PROLOGUE

“His rage ruled the empire; her silence broke it.”

A deal forged in fire—one touch, and it burned.

He was ruin in a crown; she was the cure he never wanted.

Married by force, bound by fate, undone by love.

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SCENE---1

It was a dark, silent night. The stars were scattered across the velvet sky, and the moonlight gently spilled over the terrace like silver silk. The breeze whispered softly, carrying with it a quiet stillness.

Sanvi sat on one end of the terrace, her eyes fixed on the glowing screen of her laptop, her brows knitted in deep concentration. On the other side, Rudraksh shuffled through his files, visibly frustrated. A crucial meeting loomed just hours away, yet his focus was elsewhere.

His eyes kept drifting toward her.

Moonlight bathed Sanvi’s face, highlighting her tired eyes and pale, milky skin. Her thick, black lashes fluttered occasionally as she blinked. Strands of her soft, silky hair kept falling over her forehead despite the clip barely holding them in place. Rudraksh watched her as if he were reading his favorite book—every expression, every frown, memorized.

Sanvi’s eyes flicked upward, sensing his stare. Raising one brow, she asked, “What are you looking at? My face?”

Rudraksh shrugged. “Your innocence.”

She scoffed. “Seriously, Rudraksh?”

But he ignored the jab and said instead, “You should go to bed. You look exhausted, and it’s getting cold.”

“There’s only a little left,” she murmured. “When will you be done?”

He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting soon.”

And then, silence. Familiar. Comfortable. This had become their routine. Rudraksh often came home late. Sanvi’s days stretched long into surgeries and hospital rounds. They rarely saw each other—she sometimes slept at the dining table waiting for him; sometimes, she returned later than him.

But whenever she could, Sanvi tried to steal moments—moments with him.

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SCENE---2

The air in Rudraksh’s room was cool. He sat hunched over his laptop, rubbing his forehead between two fingers. A headache throbbed at his temples, and the strong coffee in his hand didn’t help.

Footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor.

They grew louder. Familiar.

A soft jingle of anklets followed.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t need to look—he already knew who it was.

Then… silence.

The footsteps halted just outside his door. No knock. No sound. Just stillness.

He frowned and rose to open the door—and there she was.

Sanvi.

The soft blue net saree clung delicately to her form. Light bangles adorned her wrists, and her hair spilled in soft waves. In her hands was a tray: chips, cold drink, white sauce pasta, napkins.

Her wide eyes—confused, beautiful—met his.

“How did you know?” she asked quietly, looking down at her anklets, embarrassed.

He smirked. “This jewelry of your is biggest traitor for you. I could recognize the sound in my sleep.”

“I came home early today,” she explained, “and didn’t have any work. I thought maybe… we could watch a movie. But I wasn’t sure if you were free. So, I thought that I'll go back to my room that's what i was thinking outside....

“Stop using your pea-sized brain and come in,” he said dryly.

Sanvi blinked. “Hmm? What did you just say?”

He ignored her. “Come in, or should I carry you?”

“No, no! I’m coming.”

She stepped inside, still slightly flustered.

Even after closing the door, Rudraksh found himself thinking—how calm and innocent she was. His sweetheart—a name that slipped from his lips as naturally as breathing now.

He often thought about how vastly different their worlds were. Yet somehow, in each other, they found home. His life felt whole with her, even if love, in his world, always came with a price.

And Rudraksh Ranawat had already decided—he would pay it. Whatever it was.

SCENE---3

It was 12:45 a.m.

The heavy roar of Rudraksh’s car pierced the silence as it pulled into the basement parking. Tires screeched slightly as he braked—an everyday ritual, but tonight it felt heavier.

His shirt clung to him, soaked in blood—not his—but enough to stir panic if seen. He wiped his hands on a cloth he kept tucked in the glovebox, trying to rub away the crimson smears. Useless. His hands still trembled. The sting of adrenaline still hadn’t faded.

As he stepped out of the car, his mind wandered to her.

Sweetheart must be asleep by now… he hoped.

The guard had already informed him that Sanvi had returned home around 10 p.m., but Rudraksh knew her too well. She wouldn’t have slept. She rarely did when he came home late. Maybe she’d be at the dining table with a warm plate kept ready, half-asleep with her head on the table. Or maybe she’d still be up in her room, curled up with her laptop or buried in one of her bizarre medical journals.

But something felt… off.

As he stepped inside the mansion, he noticed the hall lights were dim. Too dim. When Sanvi waited for him, the lights were always on—soft and warm—like her. The table was clean. No food. No warmth. Just cold, perfect silence.

A knot formed in his stomach.

Without wasting another second, he hurried down the corridor, heading straight for his room. Blood stained the sleeves of his shirt and speckled his collar. He needed to change before she saw. She would worry. She always did. She didn’t understand his world, his wars. She wasn’t supposed to.

But then—he saw it.

His room door—slightly open.

Unusual.

Nobody entered Rudraksh Ranawat’s room. Not even the staff. No one dared. But there was only one person who had both the courage and the right—Sanvi.

He paused.

Took a deep breath.

And pushed the door open.

There she was.

Standing with her back to him, wrapped in a flowing white anarkali suit that kissed the floor with every movement. Her long hair was untied, falling down her back in soft waves. She stood still, like a portrait—framed in silence and moonlight.

She turned.

And the air was knocked out of his lungs.

Her face—pale, almost ghostly. Her eyes—red, swollen. Tear-streaks had dried across her cheeks, leaving silent trails of pain. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, but they quivered at the sight of him.

She didn’t say anything at first. Her eyes slowly traveled from his face… to his shirt… to the blood.

And then she moved.

“Rudra!” she gasped, her voice cracking. She rushed forward, her fingers hovering just above the stains, not daring to touch, afraid of where he might be hurt. “What happened to you? You're bleeding! Are you hurt?! show me the wound?!”

“I’m fine,” he said softly, trying to catch her hand.

She didn’t listen. “No, you’re not! Look at this—this is so much blood—God, Rudra—sit down. no We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

She grabbed his wrist, her strength surprising him. She tugged him toward the door, but he resisted.

“Sanvi…” he murmured, gently pulling her back.

She kept panicking. Her voice trembled with every word, every breath.

“Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t anyone call me?! How can you be this careless? Rudra, for God’s sake, you're bleeding like—”

“Sanvi,” he repeated, more firmly this time, cupping her face with both hands.

She froze under his touch.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. This… isn’t my blood.”

Her eyes flickered. Confusion clouded her already swollen gaze. “No… no, that can’t be. You’re lying. Don’t do that. I’m a doctor—I can see the blood, Rudra—don’t lie to me!”

“I’m not,” he whispered, leaning closer. “It’s not mine.”

For a second, her breath hitched.

Her eyes searched his—desperately, wildly, like she wanted to believe him but couldn’t. He hated seeing that fear in her eyes more than any injury on himself.

“I swear on you, Sanvi. Tumhari kasam. Mujhe chot nahi lagi hai.”

And something in her cracked.

Her posture softened.

Her fingers uncurled from his wrist. Her breathing slowed. She looked into his eyes—truly looked—and saw the truth.

now tell me why are you crying

Then she said it.

Words that made the air around him collapse. Words that left him paralyzed.

And then, with a voice so broken it barely registered above a whisper, she said:

“Why did you do this to me, Rudra?”

He froze.

Her gaze held no hatred. No anger. Just pain. Hollow, raw pain.

Before he could respond, her next words shattered the silence of the room—and with it, his world.

“I want a divorce, Mr. Rudraksh Ranawat.”

Just his full name—cold and formal—like a judge passing a sentence.

No softness.

No Rudra.

No Aksh.

Only silence.

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“In a world full of secrets, their silence screamed the loudest.”

“He was fire forged in violence; she was the calm that made him burn.”

“Fate didn’t bind them—pain did.”

“He never learned how to love gently; she never stopped loving deeply.”

“She loved him like a prayer, he held her like a sin.”

“In every argument, she searched for his love; in every silence, he buried it.”

“He bled for power; she broke for love.”

“Every kiss tasted like goodbye, and they still called it love.”

“He gave her a mansion of shadows, and she filled it with broken light.”

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