The Impossible Heir

4. Maya’s Marriage Alliance

The Rathore mansion pulsed with restless energy. Chandeliers gleamed brighter, the air was heavy with perfume and incense, and an army of decorators scurried across the marble floors, stringing flowers and rolling out rich carpets. Tomorrow, the Singh family would arrive for the final round of wedding discussions, and the Rathores were determined to dazzle them.

To everyone else, it was a celebration.

To Akash Khan, it was cover for a transaction.

Standing at the edge of the commotion, Akash watched servants haul in gilded trunks stamped with the Rathore company logo. He caught the faint whiff of chemicals—stronger than sandalwood or perfume. Something inside those trunks wasn’t right. His detective instincts flared.

But when he stepped forward to examine one, a sharp voice cut through the chaos.

“You. Pick that up.”

It was Maya Rathore, resplendent in a green lehenga embroidered with gold. She pointed at a jewelry box lying on the ground, her lips curled in disdain. “Do you want me to trip in my own house, servant?”

Servant. Again.

Akash bent, lifting the box without protest. His silence was met with laughter from Maya’s friends, who whispered loudly enough for him to hear. “Poor Svetlana. She married a man who can’t even afford shoes worth showing.”

Their mocking stung, but Akash’s mind was elsewhere. As he handed the box over, his sharp gaze slid to the trunks again. He caught sight of a faint symbol stenciled on the side—an emblem he recognized from narcotics files.

Clever. The dowry was no dowry at all. It was a disguise. Drugs and money disguised as gifts for the Singh wedding.

Akash slipped away quietly. In the privacy of his basement hideout, he sketched the symbol onto his map, connecting it to the Nhava Sheva port. The threads of Rathore’s empire grew clearer with every discovery.

Yet even as the case advanced, his heart felt heavier. Svetlana had seen the way her family treated him all morning and hadn’t said a word. She had walked past as if he weren’t even there.

Sometimes Akash wondered if the silence hurt more than the insults.

---

The next day, the mansion erupted as the Singh family arrived. Black sedans rolled up the driveway, sleek and polished, their windows tinted. Guards stepped out first, then Mr. Arvind Singh himself—tall, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard and sharp eyes that missed nothing.

Behind him came his wife, draped in pearls, and their children: Zain, the suave groom-to-be, and Katrina, their elegant daughter.

Maya beamed as Zain approached, her cheeks tinged pink. Zain smiled charmingly, bowing slightly, but his eyes were calculating. To Akash, it wasn’t the smile of a man in love. It was the smile of a man with an agenda.

The families exchanged greetings, servants rushing to bring in refreshments. Akash was ordered to serve drinks again. He moved silently between the guests, his head bowed, his ears open.

And then it happened.

Mr. Singh’s eyes fell on him.

For a long, unsettling moment, the patriarch of the Singh empire stared at Akash as though he were staring at a ghost. His gaze sharpened, his brows furrowed.

Akash felt the weight of that stare in his bones. It wasn’t the disdain he was used to. It was something deeper. Recognition.

“Who is this?” Mr. Singh’s voice cut through the laughter.

Maya snorted. “Oh, him? He’s Svetlana’s… husband.” She made the word sound like a curse. “The one Papa never approved of.”

The room chuckled, but Mr. Singh didn’t. His eyes stayed locked on Akash, narrowing, studying every angle of his face.

Akash bowed his head slightly, hiding his unease. “Sir,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.

But Mr. Singh didn’t reply. Instead, he turned away, his jaw tight, as though burying a hundred questions.

---

Later that evening, after the guests had retired to the guest suites, Akash slipped into the garden for a moment of air. The stars glittered above, distant and cold.

“You don’t belong here.”

The voice behind him was smooth, confident. Zain Singh stepped into the light, his suit immaculate, his smile too polished.

Akash turned slowly, his face unreadable. “Excuse me?”

Zain sipped from a glass of wine, his eyes glittering with something darker than charm. “I’ve seen men like you before. Clinging to women above your station, hiding behind humility. But this house will eat you alive, Khan. You’ll see.”

Akash said nothing, only studied him with the calm patience of a predator. Zain’s arrogance was loud, but arrogance often hid weakness.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Zain added, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because when Maya and I are married, this house will have no room for strays.”

He walked away with a smirk, leaving Akash alone in the dark.

But Akash wasn’t thinking about Zain anymore. His thoughts were on Mr. Singh, whose stare lingered like a shadow on his soul. Why had the man looked at him like that? Why the shock, the silence?

---

That night, long after the mansion had quieted, Akash moved through the halls like a phantom. He slipped into Rathore’s office, his gloves muffling every touch. Files, ledgers, and photos lined the shelves.

He found what he was looking for—a ledger detailing “dowry expenses.” But when he flipped through the pages, his stomach tightened. Shipments. Hidden codes. Routes. Clear proof that the dowry was being used as a front to smuggle millions worth of narcotics into the Singh household.

As he photographed the pages with his tiny camera, footsteps thundered in the corridor.

Akash froze.

The office door rattled.

“Saab?” a guard’s voice called. “We heard something.”

Akash darted to the window, slipping onto the balcony just as the door opened. He crouched in the shadows, breath shallow, heart pounding. From his hiding spot, he heard the guard mutter, “Strange. I swear I heard—”

Another voice cut him off. Svetlana’s. “He’s not in here. Go check the other wing.”

The guards left.

Akash exhaled, relief flooding him. But when he turned to look at the balcony door, he froze.

Svetlana stood there.

Her eyes locked on his, her face unreadable in the moonlight.

“Why,” she asked quietly, “are you sneaking around my father’s office at night?”

The silence between them was heavier than any gun aimed at his head.

---