The Impossible Heir

3. The Silent Wife

The Rathore mansion sparkled that evening with music, chatter, and the faint clink of crystal glasses. Guests filled the halls—business partners, politicians, and relatives, all gathered for a lavish dinner to celebrate Maya Rathore’s upcoming marriage into the Singh family.

Akash stood quietly near the back, dressed in a plain kurta, blending into the servants who circulated with trays of drinks. He wasn’t meant to serve, yet somehow a tray had been shoved into his hands again by one of Svetlana’s cousins. The guests laughed and gossiped, ignoring him completely.

But Akash’s eyes weren’t on the guests. They were fixed on Mr. Rathore. The man moved from one politician to another with a serpent’s charm, laughing heartily, clinking glasses, his every gesture calculated. Akash knew that behind that smile lurked the true face of a criminal mastermind.

From across the room, Svetlana caught his eye for the briefest moment. She was radiant in a crimson gown, her hair pinned in jeweled waves. Her laughter chimed like silver bells as she entertained her friends, yet her gaze slid off Akash as if he were invisible.

Invisible. That was what he had become in this house—mocked, belittled, ignored.

Later, when the guests had thinned and the mansion quieted, Akash found her on the balcony, staring at the moon. He approached quietly, his heart carrying a question he had been burying for weeks.

“Why?” His voice was calm, almost fragile.

Svetlana turned, her brow furrowing. “Why what?”

“Why don’t you ever stand up for me?” His words were low, but they carried the weight of suppressed hurt. “When your family treats me like a servant. When they mock me in front of you. You… you laugh with them.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—guilt, maybe—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. She straightened her shoulders.

“You knew what marrying me meant,” she said coolly. “You knew they wouldn’t accept you. Why should I fight battles you chose for yourself?”

Akash’s jaw tightened. “Battles I chose?” He stepped closer, his voice trembling not with anger, but with the ache of betrayal. “I chose you, Svetlana. Not this humiliation. Not this… silence.”

Her gaze faltered, but pride held her chin high. “Don’t make this dramatic, Akash. Marriage isn’t a fairytale. You’re here, under this roof, and that’s more than my family ever wanted. Isn’t that enough?”

Enough. The word cut like glass.

Akash looked at her for a long moment, then turned away, his chest heavy. He wanted to tell her the truth—that he wasn’t a broken orphan clinging to her wealth, but a detective risking everything to bring her father down. But the mission demanded silence. His pain would have to stay locked away.

From the shadows of the hallway, a voice broke the silence.

“Not enough for me.”

They both turned. Mr. Rathore stepped into the moonlight, his face carved in fury. Behind him, two men dragged a bloodied stranger across the marble floor. The man’s clothes were torn, his face swollen from blows, his wrists bound with rope.

Akash’s instincts sharpened instantly. This was no ordinary scene. This was the face of the empire he had come to destroy.

Rathore tossed a glass of whiskey onto the floor, shattering it at the man’s feet. “This traitor thought he could cheat me. Thought he could steal from the Rathores.” His voice dripped venom.

The stranger whimpered, begging. “S-sir, I didn’t—”

“Silence!” Rathore roared. He motioned, and one of his men struck the prisoner across the jaw. Blood sprayed onto the marble.

Svetlana flinched, her hands trembling at her sides. “Papa, please, not here—”

“Quiet, beti,” Rathore snapped. “You will learn what happens to those who betray this family.”

Akash’s heart pounded. He wanted to step forward, to stop this cruelty—but one wrong move would expose him. He forced himself to stay still, his face blank, even as rage burned inside him.

Rathore drew a pistol from his coat, pressing it to the prisoner’s temple. The room went deathly silent.

“Papa—” Svetlana’s voice cracked this time, a trace of fear.

Rathore’s eyes, cold and merciless, met hers. “This is the world we live in. Weakness is death. You’d do well to remember that, my daughter.”

The prisoner sobbed. Rathore’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Akash’s fists clenched behind his back, his mind racing. If Rathore pulled that trigger, the sound would echo through the mansion. The blood would stain the marble. And Svetlana… she would carry the image forever.

At the last moment, Rathore lowered the gun. He sneered. “No. Death is too easy.” He turned to his men. “Take him to the warehouse. Make an example of him.”

The men dragged the prisoner away, his cries fading into the night. Rathore downed the rest of his whiskey, then strode past Akash as if he didn’t exist.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Svetlana leaned against the balcony rail, pale, shaken. Akash studied her face, wondering if she truly didn’t know the depths of her father’s darkness—or if she chose to ignore it.

He wanted to ask her. He wanted to break the wall of silence between them. But before he could speak, footsteps echoed in the hallway again.

A servant rushed in, breathless. “Saab, the Singh family will arrive tomorrow for final wedding talks.”

Rathore’s voice thundered back, “Good. Everything must be perfect. Maya’s marriage will secure our empire.”

His empire. Akash’s eyes narrowed. The web tightened.

That night, Akash slipped back to his basement hideout, his hands shaking as he scribbled in his notebook.

Rathore executes traitors personally. Uses warehouses as torture sites. Maya’s marriage is cover for expansion. Evidence needed. Urgent.

He closed the notebook, his pulse still racing.

Upstairs, in her room, Svetlana sat alone in the dark, the echo of her father’s pistol still ringing in her ears. She pressed her hand to her lips, as if to silence the questions clawing inside her.

And somewhere deep in the mansion’s labyrinth of halls, Rathore’s men whispered among themselves. One name lingered in their whispers:

Akash.

They had begun to suspect.

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