The grand hall of Rathore Haveli was nothing short of regal. High, intricately carved ceilings loomed above, adorned with chandeliers that cast a golden hue across the lavishly decorated room. The walls bore paintings of past Maharajas, their stern eyes watching over the dynasty's legacy. The plush velvet sofas sat in perfect symmetry, and the scent of sandalwood incense lingered in the air, adding to the aura of royalty.

Seated on the grand couch, Ranjana Rathore adjusted the pallu of her saree with practiced grace, her sharp eyes fixed on the woman before her. Next to her, Devyani Rathore, the matriarch of the family and Vikransh’s grandmother, observed everything in silent wisdom, occasionally sipping her special herbal tea.

"Ranjana Ji, Devyani Ji, aapke darshan paake hi din safal ho gaya!" The matchmaker, Kamla Bai, entered with folded hands, bowing slightly in reverence. She was a stout woman, draped in a vibrant Rajasthani lehenga, her face beaming with the enthusiasm of someone about to make a profitable deal.

Ranjana raised a brow, unimpressed. "Baithiye, Kamla Bai. Aur sunaiye, koi rani bani humare Vikransh ke layak dhoondi ya ab bhi apne heera ko mitti mein talash rahi hain?"

(Sit, Kamla Bai. So, tell me, have you found a queen worthy of our Vikransh, or are you still searching for a gem in the dirt?)

Kamla Bai let out a nervous chuckle, wiping the sweat off her forehead. "Arey Ranjana Ji, ab tak jitni bhi ladkiyan dekhi, woh ya to sundar thi lekin sanskar nahi, ya sanskari thi to padhe likhe nahi! Ab jo Raja Vikransh Singh Rathore ke layak ho, woh koi aam ladki toh hogi nahi!"

(Oh, Ranjana Ji, every girl I've seen so far is either beautiful but lacks values or has values but is uneducated! A girl worthy of Raja Vikransh Singh Rathore can’t be ordinary!)

Devyani Ji finally spoke, her voice calm but commanding. "Sanskaar aur samajhdari ho, yeh zaroori hai. Hamare ghar ki bahu sirf ek patni nahi, ek maa bhi banegi."

(Values and wisdom are necessary. Our daughter-in-law won’t just be a wife but also a mother.)

Kamla Bai nodded rapidly. "Bilkul, Devyani Ji! Ekdum sach kaha! Bas isiliye toh itni mehnat kar rahi hoon, aapke ghar ke layak ladki dhoondne mein!"

(Exactly, Devyani Ji! That’s why I am working so hard to find a girl worthy of your family!)

Ranjana Ji sighed, her mind drifting back to the girl she met at the hospital. "Kabhi kabhi jo humein dikh raha hota hai, woh asal main sabse sahi hota hai..." she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

(Sometimes, what is right in front of us is actually the best choice...)

Kamla Bai blinked. "Ji? Kya kaha aapne, Ranjana Ji?"

(Sorry? What did you say, Ranjana Ji?)

Ranjana Ji quickly masked her expression. "Kuch nahi. Tum apni talaash jaari rakho. Lekin humein koi aisi ladki chahiye jo sirf hamari bahu hi nahi, parivar ka hissa ban sake."

(Nothing. You continue your search. But we need a girl who won’t just be our daughter-in-law but a part of the family.)

Kamla Bai bobbed her head eagerly. "Samajh gayi, Ranjana Ji! Aap bilkul chinta mat kariye! Main bas aapko ek-do din mein badiya rishte dikhati hoon!"

(Understood, Ranjana Ji! Don’t worry at all! I’ll bring the best proposals in a day or two!)

As Kamla Bai took her leave, Ranjana Ji leaned back, lost in thought. "Pata nahi kyun, lekin us ladki ki aakhon mein ek alag hi roshni thi..."

(I don’t know why, but there was a different kind of light in that girl's eyes...)

Devyani Ji observed her daughter-in-law carefully but said nothing. Instead, she only smiled knowingly, sipping her tea in silent agreement.

---

The dim morning light seeped through the cracks in the old, weathered walls of the Sharma house. Purvika stood near the small wooden mirror, adjusting her dupatta, determination etched on her face. Today was her first day at the factory—a job she had fought hard to get. It wasn’t just work for her; it was survival.

Just as she picked up her bag, her father’s harsh voice boomed across the room.

“Ruk ja! Kahaan ja rahi hai tu?”

(Stop! Where do you think you’re going?)

Purvika’s heart clenched, but she turned around with lowered eyes, knowing that answering back would only make things worse.

“Baba, main bas… kaam par ja rahi hoon.”

(Father, I am just going to work.)

Her father’s face twisted in anger as he threw down the newspaper. “Kaam? Ek ladki ke liye kaam? Woh bhi kisi factory mein? Teri maa ne tujhe yeh sab sikhaaya hai? Humari naak kataane ka iraada hai tera?”

(Work? A girl working? In a factory, no less? Did your mother teach you this? Do you plan to bring shame to our family?)

She swallowed, trying to keep her voice calm. “Baba, paison ki zaroorat hai… Piyu ki dawaaiyaan… ghar ka kharcha…”

(Father, we need money… Piyu’s medicines… household expenses…)

But he wasn’t listening. His fury only grew as he took a step closer. “Mujhe koi paise waise nahi chahiye! Ladkiyon ka kaam sirf ghar sambhalna hota hai. Agar kaam karne ka itna hi shauk hai toh kisi ameer aadmi se shaadi kar le, bas hamari izzat na mitti mein mila!”

(I don’t want any of your money! A girl’s job is to take care of the house. If you’re so eager to earn, then marry a rich man, but don’t bring shame to our name!)

Purvika flinched but stood her ground. “Shaadi solution nahi hai, Baba. Koi nahi aayega humein bachane. Humein khud apni ladaai ladni hogi.”

(Marriage is not the solution, Father. No one is coming to save us. We have to fight our own battles.)

Her father scoffed. “Bohot badi baatein karne lagi hai! Apni behen ki harkaton ki wajah se ghar ki izzat waise hi mitti mein mil gayi hai, aur tu alag tamasha kar rahi hai.”

(You’ve started talking big! Because of your sister’s actions, our family’s honor is already ruined, and now you are making things worse.)

Purvika’s fists clenched, but before she could respond, a weak voice interrupted them.

“Didi…” Priya’s soft plea cut through the tension. She was standing near the doorway, looking fragile, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Jaane do na unhe, Baba…”

(Let her go, Father…)

Purvika quickly moved to her sister, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Priya continued, her voice breaking. “Agar Didi kaam nahi karegi toh hum kaise jeeyenge? Main bhi toh…”

(If Didi doesn’t work, how will we survive? I also—)

“Chup!” (Silence!) Their father bellowed, making Priya flinch. “Tere chakkar mein yeh ladki bhi bigad gayi hai! Dono behne sirf zaleel karne ke liye paida hui ho!”

(Because of you, even she is turning out bad! Both of you were born only to disgrace this family!)

A lump formed in Purvika’s throat, but she forced herself to stay strong. She turned to her father and spoke with quiet determination. “Agar hum sirf zaleel karne ke liye paida hue hain, toh shayad yeh ghar humare rehne layak jagah nahi hai.”

(If we were born only to bring disgrace, then maybe this house is not the right place for us to stay.)

Her father stared at her, shocked at her words. Purvika didn’t wait for a response. She turned to Priya, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Tu fikar mat kar, Piyu. Main jaldi aa jaungi.”

(Don’t worry, Piyu. I’ll be back soon.)

Priya nodded hesitantly, her fingers clutching Purvika’s wrist for a moment before letting go.

With one last glance at her home—a place that never truly felt like one—Purvika stepped out, the weight of responsibility pressing heavy on her shoulders.

As she walked down the narrow lanes, she whispered to herself, trying to push away the pain.

“Ek din sab theek hoga… Bas thodi si himmat aur.”

(One day, everything will be fine… I just need a little more courage.)

Little did she know that her life was about to change forever.

---

The factory floor buzzed with the rhythmic sounds of machines and the muffled chatter of workers. The air smelled of metal, oil, and sweat, but Purvika had long stopped noticing it. She wiped the beads of sweat forming on her forehead and continued folding and packing the neatly stacked textiles, her fingers moving swiftly despite the exhaustion that clawed at her body.

Her shift had begun early in the morning, and now, as the evening sun dipped beyond the factory windows, she felt her body screaming for rest. But rest was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not when she had a family that saw her as nothing more than a burden. Not when she had a younger sister who needed her.

The loud clanking of boots echoed in the hall, and Purvika straightened herself as the factory manager, Mr. Joshi, entered. He was a stout man with a stern face, his eyes scanning the workers with sharp scrutiny.

“Purvika Sharma!” his voice boomed.

She flinched before quickly stepping forward, lowering her head in respect. “Ji, Sir?”

Mr. Joshi eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and approval. “Aaj bhi overtime kar rahi ho?” (Still working overtime today?)

“Haan sir, thodi zaroorat hai…” she replied hesitantly. (Yes, sir, I need to...)

“Kya zaroorat hai, beta? Jitni mehnat tum kar rahi ho, uske liye chhoti umar hai tumhari,” he said, a rare kindness in his tone. (What do you need so badly? You're too young to be working this hard.)

She forced a small smile. “Sir, agar ab mehnat nahi ki, toh zindagi aur bhi mushkil ho jayegi.” (Sir, if I don’t work hard now, life will become even more difficult.)

Mr. Joshi exhaled, shaking his head. “Tumhari padhaai ka kya? Sunne mein aaya hai ke raat bhar padhai karti ho?” (What about your studies? I heard you study all night?)

She nodded hesitantly, feeling a lump form in her throat. “Haan sir… padai chhod nahi sakti.” (Yes, sir… I can’t give up on my studies.)

A thoughtful look crossed his face before he sighed. “Mehnat se kabhi peecha mat hatana, par apni sehat ka bhi khayal rakhna.” (Never back down from hard work, but also take care of your health.)

She gave a grateful nod before returning to work. Her legs ached, her eyes burned, but she pushed through. The hours blurred until finally, the shift ended. She gathered her things, stretching her sore limbs, and left for home.

---

The moment she stepped into the house, the stench of alcohol filled her nose. Her father sat in his usual spot, his eyes bloodshot and his expression sour.

“Kahan thi tu?” his voice slurred. (Where were you?)

Purvika’s hands clenched the fabric of her dupatta. “Kaam pe thi, Bauji.” (I was at work, Bauji.)

“Kaam pe thi ya ghoomne gayi thi?” he sneered, taking another sip. (At work or roaming around?)

Purvika swallowed her frustration, keeping her voice soft. “Aap jaante hain ke main kaam karti hoon.” (You know I work.)

“Kaam ka shauk kabse ho gaya tujhe? Ek ladki sirf ghar basane ke liye hoti hai, baahar kaam karne ke liye nahi!” he barked, his anger intensifying. (Since when did you start enjoying work? A girl is meant to settle in a home, not work outside!)

Her heart ached at his words, but she stayed silent. Priya, sitting in the corner, shot her a worried glance, but Purvika gave her a weak smile, silently telling her not to interfere.

Their father scoffed, leaning back. “Padhaai? Kaam? Tujhe koi izzatdar ghar ka ladka nahi milega, samjhi? Teri maa theek kehti thi, ladkiyan bojh hoti hain!” (Studies? Work? No respectable family will accept you, understand? Your mother was right, girls are a burden!)

Purvika felt the sting of tears but quickly blinked them away. She wouldn’t let his words break her. Not today.

As she turned to go to her small corner of the house, her mind suddenly jolted.

Meri kitaabein? (My books?)

Her breath hitched as she realized she had left them in the factory. Panic gripped her. She had spent months saving to buy those books. If they got lost or damaged, she had no money to replace them. And if her father found out, he would use this as another excuse to stop her studies altogether.

Her hands shook as she clutched the end of her dupatta.

“Kya hua, Didi?” Priya’s soft voice broke through her thoughts. (What happened, Didi?)

She hesitated before whispering, “Meri kitaabein… factory mein chhoot gayi.” (My books… I left them at the factory.)

Priya’s eyes widened. “Ab kya karogi?” (What will you do now?)

Purvika took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. “Subah ka intezaar karna hoga… bas dua karna ke safe ho.” (I’ll have to wait until morning… just pray they’re safe.)

As she lay down on the worn-out mattress that night, sleep refused to come. Thoughts of lost books, her father’s words, and her uncertain future swirled in her mind.

No matter how much she tried to hold things together, life seemed determined to break her.

But she wouldn’t let it....

---

The grand darbar hall of Rathore Haveli buzzed with an unusual sense of excitement. The intricate meenakari work on the walls reflected the warm glow of the jharokha-style chandeliers, while servants in traditional angrakhas moved swiftly, setting up the evening Rajasthani chai nashta on the low, ornately carved teakwood tables. The subtle fragrance of sandalwood and mogra lingered in the air, adding to the regal ambiance.

At the center of it all, seated gracefully on a velvet-cushioned divan, were Ranjana Rathore and the ever-majestic Devyani Rathore, sipping their chai from handcrafted blue pottery cups. The younger generation lounged around them, their playful chatter filling the hall.

Kriti, the ever-enthusiastic one, leaned forward with a smirk. "Toh Vikransh bhai ki shaadi fix ho gayi, aur humein koi details nahi mil rahi? Not fair, Dadisa!"

(So Vikransh bhai’s marriage is fixed, and we’re not getting any details? Not fair, Dadisa!)

Aryan chuckled, adjusting his bandhani safa casually. "Haan, aur sabse bada sawaal—bhai khush toh hain na? Ya phir ab bhi woh apni ghamgeen shakal lekar ghoom rahe hain?"

(Yeah, and the biggest question—Is bhai sa happy or is he still walking around with his usual gloomy face?)

Rudra, the most level-headed of the three, shook his head. "Shut up, tum dono! Yeh mazaak ki baat nahi hai."

(Shut up, you two! This isn't a joke.)

Ranjana placed her kundan-studded paan daan down, a small smile playing on her lips. "Tum sabke dimaag mein bas gossip chalta rehta hai. Vikransh apni zimmedaari samajhta hai, aur usne jo haan ki hai, soch samajh kar ki hai."

(You all just think about gossip. Vikransh understands his responsibility, and if he has agreed, he has done so after careful thought.)

Kriti sighed dramatically, adjusting the gota-patti dupatta draped over her shoulder. "Haan, haan, responsibility! Par ek baar shaadi ho gayi, phir hum Vikransh bhai ko tease kaise karenge?"

(Yeah, yeah, responsibility! But once he gets married, how will we tease him?)

Devyani Rathore finally spoke, her voice commanding yet warm. "Bachpan se dekha hai maine usse, ek zimmedar aur imandaar beta hai woh. Shaadi ke baad bhi woh badalnewala nahi hai."

(I’ve seen him since childhood, he is a responsible and honest son. Even after marriage, he won’t change.)

Aryan exchanged a glance with Rudra before smirking. "Shaadi ke baad Vikransh bhai badle ya na badle, ek baat toh pakki hai—chhoti bhabisa aayegi toh humara bhi time achha guzarne waala hai."

(Whether Vikransh bhai sa changes or not after marriage, one thing is certain—once our little bhabisa comes, we are going to have a great time.)

Ranjana hid a smile behind her hand while Kriti, Aryan, and Rudra burst into laughter. The atmosphere in Rathore Haveli remained light, but somewhere deep down, there was an unspoken realization—this wedding wasn’t just about Vikransh. It was about the entire family moving forward.

---

The night hung heavy over Jodhpur, the air thick with the lingering warmth of the day. The Rathore Group of Industries' textile factory stood in stark contrast to the silence of the desert—a towering structure bathed in white fluorescent lights, buzzing with machinery only hours ago.

A sleek black SUV rolled to a stop at the entrance. The guards straightened instantly, their spines stiff as they bowed slightly in respect.

"Hukum sa," one of them greeted, his voice laced with fear.

The door opened, and out stepped Vikransh Singh Rathore. Dressed in a jet-black three-piece suit, his posture exuded authority. His sharp kohl-lined eyes scanned the surroundings as if searching for imperfections, though his face remained as unreadable as ever.

His PA, Sameer, rushed beside him, careful not to fall behind. "Hukum sa, foreign clients ke saath meeting in fifteen minutes. Video call aapki gadi se set kar di hai." (Hukum sa, the video call with foreign clients is set up in your car for fifteen minutes from now.)

Vikransh gave a slight nod and strode inside, the sound of his leather shoes echoing ominously in the vast, empty factory. The workers had long left, yet his presence sent an unspoken shiver through the remaining staff—guards, managers, and supervisors—who stood in stiff attention.

Factory manager Mr. Kapoor rushed forward, his forehead already beaded with sweat. "Hukum sa, sab kuch sahi chal raha hai. Machines ki servicing complete ho gayi hai aur—" (Hukum sa, everything is running smoothly. The machine servicing has been completed and—)

Vikransh raised a single hand, and Kapoor immediately shut his mouth.

His gaze landed on a small pile of books lying forgotten near one of the machines. His sharp eyes darkened.

"Yeh kisne chhoda hai?" his voice was deep, slow, and laced with quiet authority. (Who left these here?)

Kapoor followed his gaze and stammered, "Hukum sa, shayad kisi mazdoor ke honge... kal tak hata diye jayenge." (Hukum sa, these must belong to a worker… they will be removed by tomorrow.)

Ignoring him, Vikransh stepped forward and picked up the books. The covers were old, the pages slightly worn. His fingers traced the inked name on the first page—Purvika Sharma.

He exhaled slowly, expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, something stirred within him—but just as quickly, he buried it beneath layers of cold indifference.

"Bekaar ki cheezon ka dhyaan rakhne ka time nahi hai," he muttered, turning away. (I don’t have time to care about useless things.)

Kapoor hesitated. "Hukum sa… kya inhe worker tak wapas pahucha de?" (Hukum sa… should I return these to the worker?)

Vikransh didn’t bother replying. He simply walked out, books still in hand. The factory staff bowed their heads as he passed, fear gripping them like a noose.

The SUV door opened instantly as his personal bodyguard held it for him. Vikransh slid inside, tossing the books onto the seat beside him before picking up his phone.

Sameer adjusted his laptop screen. "Hukum sa, foreign clients aapke wait kar rahe hain." (Hukum sa, the foreign clients are waiting for you.)

Vikransh straightened his suit, his mind already shifting gears. "Start the meeting."

As the car pulled away from the factory, he didn’t spare the books another glance.

But fate had already begun its work.

---

Hey my lilies..!

Huh a long chapter, main to thak gyeee

Word count 3350+

And that wraps up this intense and eventful chapter! From Ranjana’s search for the perfect bride to Purvika’s struggles and Vikransh’s cold yet commanding presence, this chapter had it all—drama, emotions, and a touch of mystery. It was quite a long one, but every moment added to the growing tension between the characters and their fates.

What are your thoughts on this chapter? Which scene gripped you the most? And what do you think will happen next? Let me know—I’d love to hear your reviews! Your feedback keeps this story alive and thriving!

Also follow me on my Instagram account for more spoilers and updates @_niaxitsme_