SHIVANSH'S POV:

I reached the palace.

The first person I came face-to-face with was Dad.

"Do you even know we're late? Do you have any fucking sense?" he snapped. His anger was unmistakable.

"Leave it," Mom said calmly, stepping in before I could respond. "It's a big day for him. Let him be. It's okay if, once in a lifetime, he makes a mistake."

She turned to me, her hand warm and gentle as she swept my back lovingly.
"Go on, Shiv. Freshen up and wear the traditional outfit I asked the maid to place on your bed."

I nodded and went straight to my room. I freshened up as quickly as I could and changed into the outfit Mom had chosen for me.

She had never selected my clothes before. This was new.

She had always wanted to see me as a good son—married, settled, and happy with a girl by my side.
Maybe that was why she looked so happy today.

But I don't think I could ever be the kind of person my mom wanted me to be.

Beacause, every moment of my life felt planned—controlled to the smallest detail.
My behavior, my choices, even the way I was expected to feel  and even the things I want.

Sometimes it felt like I wasn't living my own life at all,
just playing a role written by others long before I had the chance to decide who I wanted to be.

----------------------------

I reached the lobby where everyone in the family was already waiting.

Dad shot me sharp side-glances, while Mom's eyes lingered on me, almost devouring me with pride.

"Now you look like my son," she said, pinching my cheek.
She says that every time I wear something traditional.

As we started walking toward the car, her expression turned serious.

"Now listen to me," she said firmly.
"You will behave. No mischief. Talk to that girl sweetly. Don't be your usual grumpy self—and respect her."

"Yes, Mom," I replied.

And just like that, I stepped into the car—and started our journey to Ranakpur.

---------------------

"Dad," I said, breaking the silence between us.

He didn't respond, his gaze fixed outside the window.

"I think I deserve to know who I'm marrying," I continued firmly. "Her name—everything."

"First, learn to come on time," he replied coldly, without looking at me.

He then gestured to his assistant sitting in the front seat.

That was when a tablet was handed to me.

I took it in my hands, and there I saw.

Ishita Kapoor

Daughter of Yashvardhan Kapoor
Age: 26

She had completed her Master's in English Literature, in Ranakpur itself.

The Kapoor family consisted of her, a younger sister, and her mother.

I read the details slowly, letting each word sink in.

She was good—perfect background, worthy of me.

She looked pretty, decent enough.
I had no issues.

But I hated the idea of someone who had already been touched by another.
I wanted it clean. Untainted.

So I messaged Jay—told him to dig into her life completely. Every detail. Nothing left out.

And then I asked about the other girl—the one I had seen at the college.

I needed to know her status.

I just hoped she hadn't understood that it was me.

Because if she had...
Things would get complicated.

-------------------------

We reached their house.

It was beautiful—an ancient haveli of sorts, carrying the weight of history in its walls.

We were welcomed with aarti thalis, tika, and garlands of flowers, the rituals performed with careful reverence.

From a distance, neighbors peeked curiously, trying to catch a glimpse of what was unfolding inside.

"Come in," Ishita's mother said warmly.

We stepped inside and settled in the hall. The air felt heavy—charged with unspoken expectations, as if everyone present knew this meeting would decide more than just a conversation. An alliance, perhaps.

Water was served.

Moments later, Ishita entered with a tray of tea and light snacks. She looked composed, graceful. I glanced at her; my expression remained unreadable. She offered a polite smile.

I took a cup from the tray and gave a small nod, unsure of how I was supposed to react—what I was even supposed to feel.

Then suddenly, something caught my eye.

A movement.

Someone peeking from the side.

My instincts flared instantly, my gaze snapping in that direction, scanning without thinking.

And then I saw her.

The same face.

The fucking same face.

She came inside the hall and stood in a corner.

My eyes followed her, I couldn't look away because the amount of coincidence was at its worst!

Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone.

But my mind was still in denial—why did it have to happen here?

I looked at my screen. It was Jay.

Open this. More important than your life!!!

He had sent a PDF. The moment I opened it, my breath hitched.

The girl who had witnessed the entire scene was Aarohi Kapoor—Ishita's younger sister, the one standing right in front of my eyes.

My mind went completely blank.

===========================

She stood in the hall, greeting everyone with a brief nod.

But the moment her eyes met mine, the contact lingered—far longer than it should have.

I knew.

She knew.

She knew it was me.

My pulse hammered in my ears. I had to do something.

I had to do something.

My entire life would be ruined if she said a single word in public.
I needed a permanent solution.

------------------------------

"So," my father said, cutting through the polite chatter.

"I think we all know why we are here."

My mind went completely blank. The walls felt too close, the air too thin.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Not now. Not like this. I couldn't think straight.

"Dad!" I interrupted, my voice sharper than intended.

Every eye in the room turned toward us.

He looked at me, pure anger flashing in his eyes—a silent warning to sit down, to stay quiet.

Instead, I stood.

I walked toward him slowly, my heartbeat pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. I leaned closer, lowering my voice until only he could hear me.

I whispered.

His expression changed instantly.

First—disbelief.
Then—confusion.
Then—anger so sharp it could have shattered glass.

His fingers curled into a fist.

Then I offered him something in return.
Something he never expected from me.

For a moment, I thought he would refuse—thought he would tell me no, tell me I had crossed a line I could never return from.

But then his eyes met mine.

And something shifted.

It was the first time I had ever asked him for anything.
And the leverage... was impossible to ignore.

He exhaled slowly, the weight of the decision settling onto his shoulders.

I stepped back and returned to my seat, my face carefully blank.

Clearing his throat, my father spoke again.

"So, Mr. Kapoor," he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging beneath it.

"I Rajendra Ranawat,

"I'm asking for your younger daughter, Aarohi Kapoor's hand in marriage to my only son—"

He paused.

The silence screamed.

"—the heir to the throne of Udaipur, Shivansh Ranawat."

------------------------------------------

The hall fell into a dead silence.

For a moment, no one breathed.

Mr. Kapoor's face drained of all color, his lips parting slightly as if words had abandoned him. Mrs. Kapoor clutched the edge of the sofa, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

Ishita froze.

The tea cup in her hand trembled, porcelain rattling softly before she placed it down with shaking fingers. Her eyes darted from my father to me—confused, stunned, searching for an explanation that didn't exist. Her smile had vanished, replaced by something broken.

Aarohi, however, did not move.

She stood perfectly still in the corner of the hall, as if the world had stopped around her. 

Her eyes snapped to me—sharp, unreadable, burning with realization. Shock flashed across her face.

Her jaw tightened.

Ishita's breath hitched, tears filling her eyes as the truth began to settle in. The proposal wasn't meant for her. Not ever.

The room erupted in murmurs, but Aarohi's gaze never left mine.

Not even for a second.

And in that unbroken eye contact, I knew one thing with terrifying certainty—

She understood exactly why this was happening.

--------------------------------

My father turned to Mr. Kapoor, his gaze unwavering.

"So, Mr. Kapoor," he said calmly, looking straight into his eyes,
"What do you say?"

I knew he asked the question with deliberate ease.
He knew Mr. Kapoor was greedy.
He knew he would never let this opportunity slip—never.

"Of course... of course, yes, Raja-sa," Mr. Kapoor replied.

He took a short pause, and then continued looking at Aarohi and then me,

"I give my daughter, Aarohi's hand in marriage with your son, Shivansh Ranawat."

The words had barely settled when a smirk curved my lips.

So this was how easily every situation could be handled.

With power.
With leverage.
With a single calculated move.

I leaned back, satisfied.

I congratulated myself.

Now she can't run.

And she can't expose me.

Every move she made, every word she spoke, would be under my control—under me.

And the background dad wanted?
Untouched. Unchanged.
The perfect cover.

I had secured everything.

Everyone glanced at each other—especially Aarohi.

I could see it in her eyes. She was breaking down, piece by piece.

But that was destiny's doing, not mine.
Fate had made her cross my path—
and at my worst moment, at my most devilish self!

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"So, why delay, Mr. Kapoor? Let's get them engaged. We've already made all the arrangements," my mother said, cutting through the heavy, awkward silence.

"Ji-ji, Rani-sa," he replied, forcing a smile.

My eyes turned toward Aarohi.

She froze. Her hands clenched tightly in front of her, knuckles white. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Her eyes darted around the room, desperate, searching for a lifeline, for someone to intervene—but there was no one.

It was now only me! There is no one else.

-----------------------------------

The workers brought in all the uphars and shagun items from the car, carefully placing them on the large table in the hall.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kapoor leaned toward Mrs. Kapoor and whispered something into her ear. She nodded quietly, then left the hall with Ishita's hand in her.

I could imagine how awkward it must be for Ishita right now. But I didn't care.

I hadn't given her—or anyone else—any commitment, or else my family.

For me, before anyone else, it was me.

And the crown came first for me, I want the fucking throne, I want power, I want control!

No one could intervene.

Even if it meant breaking countless hearts.
Even if it meant clearing someone—anyone—out of my path.

Nothing mattered more than the crown.

When my entire life was meant for it—
when I had sacrificed everything for it—
Why shouldn't I be greedy for the only thing I lived for?

-------------------------------------

The preparations were complete. The rings had arrived, and every tradition that needed to be followed was in place.

I stepped forward and took Aarohi's hand.

She froze, her eyes wide with complete disbelief, as if she couldn't believe this was happening.

Without a word, I led her to the center of the hall, every step deliberate, every movement controlled.

All eyes were on us now.

The pandit began chanting the mantras, his voice steady and rhythmic, filling the hall with sacred sound.

Finally, he looked up and announced,
"Now, you may exchange the rings."

A hush fell over the room.

Every eye was on us.
Every heartbeat seemed louder than the last.

And in that silence, I felt the weight of the moment—
and the power it gave me.

I stepped closer to Aarohi, my hand steady as I took hers.

Her fingers were cold. Her palm limp.

Our eyes met.

And in that moment, I saw it—crystal clear.
No warmth. No fear. No spark of hope.
It was like looking at someone hollowed out, someone... dead inside.

The disbelief in her gaze was sharp, but beneath it, I could sense the absence of anything that could reach me.
Nothing could touch her.
Nothing could sway her.

I took the ring from the tray and then slid the ring onto her finger slowly, deliberately, savoring the silence that stretched between us.

Her eyes didn't waver, but there was no light in them.
No acknowledgment of me as a person—just a hollow acceptance of what was being done.

She picked up the ring from the tray.

A slow breath escaped her, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stretch. She hesitated, waving the ring near my finger as if testing it, as if testing me.

"Everyone is watching us. Do not make a scene." I whispered sharply into her ear—my words cutting through the air like metal.

Without another second of hesitation, she slid the ring onto my finger.

The clap echoed through the hall. The celebration erupted around us, bright and loud, full of smiles and murmurs.

But for me, it was nothing more than another step toward the throne, another mark of control secured.

And for her? It was nothing. Just... forced.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

I hope you enjoyed this part. I know you might be feeling confused, but Shivansh is a complex character with many layers. You might even find yourself getting angry at times, as his life is full of secrets that will unfold gradually.

Stay tuned!

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