smoke curling around him, while his gaze remained unblinking, unyielding.

Those deep blue eyes were an ocean in motion—profound, infinite, and unfathomable, hiding countless mysteries within their depths.

With each passing second, Varun’s unease grew heavier. His once-handsome face dulled, shadows of anxiety settling over his features.

Vidyut’s gaze was like Yama’s, the Lord of Death, weighing sins and virtues at the final hour.

Under that piercing, magnifying stare, Varun’s mind betrayed him—every misdeed, every sin began resurfacing.

And then, the one sin above all came rushing back—the very reason why Vidyut was watching him with such merciless intensity.

Clenching his fists, Varun swallowed hard. Since childhood, just a single glance from Vidyut was enough to strip him bare, to lay every secret and sin exposed.

When he finally tried to open his mouth, he realized he could not—his lips felt sealed, as if glued shut.

An entire hour passed before Vidyut finally withdrew his gaze. By then, Varun’s face and body were drenched in cold sweat.

Crushing the last stub of his cigar into the ashtray, Vidyut looked back at him. His thin lips parted slightly, releasing a slow stream of smoke.

The air around him was veiled in a mysterious haze, heightening his already stunning presence into something chilling.

Tapping his fingers rhythmically on the desk, Vidyut spoke at last—in a voice calm, yet edged with lethal finality:

“You’re still alive only because you’re my big brother. If anyone else had dared to cast even a glance of desire at my wife… his head would already be hanging in the middle of Mumbai.”

His tone was measured, but the words cut like a blade. A shiver ran through Varun; goosebumps spread across his body. Lowering his head like a guilty criminal, he silently confessed his sin.

The greatest sin of his life—proposing to Maya.

Even if he believed Maya would divorce Vidyut, at that time she was still his big brother’s wife. To propose to her was unforgivable.

Deep down, Varun knew it was wrong. Yet the perilous force called attraction had blinded his judgment, destroying his sense of right and wrong.

Rocking his chair elegantly from side to side, Vidyut continued in that same cool, composed voice:

“Mr. Singhania told me last night that you are still a child… that your mind had strayed. I hope he was right. Next time, know your limits.”

By “Mr. Singhania,” Vidyut meant their grandfather, who had called him personally the night before.