The thick glass walls of Rathore Consortium's Jaipur headquarters overlooked a city teeming with heat, dust, and politics. Abhimanyu Rajput stood by the large tinted window, dressed in a tailored charcoal-grey suit, the cut sharp against his lean but muscled frame. His gaze was steady, unblinking, as if Jaipur itself was a chessboard—and he, its calculating king.
A soft knock echoed against the carved wooden doors of his office.
"Come in," he said, voice low and commanding.
His secretary, a slender woman with nervous energy, stepped in holding a beige file embossed with golden initials: Meera Singhania – Confidential.
"She's the one," she said, placing the file on his desk. "The clause is real. Her father left a binding legal will—she has to be married to claim the Haveli."
Abhimanyu didn't glance at her. He walked back to his desk, opened the file, and turned the page.
The first thing he saw was her picture.
A candid shot. Long waves of chestnut hair falling over one shoulder, her lips painted red like betrayal, eyes holding something that made him pause—not innocence. Fire. Quiet. Unaware.
Beautiful.
For a full second, he forgot who she was.
And then… he read her name.
Meera Singhania.
Rage pulsed like a gunshot through his veins. The blood that once cooled at her image now boiled. He didn't just slam the file shut—he hurled his phone across the room. It smashed into the far wall, shattered.
His secretary flinched.
"You may leave," he said coldly.
"Yes, sir."
Once alone, he sank into the black leather chair and rested his hands against his forehead.
He had buried this war long ago. Or so he thought.
He was just seven when it happened.
Twenty-one years ago, Abhimanyu remembered watching his parents rush out of the house after receiving a phone call late at night. Both were respected doctors, summoned to the outskirts of Udaipur. He remembered how his mother had kissed his forehead.
"We'll be back soon, beta. Don't be scared."
But they never returned.
The next morning, he was woken by the soft sobs of Rani Aadhya Rathore—his aunt. She was dressed in black. Daksh, then already a young prince of sixteen, stood beside her with empty eyes. That was the day they told him his parents had died in a car explosion.
He didn't speak for three weeks after that.
It wasn't until years later, in the silence of the palace corridors, that he overheard Aadhya whispering to Raja Sahab.
"They were killed. Because of what they found inside the Haveli. The Singhanias made sure they never told anyone."
That was the day Abhimanyu Rajput was born—not just an orphan but a weapon.
Daksh took him in. Trained him. And now, all these years later, the Haveli was back in the picture. And so was Meera Singhania.
He stood up again, his breath steadying.
He didn't care if she looked like fire and poetry. She carried the blood of the man who ruined his life. And now, fate had placed her at his feet.
"Now I want both," he whispered. "The Haveli. And her."
The funeral was a circus.
Cameras lined the gates. The who's who of Rajasthan politics filled the white canopied tent with plastic sympathy and false concern. The scent of incense fought with the sharpness of the sun.
Abhimanyu arrived with Daksh.
He didn't care to be subtle. Every footstep of his boots echoed on the marble floors of the Haveli that once belonged to his parents' dreams.
He stood to one side as the priest chanted verses.
And then—he saw her.
Meera.
Dressed in white. Minimal makeup. Her eyes bloodshot, her face pale, but even in mourning, her presence was magnetic. She sat beside the pyre like a porcelain statue slowly cracking.
For a moment, all his rehearsed hatred faltered. Just a moment.
She turned—and saw him.
He expected fear. But she simply blinked at him, blank, as if she had no idea that the man standing a few feet away would soon destroy her entire world.
Behind him, he heard Daksh mutter, "She's the one?"
"Yes," Abhimanyu replied, "She's the one."
And as Abhimanyu looked at her the only emotion which coursed through his body was revenge.
The funeral ended, but the storm inside Abhimanyu had only just begun.
He had seen her—Meera Singhania. And it wasn't just her father's ashes that ignited something in him; it was the unbearable truth that she was a mirror of all the unanswered questions, unfinished revenge, and unshed grief he'd carried for two decades.
He sat back in his office the next morning, suit jacket hanging off the chair behind him, his sleeves rolled up, and a storm resting heavy in his chest. The lights were dim, but the air was anything but calm.
His secretary walked in with a cautious voice. "Sir… we've received intel. Anita Singhania is meeting a buyer right now. Apparently, she's trying to close a deal—fast."
Abhimanyu's eyes darkened.
He clenched his jaw. That Haveli… it isn't just bricks. It's where it all started. It's where it all ended. It's mine.
"Send me the file," he ordered.
Minutes later, as he scanned the profile of the prospective buyer—a sixty-two-year-old industrialist with a history of corruption, scandals, and far too many young mistresses—his expression shifted from icy calm to unrestrained fury.
He slammed the file shut and shoved all the papers off his desk in a violent sweep.
"Ek itni khoobsurat ladki ko yeh ghatia buddha mil raha hai?! Are they insane?" he snapped. "What the hell is wrong with that woman?"
He stood abruptly.
"This deal ends today."
Turning to his secretary, he growled, "Get the car ready. I'm going to pay the Singhania women a visit."
The game had changed.
And now… he was making the next move.
The morning sun in Rajasthan was brutal — not just in its heat, but in the way it exposed everything without mercy.
Outside the gates of the Singhania Haveli, three sleek black SUVs roared to a halt behind a striking obsidian Bentley, its body polished to perfection, reflecting the ancestral sandstone mansion in sharp contrast. Inside sat a man with a storm for a soul and a legacy etched in vengeance.
Abhimanyu Rajput stepped out.
Clad in a three-piece tailored charcoal suit, with the top buttons of his shirt open and aviators masking his steel eyes, he looked like a man who could buy empires… and burn them down in the same breath.
Behind him, his guards stepped out like shadows, flanking his presence without a word.
But just as Abhimanyu's polished shoes hit the gravel outside the Haveli, the old iron gates creaked open—violently.
And then he saw her.
Meera Singhania.
Barefoot. Breathless. Broken.
Tears streaked her face as she ran down the steps in a disheveled kurta, her long curls flying behind her. She looked nothing like the poised model he'd seen in her profile photo—this was a girl grieving, burning, unraveling.
He froze.
Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest.
She didn't see him—her vision was clouded with tears as she sprinted past him. Their shoulders brushed, the faint scent of rose and sandalwood brushing against his senses like a slap.
But he didn't turn around. Not yet.
Anita's voice followed behind her from the doorway, sharp and acidic.
"Tamasha mat bana Meera! Tumhare baap ne likh ke diya tha—shaadi karni hi padegi!" Anita snapped from behind the veil of her crocodile tears.
Abhimanyu's jaw clenched.
His boots crunched against the stones as he finally turned toward the mansion.
"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath. "That woman is selling her like furniture."
And then louder, to his guards, "Stay back. I'll go alone."
He walked through the gates, the morning wind lifting the corner of his coat like a cape. A royal guard might've looked less intimidating.
Anita's expression changed the moment she saw him.
"Mr. Rajput," she tried to smile, instantly shifting tones. "What a surprise—"
"I don't like surprises," Abhimanyu said, removing his sunglasses slowly. His eyes glinted with fire. "But you do, don't you, Mrs. Singhania?"
Anita blinked, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"You were planning to marry her off to a man three decades older… for what? Control? Or just cruelty?"
Anita laughed nervously, but he wasn't smiling.
"There's a clause," she said stiffly. "Meera can only inherit the Haveli if she marries. Her father's wish, not mine."
Abhimanyu took one deliberate step forward. "I don't care about her father's wish. I care about that Haveli. And the girl you're emotionally blackmailing to get rid of it."
Anita's mask dropped for a split second. "Why do you care?"
He tilted his head slightly, voice dangerously low. "Because that Haveli was once supposed to be my parents'. They died chasing it. So now, it's mine."
Her eyes widened. "You're—"
"Exactly," he cut her off, walking past her without permission, scanning the inside of the Haveli. "Get her ready. She's marrying me."
Anita gaped. "You… you can't just—"
"I can. And I am. Either she marries me, or this place goes up in flames. Choose."
With that, he turned, not waiting for her reaction.