Location: Mumbai, India
The morning sun slipped in softly through the tall colonial windows of the Agnivanshi mansion. Down in the private tea lounge, Divya sat with her husband Abhay, both holding their porcelain teacups in comfortable silence.
She glanced up from her cup, her tone casual but laced with meaning. "I like that girl. Ivikaa."
Abhay smirked knowingly. "You think she'd survive our Rudra's arrogance?"
"She answers him back," Divya replied with a chuckle. "That's rare."
Abhay leaned back. "Then maybe she's the one."
Just then, Rudra entered, dressed sharp as always but visibly relaxed. His mother gave him a look-subtle, assessing.
"Planning something?" she asked.
"I thought I'd have breakfast with Ivikaa," he said smoothly, pouring himself tea. "Just... to get to know her better."
Divya exchanged a glance with Abhay and smiled faintly. "Good. I'll go check on her."
Upstairs, Iva was scrolling through her tablet, Maya brushing her hair while multitasking between texts and IV drips of sarcasm.
A soft knock and Divya entered, glowing with elegance and motherly warmth.
"Feeling better, beta?"
Ivikaa nodded. "Much better, aunty. Thank you."
Divya smiled. "That's good. I was wondering... would you like to join Rudra for breakfast? He's asked for a quiet setup on the east wing's middle terrace."
Maya stepped in immediately, voice cautious. "She still needs to rest-"
"I'd like to," Ivikaa interrupted gently but firmly. "I have a few things to discuss with him anyway."
Maya raised a brow, but Ivikaa's expression said don't worry, I know what I'm doing.
Ivikaa sat across from Rudra at the elegant terrace table and the distant roar of the sea. The silverware gleamed, the food was pristine, and Rudra-well, Rudra was in full charm mode.
He offered her a soft croissant, smiling like a man with a plan. "You really should eat more. You were practically weightless yesterday."
Ivikaa gave him a dry smile, taking the plate. "Let's not relive that."
Rudra chuckled. "Fair enough. I'm just glad you're better. You scared us."
She nodded, looking down at her cup. The clink of his spoon against porcelain filled the momentary silence. But Ivikaa had come with more than just an appetite. She cleared her throat and looked up.
"About yesterday..." she began carefully. "he helped me. I didn't even get a chance to thank him properly. I should have."
Rudra's hand paused mid-air as he lifted his cup, a flicker of something passing through his eyes. He set it down without drinking. "Not necessary."
Ivikaa raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
Rudra leaned back, arms crossed. "Because he's an idiot. He doesn't deserve your kindness."
Her gaze sharpened. "That's a bit harsh."
Before Ivikaa could ask more, Rudra leaned back, wiping his mouth with the napkin like he was about to deliver some confidential intel.
"Look," he began casually, "you don't need to bother about him. He's a tenth-fail dropout. Totally uneducated. Spends his day sleeping and feeding off the family's money."
Ivikaa blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness.
"He's weird, Iva. Behaves abnormally half the time. Doesn't speak properly-doesn't know how to. People stopped trying. Eventually, he became an abomination to the family. No one talks to him-not in the house, not at functions. Even our close friends know he's... not it. They steer clear."
Ivikaa's fork hung mid-air.
"He's just a bitter, people-hating recluse wasting his breath and the family's money," Rudra concluded, sipping his juice like he hadn't just thrown a whole human under the bus.
Rudra muttered. "Don't waste your time."
Ivikaa was too stunned to react. Tenth-fail? Her brain scrambled to reconcile the image Rudra painted with the man who held her so gently the night before. A man with sacred threads on his wrist, eyes like grey clouds before a storm, and a calmness that didn't scream failure in any language she knew.
He's from a royal family and not even educated? The thought hit her like cold water. Her mind spun-was that kindness just a facade? A reflex of manners, nothing more?
Oh god, she blinked slowly, he's beneath that butler Martin too.
She stirred her spoon aimlessly in the bowl, trying to make sense of it. All of it suddenly felt embarrassing. Like she'd imagined something... poetic. Something noble. But all along, he was apparently the family's invisible shame.
Ivikaa forced a small smile and nodded absently as Rudra continued talking, but her mind had drifted far away.
Tenth-fail. Uneducated. A complete scumbag living off his family's fortune. Her brain repeated Rudra's words like a checklist, each one further dragging Veer's image down in her head. He's not even respected in his own home. God, what was I even thinking? That he was some mysterious royal playing a flute like a poetic dream? Idiot, Iva.
She rolled her eyes inwardly at herself. Get a grip, girl.
But despite her logical rejection, her heart-traitorous, inconvenient heart-had other plans. That memory of his dimpled smile crept in again. The softness in his eyes when he steadied her, the way he opened the tap without a word, how he didn't flinch even when she threw up on him. Twice.
Ugh, stop it, she scolded herself. Dimples don't equal depth.
Rudra poured her another cup of coffee, his tone light, almost casual-too casual.
"You know," he began, picking a grape from his plate, "that sweet old lady his always doting over-Dadi? She's the only one who still entertains him."
Ivikaa looked up, curious. "Why?"
He gave a sarcastic laugh. "Because she's blind to him. Doesn't see through his little performance. The caring grandson act? It's just a game. He knows she's the one with the most wealth and influence in the family. You think he's around her out of love? No, sweetheart. He's playing the long game."
Ivikaa blinked, confused.
Rudra tilted his head with a soft, pitying smile. "You're sweet. That's your problem. You believe people too easily." He leaned forward, voice lower. "He is not what he looks like. He's a failed son, a disappointment, an opportunist who knows the only way to stay relevant is to act like a devoted one."
The words sank in, twisting uncomfortably in Ivikaa's chest. Her mind wanted to believe Rudra. The facts made sense-Veer being isolated, uneducated, dismissed by the family... why would he care for Dadi unless he had something to gain?
Stop it, Iva, she told herself firmly. He's a scam. A well-dressed, flute-playing scam.
Rudra smoothly shifted gears.
"Anyway," he said, brushing crumbs from his lap and flashing a strategic smile, "I didn't call you here just for breakfast and gossip about family degenerates."
Ivikaa raised an eyebrow, pushing aside her now cold coffee. "No?"
He leaned in, his tone suddenly all business. "I've been speaking with Devaki chachi. There's a huge opportunity in merging the classic royalty of Agnivanshi name with something modern... global... fresh. Like Iva Fashion House."
Ivikaa blinked. "A joint venture?"
"Exactly," Rudra said, eyes gleaming with ambition. "The Agnivanshis may have old money and heritage, but we lack a proper presence in luxury modern fashion. Your label already has global appeal. Imagine combining our resources, infrastructure, and reach with your vision. Devaki chachi is on board. I want you on board too."
Ivikaa stared at him, stunned-not just by the sudden shift from character assassination to corporate synergy, but by how neatly it all fit together.
Ivikaa smiled-an evil little curve of satisfaction playing on her lips. So her steps were accurate after all. He had just opened the Indian market for her and served it hot on a silver platter. Well done, Iva. Well done.
She had been uncertain about expanding here. India was unpredictable. But after the headlines that followed the Agnivanshi party, the message was clear: She wasn't just welcome-she was sensational. If there was money to be printed, she was ready to run the press.
She rose from her seat, dabbing her lips gently with a napkin. "I'll think about the proposal," she said with a faint smile, already turning away. But just as she reached the arch of the terrace exit, she paused.
"Rudra," she called, her voice light but deliberate, "why is the west wing forbidden?"
Rudra, mid-sip of his coffee, looked up, visibly surprised. "Forbidden? There's no such rule," he said, frowning. "We just don't use it anymore. The east and middle wings are more than enough. Anyway,"-he waved a hand dismissively-"once, He had some... meltdown and pretty much wrecked the wing. It's not as grand as it used to be. We just avoid it now."
She tilted her head slightly. "Martin stopped me last night. Told me I wasn't allowed there."
Rudra's expression darkened. "Martin again," he muttered, jaw tightening. "Don't worry. I'll remind him of his place. He forgets whom he's speaking to."
Ivikaa didn't respond. But as she walked away, her thoughts lingered more on Veer than Martin. What could he have possibly done to 'blast' a whole wing? He ruined this beauty?
Ivikaa entered the room. Maya looked up from her tablet, instantly noticing the sly grin spreading across Ivikaa's face.
"That smile tells me everything I need to know," Maya said, closing the tablet with a snap.
Ivikaa didn't respond right away-just walked to the mirror, fixed her hair, and smirked at her reflection. Then she turned around and said with that trademark glint in her eye, "He opened the Indian market for me and served it hot on a silver platter."
Maya's lips curled in satisfaction. "Step one-done," she declared, her voice low and sharp like a clean cut.
Ivikaa walked over, picked up a cushion, and threw it onto the bed with force. "Now it's your turn. Go charm Devaki Agnivanshi or should say Devaki Chachi."
Maya nodded, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "But tell me one thing, Iva-are you aware of the Agnivanshis' intentions? Especially Abhay, Divya... Rudra? He seems a little too interested."
Ivikaa's smile didn't falter. "Let's not talk about intentions," she said coolly. "You know me, Maya. I eat people like them for breakfast."
Maya raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Ivikaa walked past her, dropping onto the bed with the grace of a queen. "And when I say breakfast," she added with a glint in her eyes, "I mean I eat them-completely-without them even realizing they're on the plate."
Maya let out a soft chuckle. "Remind me never to get on your menu."
Ivikaa smiled, dark and sweet. "Too late. You're already my dessert."
Maya leaned back, folding her arms with a grin of pure pride.
"Aah, and here I thought I lost my Iva somewhere in Mumbai," she said, her tone a mix of relief and admiration. "But here she is-the core Iva. Finally Iva is Ivaing"
"Thank God you got sick," Maya muttered, half-laughing, shaking her head in disbelief.
"Hey," Ivikaa raised a brow, smirking, "don't thank God-thank me."
She stretched like a cat who'd just won the hunt.
"I'll talk to Papa and contact Alex. We move the production today. And the joint venture? It's happening-on my terms."
Later that day, Ivikaa and Maya accompanied Devaki to the Agnivanshi studio. They walked her through every corner, every rack, every sample. Maya, though used to brilliance, was genuinely amazed by the craftsmanship. Each piece had its own voice-refined, rooted, and almost there. Just a few sharp perspectives, and the Agnivanshis could explode into a global brand. And of course, Iva was the best decision for it. She never needed to touch a fabric to know it-her eyes, sharp as ever, saw flaws, potential, and transformation in a single glance.
In the evening, Rudra informed them that the financial reports for the proposed joint venture would take two more days to be finalized. "It's just formalities now, but the paperwork and audits will take a bit longer," he said, almost apologetically.
Which meant-Ivikaa and Maya had to stay at the Agnivanshi Palace for two more days.
Ivikaa arched a brow, smirked faintly. "Of course it will," she muttered under her breath.
Another two days of veiled politics, forbidden wings, dimples, and playing the game in royal corridors.
As Maya got caught up drafting the joint venture documents, Ivikaa stepped out into the corridor, her mind drifting. She was about to head into her room when her gaze flicked to the right.
The West Wing.
She tiptoed toward it, curious and defiant, and noticed Martin and Maria hauling out a few suitcases. Perfect, she smirked, seizing the opportunity. The moment they disappeared around the bend, she slipped past the archway, crossing into forbidden territory.
No one stopped her this time.
Just as she entered, a soft melody caught her attention-an aarti being sung. The sound pulled her toward the grand temple at the heart of the wing. She peeked in.
Veer.
Standing in front of the deity, dressed in a pastel green kurta, performing aarti with serene devotion.
She rolled her eyes. Of course. Him and god. Both equally pointless in my world.
Disgusted and unimpressed, her gaze shifted to the interiors. The temple and surrounding hall bore the marks of damage-renovated, yes, but stripped of their former charm. So this is what a "blast" did, she thought with a frown. A perfect metaphor for him-messy beginnings and barely held-together pieces.
She turned to leave. No point lingering in the land of the obsolete.
That's when she saw it-a wooden flute resting casually on the sofa. Its warm polish, delicate engravings-it was... beautiful.
At least he can play, she thought, reluctantly.
She walked over, ran her fingers over the smooth wood. Her fingers caught on a rough patch-a carving.
"Veer Ki Vani."
Oh god. Who names their flute? she cringed. Who even plays flute in this modern world? What is he, the last sage of a forgotten era?
Still, she couldn't deny the craftsmanship. It was personal. A relic of someone who didn't quite fit.
Just then, the music stopped. Startled, she quickly placed the flute back where it was and turned to rush out before she could get caught.
And then came the scream.
A piercing, panicked cry that echoed down the hallway.
"VEER!"
A loud crash shattered the silence. Then another. And another. Screams rang through the West Wing, glass breaking, things thudding to the ground violently.
Ivikaa followed the sounds instinctively-only to find Meera Agnivanshi in the middle of a full-blown meltdown.
She was screaming incoherently, throwing vases and cushions, knocking things over in a storm of rage and confusion. Her face was flushed, her hands shaking.
Abhay, Divya, Raghav, Devaki, Rudra, even Raha-everyone stood there.
Frozen.
No one dared approach her.
Ivikaa took a step forward out of pure human impulse, but Rudra caught her arm quickly.
"Don't," he warned. "You'll get hurt."
Ivikaa looked at him, then back at the scene. This is their mother, and none of them can move an inch?
Suddenly, footsteps pounded from behind. Veer.
He came sprinting in, eyes fixed on Meera. Without hesitation, he stepped into the chaos.
A glass flew straight at him, smashing against his forehead. Blood trickled down, but he didn't even flinch.
He went to her. Held her.
Wrapped his arms tightly around her trembling body and whispered, "Maa... Veer aa gaya hai. Main yahin hoon."
[Maa... Veer has come. I'm right here.]
Her hands, which were pushing him away, began to falter. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Slowly, she clutched at his shirt and leaned into him, broken but quieter.
He made her sit down and gently brought a glass of water to her lips.
Then she murmured, "Veer... Shravani kaha hai?"
[Where is Shravani?]
Veer's eyes twinkled, and he replied in a playful tone, "Vani? Maa, woh apne mayke hai."
[Vani? Maa, she is at her parents' house.]
A pause-and then Meera's narrowed eyes fixed on him.
She reached up and twisted his ear.
"Pagphere ke liye gayi hai meri Shravani. Kaan khol ke sun, main tujhse zyada meri Shravani se pyar karti hoon, samjha?"
[My Shravani has gone for the pagphere ritual. Listen carefully-I love my Shravani more than you do, got it]
Veer winced and nodded, rubbing his ear. "Samajh gaya Veer ki Maa. Aap apni Shravani se aur Veer apni Vani se bahut pyar karte hain. Ab khush?"
[Got it, Veer's Mother, You love your Shravani a lot, and Veer loves his Vani even more. Happy now?]
He folded his hands in a theatrical apology. A small laugh escaped Meera's lips. She had calmed down-completely.
Then he signaled Maria, who quickly stepped forward and gently guided Meera out of the hall.
Ivikaa watched the entire thing, stunned. And somehow, he did it with a bleeding forehead and a joke.
Rudra immediately called the doctor-swift, calm, decisive. Ivikaa stood there, watching it all unfold.
That's when it dawned on her.
People like Rudra gets you help.
But people like Veer?
They sit with your shit-your screaming, your breaking, your bleeding mess-until people like Rudra gets you help.
Unknown to everyone, Maya was sitting in her room when Iva barged in and collapsed onto the bed like a storm had just passed through her. Her mind raced, repeating every word Veer had spoken to Meera.
Shravani... Vani... Biwi...
Veer Ki Vani.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
"He's married," she muttered, the words tasting like betrayal.
Maya turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised.
"Today's glimpse of Mr. Scam," Iva said, voice laced with sarcasm, "comes with a bleeding forehead and a whole damn wife."
She scoffed bitterly. "Fucking idiot. The caveman has a wife. If I sum up his words they say take a next Exit Iva."
Maya's eyes widened slightly, unsure if she should be worried or amused. But she didn't say a word-just stared at Iva like she'd officially lost her mind.
Ivikaa thought sarcastically -
Veer 2.0 - Husband, Healer, Heartbreaker
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Author's Note:
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