One month later ~

AR mension - servants quarters.

The morning light filtered in faintly through the high, dust-covered window. It did little to warm the cold stone floor where Heer lay curled in a threadbare blanket, her small frame draped by a plain, worn salwar-kameez two sizes too big.

Sleep was her only escape now-her only rebellion.

Until it wasn't.

Splash.

Cold water slammed into her face like a slap. Heer jolted awake, coughing and gasping, her limbs scrambling backward instinctively. Her blanket slipped off, soaked and heavy.

Laughter followed. Cruel. Unkind.

Standing above her was Meena-the senior maid-with a now-empty copper jug in hand and a vicious grin on her face.

"Rise and shine, Mrs,Raizada," she said mockingly, drawing out the title like poison. "Oh wait... should we call you that? Or maybe just 'floor girl' fits better."

Behind her, two other maids snickered. One mimicked Heer's shocked face from the night of her wedding, clutching her chest in faux shock. The other made a show of stepping over her blanket, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

Heer blinked away the water dripping from her lashes, heart hammering in her chest, but she didn't speak. She'd learned not to.

"Don't just lie there like the worthless burden you are," Meena snapped, nudging Heer's leg with her foot. "Get up. You've got bathrooms to scrub and floors to polish. After all, you're not here to be served-you're here to serve."

Heer sat up slowly, her body sore and stiff from too many nights on cold marble. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her dupatta, trying to cover her chest with whatever dignity she had left.

"Oh, look at her," one maid cooed with mock sweetness. "Still trying to act like she's a queen. Still covering herself like anyone wants to look at that."

Meena leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper in Heer's ear. "You think being married to him makes you special? You're not even worthy of being beneath his shoe."

The words stung-but not because they were new. They were familiar. Repeated. Rehearsed. Etched into every wall of the mansion that had once been built to house royalty but now served as her prison.

"That's your place," Meena hissed. "On the floor. Always."

The other maids laughed again and walked away, their taunts echoing in the corridor.

Heer sat still for a moment longer, water still dripping from her hair, her blanket now a soggy mess. Her fingers clenched the damp fabric in silence.

She no longer cried.

She no longer pleaded.

Because in the Raizada Mansion... silence was the only armor she had left.

___________

Underground War Room - AR Private Estate.

The room smelled of gun oil, rage, and unspoken war.

A map of the city stretched across one wall-red pins bleeding across Khanna territories like infection spreading. Monitors flickered with surveillance feeds, phone taps, and coded transmissions. The hum of machines filled the silence between two men.

Aryaveer Raizada stood still, towering in black-his eyes fixed on the map, but his mind elsewhere. Somewhere colder. Sharper.

A place one month in the past.

Since the wedding night, he hadn't returned to the mansion. Not once.

Not to her.

He didn't need to. The damage had been done. The message had been sent.

But what bothered him now wasn't guilt. Aryaveer didn't bleed like that.

It was silence.

A month of it.

And Ayansh Khanna hadn't flinched.

Across the room, Arnav Raizada watched his nephew with narrowed eyes, fingers playing with the edge of his cigar box.

"One month," Arnav said finally, breaking the silence. "You gave him a reason to burn the world down. And he hasn't even struck a match."

Aryaveer didn't answer.

Arnav continued, voice low. "He's either a coward... or he's preparing something that'll make us wish we struck first."

Still no response. Aryaveer's jaw was locked, the vein in his temple ticking slowly like a countdown.

"You've let her sit there like a pawn no one wants to play. Maybe she's not enough. Maybe it's time to use someone else."

That did it.

Aryaveer turned. Slowly. Eyes dark as a void that had swallowed every ounce of mercy.

"You think I forgot how to end a war, Chachu?"

Arnav raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Aryaveer stepped forward, his presence swallowing the room whole.

"You think because I've been gone a month, I've gone soft? That girl is a piece on the board. She doesn't need comfort. She needs to break. And when she does..." He paused, lips curling into something dangerous. "That's when Ayansh will crawl out of his hole."

Arnav gave a small, humorless chuckle. "You're sure of that?"

"I don't need to be sure." Aryaveer's voice dropped an octave. "I decide what happens next."

"You always were reckless when it came to blood," Arnav muttered, flicking ash from his cigar.

Aryaveer's eyes flicked to him, steel and ice. "And you always talk too much when you should be listening."

The silence hit like a slap.

Arnav stiffened, but Aryaveer didn't care. He'd been tolerating Arnav's advice for too long. The man had earned his place in Aryaveer's empire years ago-but not above him.

Never above him.

He walked past the desk and toward the stairs leading out of the bunker.

Arnav's voice followed him. "Where are you going now?"

Aryaveer stopped at the base of the steps, his back still to Arnav.

"I haven't stepped into that mansion since the night I married her," he said, voice cold and flat. "Let's see if my pawn still knows she's on the board."

And then he disappeared up the stairs, the heavy sound of his boots echoing like war drums behind him.

________________

AR Mension.

The air smelled of bleach and dust. Heer's fingers were raw from scrubbing marble floors, her knuckles red and swollen. The maid's uniform clung to her like a second skin-short, tight, humiliating. It was meant to degrade, not cover. The black skirt barely reached her upper thighs. Her once-delicate bridal bangles now jingled like chains every time she moved.

It had been a month.

A month of silence from the man who married her.

A month of being treated like filth in the house that bore his name.

"Lower, girl," one of the senior maids snapped, watching Heer wipe beneath the grand staircase. "You missed a spot."

Heer obeyed wordlessly, dropping to her knees. Her back ached. Her scars throbbed beneath the rough fabric of the uniform. Her braid had loosened and strands of hair clung to her sweat-damp cheek.

She didn't speak. She'd learned that silence was safer.

But silence didn't always protect.

A shadow fell over her hand.

She blinked and turned her face slightly-just in time to see one of the guards step behind her. He crouched, fingers brushing up her bare thigh in a slow, mocking stroke.

Her body went stiff.

"Well, well," he muttered, lips curling into a sneer. "Didn't think the boss would leave his little toy all alone for this long."

His grip tightened on her thigh. She flinched.

"Maybe he's bored of you," he added darkly. "Which means... lucky us."

Laughter rang out from another guard nearby. The maids giggled, whispering behind their palms, their eyes filled with jealousy and venom.

"You should be grateful," the guard hissed into her ear. "You're not even worthy of being beneath his boot. But we-"

"Touch her again and I'll break your hand."

The voice hit the hall like lightning.

Everything stopped.

The guard froze mid-sentence. The maids' smiles vanished. Silence snapped across the room like a whip.

Heer's breath caught.

Because she knew that voice.

Slowly, the guards turned their heads-and saw him.

Aryaveer Raizada stood at the top of the staircase, cloaked in black. His hair was slightly disheveled, his jaw sharp as ever, eyes molten with fury.

He looked like a shadow that had come to collect its debt.

Aryaveer descended the stairs with deliberate, spine-chilling grace. Each step cracked like thunder, like judgment.

The guard backed away from Heer, trembling. "S-sir, I didn't mean-"

Aryaveer was in front of him in seconds.

The punch came without warning.

The man's body crumpled, blood spurting from his nose as he collapsed to the floor. Another blow followed. Then another. Aryaveer didn't stop until the guard was wheezing, barely conscious.

"Pick him up," Aryaveer ordered the other men.

They obeyed without a word, dragging the guard away like trash.

Then he turned.

And looked at her.

Heer was still on her knees. Shaking. Wet hair plastered to her cheek. Her eyes met his-and for the first time in a month, she saw something flicker behind that merciless stare.

Not guilt.

Not regret.

Possession.

Then, to Heer, his voice dropped low and cold.

"You're mine. And no one touches what's mine."

_______________