Darsh Vardhan - ruthless, composed, heir to a multigenerational empire, every inch the man who never lets impulse rule. That night at the elite city club, he'd just wrapped a high‑stakes deal and turned to leave - until a firm, warm grip dragged him...
Hope Chapter 8 kept you hooked - full of drama, twists and deeper layers unfolding, just as planned!
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Now... let's step further in. The tension rises, secrets creep closer to light, and nothing stays hidden forever...
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Here begins Chapter 9:
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✦ One Week After Muh Dikhaayi ✦
The tall iron gates of Vardhan Mansion groaned open three days after the ceremony, and a cloud of excited chatter rolled in with it-Neel and Iravati were finally home, back from their week-long college trip to Shimla, arms loaded to the brim with bulging jute bags, woolen shawls, crates of crisp red apples, and carefully wrapped gifts they'd picked out for everyone before they'd even left.
Tanya was the first to reach them, her sage anarkali swishing as she ran barefoot down the porch steps, and threw her arms around both their necks at once-tight, fierce, like she'd been waiting months to breathe easy again. Ira laughed and hugged her back just as hard, pressing a soft knitted hair clip exactly like the one she'd admired into her palm; Neel ruffled her hair and dropped a heavy, beautifully bound journal into her bag, already knowing she'd fill it with notes and dreams. They'd barely stepped inside, sipping warm tea Rudra pressed on them, when the whole story came pouring out of her-everything.
She told them about Avantya Bhua marching in like she owned every brick, sneering at Avyaansh's clothes, calling her a gold-digger loud enough for the whole room to hear. She told them how Darsh had shut her down in two minutes flat-"She is Tanya Darsh Vardhan... my daughter"-how his voice had turned to ice, how he'd stripped every bit of arrogance right off her until she'd had no choice but to sit quiet and small. She told them about the three-hour-long ritual, Avyaansh shifting in pain, burning up under the veil, whispering "it's hot, do something" like he could barely breathe; how Avantya had tried to lock him into six weeks of covering his face, and Darsh had looked her dead in the eye and said "keep your useless traditions to yourself".
By the time she finished, Neel was leaning against the wall shaking his head in pure disgust, and Iravati had her hands planted firmly on her hips, eyes flashing-the exact same fire Darsh got when someone threatened his own. The three of them drifted to the sunlit window seat, heads close, voices dropping low and sharp, and bitched about their Bhua until the sun dipped low.
"She only ever turns up when there's food, gifts, or someone to look down on," Ira scoffed, twisting her bracelet hard. "Never once asks how we are... never once sees us as people. Just names and status and rules she made up to feel important."
