*ONE*

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AUTHOR'S POV:
In the heart of a dimly lit room, the only sound that echoed was the slow, agonizing drip of blood hitting the cold concrete floor. A man, bruised and battered, sat tied to a wooden chair. His face was swollen, blood oozing from his split lip, and deep gashes painted his skin like a canvas of pain. Every breath he took was a struggle — shallow, shaky, and filled with fear.

Across from him, lounging on a luxurious leather sofa with the ease of a man who owned the world, sat Veer — the male lead.

Dressed in a black shirt with the top buttons undone, his charm was undeniable, almost hypnotic. But it was his eyes that told the real story — dark, intense, and merciless. He didn't move, just sat there silently, watching the broken man in front of him with a cold amusement, like a lion watching a wounded deer trying to crawl away.

A slow smirk played on his lips as the man — Ajay — trembled in terror, barely able to lift his head.

"S-Sir... I-I am sorry... P-Please forgive m-me..." Ajay stammered, his voice cracking as tears and blood mingled on his face.

Before he could utter another word, a hard, merciless punch landed on his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him — along with the chair — crashing to the floor.

Veer stood up slowly, the leather of the sofa creaking behind him. He walked towards Ajay with deadly calm, his polished shoes echoing with each step. He grabbed Ajay by the collar, lifting his half-conscious body off the floor, and growled through clenched teeth, his voice colder than ice:

"I don’t forgive those who try to mess with my business.

I don’t warn. I don’t forget. I just... punish."

Ajay sobbed, blood pooling beneath him. "N-No... s-sir... p-please... I-I beg you... I won't do it again, please..."

But Veer was done listening.

Without a word, he turned and picked up the gun from the table beside him — a sleek black pistol, loaded and ready. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

Once.
Twice.
Again.
And again.

He kept shooting until the chamber clicked empty. Ajay's lifeless body slumped on the floor, drenched in blood. Veer stood still, his face emotionless, his shirt stained red.

He exhaled slowly, then tossed the gun aside like it was nothing more than a broken toy. Turning to the man standing silently beside him — his ever-loyal PA — he spoke in a calm, controlled voice:

"Throw his body in the forest. Let the animals clean up the mess."

The PA, a sharp and composed man named Archit, simply nodded.

"Yes, sir."

And with that, the room fell into silence again — cold, heavy, and blood-soaked.

After leaving the blood-stained room behind, Veer stepped into an attached private chamber — cool, sleek, and untouched by the chaos he’d just left. Without wasting a moment, he stripped off his shirt, now ruined with splashes of red, and stepped into the shower. The water washed over him like a silent confession, rinsing off the evidence but not the fire burning inside his chest.

Minutes later, he emerged, freshly dressed in a crisp black shirt. The top buttons were left undone, the sleeves slightly rolled — calm, dangerous elegance personified. Just as he was adjusting his cuffs, Archit, his composed and loyal PA, appeared at the door holding out his phone.

“Boss, mam is calling,” he said respectfully.

Veer didn’t respond verbally. He took the phone in his hand, placed it against his ear, and spoke in his usual cold, unreadable tone, “Yes, Maa?”

On the other end, his mother, Shivanya Singh Rathore, instantly burst out, her irritation tangible.
“Kya maa-maa laga rakha hai! Ghar kab aayega?”

Veer let out a deep breath, as if steadying himself for this very moment. “Maa, I’ll come tonight. I’ve got some work.”

There was a brief pause, and then a curt reply.
“Okay.”
She hung up without another word.

Without letting the conversation affect him, Veer strode out of the cottage. His driver opened the car door, and he slid into the backseat without a sound. The engine started, and they drove through the quiet roads as the evening sun dipped low in the sky.

Soon, the car pulled up in front of a towering glass-and-steel building that kissed the clouds. Boldly etched at the very top were the words:
“RATHORE’S & COMPANY.”

Veer stepped out, the sharp click of his shoes echoing against the polished tiles. Inside, employees scrambled to attention the moment they saw him. Heads bowed, greetings were whispered —
“Good evening, sir...”

But Veer didn’t acknowledge a single one. His presence was like a storm — felt, feared, and followed in silence.

He entered his private elevator and pressed the button for the 65th floor — the topmost level, where his luxurious cabin awaited.

The elevator doors parted with a soft chime, and Veer walked out. As always, the employees at that level stood respectfully, but he didn’t glance their way. He made his way to his office, pushed open the tall glass doors—

—and stopped.

Sitting on his chair with his legs up and a smug smile on his face was none other than his best friend, Abhimanyu.

Veer rolled his eyes. His voice dropped a degree colder.
“Get off my chair, you asshole.”

Abhimanyu laughed, unfazed, and casually got up. “Relax, man. You should be thanking me for warming it up,” he said, taking the seat across from Veer. “Now tell me — what’s wrong with you? You look like hell chewed you up and spat you out.”

Veer didn’t look at him. He settled into his seat, eyes on the laptop.
“Everything will be fine the moment you leave my office.”

Abhimanyu clutched his heart in mock offense. “Haww... How can you say this to your best friend?” he said, wiping imaginary tears.

Veer ignored the drama, fingers flying across the keyboard.

“Did you kill him?” Abhimanyu asked suddenly, the playfulness fading slightly.

Veer didn’t answer. He just gave a low, wordless hum — the kind that said more than words could.
Abhimanyu nodded, silently understanding.

---

EVENING

After wrapping up hours of work, Veer and Abhimanyu finally left the office. They settled into the backseat of Veer’s car, and the driver took off once again — this time, towards home.

As the car entered through large iron gates, the grandeur of Rathore Mansion unfolded before them.

It was majestic — a symbol of power, history, and old-world royalty. The mansion stood tall, its architecture blending classical elegance with a regal edge. Ornate balconies, tall arched windows, and intricate carvings lined the facade. Glowing lanterns lit up the driveway, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming roses from the garden.

On the left wall, a proud golden nameplate gleamed under the lights:
“RATHORE MANSION.”

They stepped inside. The interior was no less impressive — a vast marble-floored hall, crystal chandeliers hanging like stardust from above, and walls adorned with portraits of generations past.

In the main sitting area, Sujeet Singh Rathore, Veer’s grandfather, sat with quiet dignity. Beside him sat Veer’s father, Kairav Singh Rathore, and his uncle, Jai Singh Rathore. Standing nearby was his mother, Shivanya, her expression a mix of sternness and affection.

Veer and Abhimanyu bowed respectfully, touching the elders' feet. Shivanya instantly pulled Veer into a tight embrace. A lone tear escaped her eye.

Veer gently wiped it away.
“Why are you crying, Maa? I’m right here.”

She hit his cheek lightly, half-scolding, half-loving.
“Itna time kyu laga diya?”

Veer smirked. “Because there’s a lot of work.”

Shivanya narrowed her eyes. “Haan haan, I know your ‘work’ very well.”

“Aunty, did you forget me already?” Abhimanyu chimed in with a mock-offended face.

Shivanya chuckled warmly. “How could I forget my second son?” she said, pulling him into a hug too.

Just then, Sujeet’s deep voice cut through the moment.

“Veer, come sit. We need to talk.”

Veer nodded and sat beside him on the large sofa. Abhimanyu followed suit, sitting next to Veer.

Sujeet didn’t waste time.
“Veer, we want you to get married.”

The atmosphere changed instantly. Veer’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

Abhimanyu muttered under his breath, “Bas, ho gaya tamasha shuru...”

Veer’s voice was low but sharp enough to cut steel.
“I’ve told you before. I’m not getting married.”

Kairav slammed his palm on the armrest.
“Veer, stop behaving like a child. You’ll have to settle down eventually.”

Shivanya stood silently, her face etched with worry.

Sujeet looked at his grandson with a mixture of pride and pain.
“Veer, I don’t know how long I’ll live. All I want is to see you married before I go.”

Veer scoffed, eyes narrowing.
“This emotional blackmail won’t work this time, Dadu.”

Kairav leaned forward, voice firm and commanding.
“ wo natak nhi kar rhe. You will get married — whether you like it or not.”

Shivanya put her hand on his shoulder and said " please veer "
He couldn’t say no to his mother—not when he looked at her face. There was something in her eyes, a silent hope, maybe even a hint of pressure. And just like that, he gave in.

With a quiet sigh and a reluctant nod, he said yes… even if every part of him wanted to say no.

He left from there angrily to his room
Abhimanyu followed him closely behind, already prepared to tease him—

" Ummmm hmmm bhabhi ayengi ab toh " abhimanyu said with a teased expressions.

Veer look at him with dark eye and said " if you don't want your ass beaten then get out of my room you asshole"

"Okay okay but mujhe shaadi me zrur zrur bulana " He quickly walked away from there, a smug little smirk playing on his lips—like he knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed every second of it.

Veer closed his eyes and stormed into the bathroom, clearly fuming. His footsteps were heavy, his jaw clenched tight. Without saying a word, he shut the door behind him and turned on the shower, as if letting the water drown out whatever was burning inside him.

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