Rain battered the sleeping city with merciless force.
Water streamed down deserted pavements, turning the roads into pools of black glass while flickering streetlights dissolved behind curtains of rain.
Thunder rumbled low across the sky, shaking the silence that clung uneasily to the night.
The night felt wrong.
Too still beneath all the noise.
A dark car stood motionless beneath the sprawling branches of a gulmohar tree.
Its engine had long gone silent, yet the driver remained inside.
Thunder rolled across the sky.
Inside, the woman in the driver's seat remained still, her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel as she stared through the fogged windshield ahead.
Ranawat Mansion.
Even through the storm, the estate stood imposing and untouched-towering iron gates, sprawling balconies, warm golden lights glowing faintly behind rain-streaked windows.
A world far removed from the darkness outside.
The woman stared at it for a long moment.
Then something shifted behind her.
A faint rustle.
Not loud.
Just enough.
Her jaw tightened instantly.
Without turning around, she reached toward the backseat blindly and adjusted the edge of the woolen cloth covering the basket there. The movement beneath it quietened after a moment.
"Not now," she muttered sharply.
The words came out strained. Not gentle. Not comforting.
Impatient.
Another crack of thunder split the sky.
For a few seconds, she simply stared at the mansion again, her jaw tightening slightly before she finally stepped out into the storm.
Rain drenched her within moments.
The heels of her shoes clicked sharply against the wet pavement as she crossed the empty road, clutching the basket tightly against her side beneath a black umbrella. The wind fought viciously against her grip, nearly wrenching it away twice.
Her gaze kept darting behind her.
Dark windows.
Empty streets.
Shadows shifting beneath the rain.
By the time she reached the gates, strands of damp hair clung to her cheeks despite the hood covering most of her face.
The mansion stood silent before her.
Warm.
Safe.
Untouchable.
For a fleeting second, her eyes lingered on one of the glowing windows upstairs. Something unreadable flickered across her face before vanishing completely.
Moving toward the smaller side gate, she crouched near the lock and balanced the basket carefully against the wall. Rainwater splashed against the pale fabric covering it, darkening the edges slowly.
The thing beneath shifted again.
A soft sound followed this time.
Tiny.
Weak.
The woman froze.
Her fingers tightened around the hairpin in her hand.
Slowly, she looked down.
Only a small portion of the face was visible beneath the folds of cloth-soft skin, flushed from cold, framed by the edge of a woolen blanket.
The storm roared louder around them.
The woman swallowed hard and looked away first.
"Don't," she whispered under her breath.Whether it was meant for herself or the child, even she didn't seem to know.
Her trembling fingers returned to the lock.
One failed attempt.
Then another.
A curse slipped past her lips.
Finally, the latch clicked open.
Inside the estate grounds, the silence felt heavier somehow.
The gravel pathway crunched softly beneath her heels as she moved through the shadows lining the walls. Rainwater dripped steadily from the edge of her umbrella while distant thunder echoed overhead.
Closer now, the mansion looked almost alive.
Warm light spilled faintly from behind drawn curtains.
When she finally reached the front porch, she lowered the basket carefully onto the marble floor.
The movement inside stirred immediately.
A tiny hand slipped free from beneath the blanket, fingers curling weakly against the cold air before falling still once more.
The woman stared at it.
Her breathing had gone uneven.
Somewhere deep inside the mansion, a clock chimed softly.
One.
Two.
Three.
Time was slipping.
Slowly, she bent down and tucked the blanket back around the child with rough, hurried movements, almost irritated by the act itself.
Then she pressed the doorbell.
Once.
The sharp sound echoed through the storm.
Nothing happened.
She pressed it again.
This time, faint footsteps echoed somewhere inside the mansion.
A light flickered upstairs.
For the first time that night, fear crossed the woman's face.
Not fear for what she had done.
Fear of being seen.
Turning sharply, she disappeared into the rain-soaked darkness, her footsteps fading rapidly beyond the gates.
Moments later, the massive front doors creaked open.
The storm raged on.
And beneath the porch light rested the abandoned basket, small and silent against the grandeur of the mansion.
That night, beneath the storm and silence, fate arrived quietly at the doors of the Ranawat mansion.
********************
With lots of hope and excitement, I've finally uploaded the prologue of The Foundling.
I'd genuinely love to know your thoughts and first impressions after reading it.
What are your expectations from the story so far?
And most importantly-how is everyone doing? I hope life's treating you kindly and that you're taking care of yourselves.
Have a beautiful day/night ahead ❤️
Thank you sugararmy07 for the beautiful cover ❤️
YOU ARE READING
THE FOUNDLING
General FictionSome people are born into a family. Others are chosen by one. The Ranawat mansion has carried silence for years-silence heavy with grief, buried truths, and wounds time never truly healed. At the center of it all are two brothers: Krishav Singh Rana...
