Author's POV

What we see around us—on television, in films, or through the glossy pages of magazines—is never the complete truth. These images are carefully constructed, and edited to show us only what they want us to see. The glamour, the perfect smiles, the flawless moments—they're not the whole story. It's a carefully curated version of reality, designed to create an illusion of perfection. But behind every screen, behind every picture, lies something different—something more complex.

The same applies to the people in our lives. The family we call our own, the friends we trust, even the strangers we cross paths with—what we see is not always the full truth. A simple hello can hide a thousand untold thoughts. The words people speak don't always align with what they truly feel or think. And often, those closest to us keep parts of themselves hidden—fragments of their lives and minds that they keep behind closed doors. The people we believe we know, the ones we think we understand, are not as simple as we imagine.

It's easy to assume we know everything about the people around us. We know their likes, their dislikes, their habits, and the roles they play in our lives. But what we don't see, what we can't see, is what lies beneath the surface. Every person has their own internal world—a web of thoughts, emotions, and experiences that might never reach the light of day. A family member might smile at you, but inside they might be struggling with things you can't even begin to imagine. A friend might laugh along with you, but in their mind, they're fighting battles of their own.

Even our families—the ones we think we know best—have their own stories, their own hidden chapters. We think we know them, that we've seen everything they have to offer, but the truth is far more intricate. The father who provides for us, the sibling who shares our childhood memories, the friend who stands by our side—each one is carrying their own untold story. What they choose to show us is just a small piece of the bigger picture. And sometimes, what they keep hidden is the most important part.

This is the reality that no one talks about. We live in a world of appearances—where truth and reality often remain in the shadows. We judge what we see, but what we see is rarely the full picture. And it is in these shadows, these hidden stories, that the truth begins to unfold.

What we see is not always the truth.

The world around us thrives on illusions, carefully crafted narratives that conceal the reality beneath them. Take movies, for instance. A two-hour film shows us only the final product—the glitz, the drama, the well-rehearsed dialogues. But behind the scenes? There's struggle, chaos, retakes, and untold stories hidden from the audience.

The same principle applies to people. The smiles they wear, the words they speak, and the image they project—none of it is as simple as it seems. Friends, family, strangers—each harbors secrets, unspoken thoughts, and hidden emotions that they choose not to reveal.

And if this is true for individuals, imagine the deception woven into the most powerful families—the ones displayed in glossy magazines, ruling the business world with an iron grip. The ones people admire from afar, believing them to be untouchable, perfect.

Like the Rajvanshi Family.

To the world, they are an empire—a dynasty built on wealth, intelligence, and power. The name Rajvanshi commands respect. Their business empire stretches across industries, from real estate and luxury hotels to international trade. A legacy of dominance, passed down through generations. But what people see—what they believe—is just a façade.

Because behind the wealth, behind the extravagant parties and grand charity events, behind the perfectly curated image, lies a truth that few dare to speak.

The Rajvanshi family is far from perfect.

And for the first time, we step behind the curtain, past the illusions, and into the reality of their world.

______

The Rajvanshi Group of Industries was a titan in the corporate world. With towering skyscrapers bearing their name, they had built an empire so powerful that competitors dared not challenge them. Their boardroom was a place where billion-dollar deals were made and broken, where decisions shaped economies.

And at the head of it all sat Devraj Singh Rajvanshi, the Chairman—a man whose mere presence commanded silence.

Inside the grand conference room of Rajvanshi Tower, the air was thick with authority. The long mahogany table gleamed under the golden lights, where the top executives sat, waiting. Some checked their watches nervously, others pretended to review their notes. But every single person had their eyes on the man at the head of the table.

Devraj Singh Rajvanshi was in his late seventies, but age had done little to soften him. He wore a traditional crisp white kurta with a tailored black coat, a symbol of his old-world roots combined with modern sophistication. His cold, calculating eyes swept across the room, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of decades of experience.

"This company was built with discipline and intelligence," he said, his tone sharp. "I do not tolerate carelessness. If we lose this contract, there will be consequences."

Sitting beside him was his son, Virendra Singh Rajvanshi, the current CEO—a man just as ruthless in business as his father. Unlike his father's traditional attire, Virendra dressed in an impeccably tailored navy suit, his demeanor cool and professional. He adjusted his cufflinks, then glanced at the reports in front of him.

"We will secure the contract," he said, his voice unwavering. "I have already spoken to the foreign investors. By tomorrow, the deal will be finalized."

Across from him sat Aarav Singh Rajvanshi, Virendra's eldest son—the heir to the empire. At twenty-eight, he had already established himself as a formidable businessman. His sharp jawline and intense gaze mirrored his father's, and he carried himself with quiet authority.

Unlike his father and grandfather, Aarav was more strategic, preferring logic over intimidation. He studied the document in front of him and spoke calmly, "We should also consider our long-term stake in this sector. Expanding into international markets will require more than just a strong contract—we need leverage."

Devraj nodded in approval. "That is how a future leader thinks," he remarked, his gaze lingering on Aarav before shifting back to the table.

The discussion continued, business strategies dissected with precision. Deals, acquisitions, competition—it was all about power and control.

And power was something the Rajvanshis never compromised on.

The Rajvanshi Mansion was a masterpiece of architecture—an estate that spread over acres, adorned with crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and gold accents. The grandeur of the house reflected their status, but behind the luxurious walls, tensions simmered.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the atmosphere inside the mansion shifted. The servants moved swiftly, setting up for the family's dinner. The aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, but there was a sense of unease that no one dared to acknowledge.

Inside the grand sitting room, Rajeshwari Devi Rajvanshi, Devraj's wife and the matriarch of the family, sat with Rukmini Singh Shekhawat, Virendra's mother-in-law. Despite their age, both women exuded an air of dominance—each holding their own place in the family hierarchy.

"Dinner must be served on time," Rajeshwari said, adjusting the heavy silk pallu of her saree. "Devraj doesn't like waiting."

Rukmini, a woman known for her sharp tongue, gave a dismissive nod. "He may not like waiting, but he has always made others wait for his decisions, hasn't he?"

Rajeshwari's lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.

At that moment, Aparna Virendra Singh Rajvanshi, YN's mother, entered the room. Unlike the rest of the Rajvanshis, she had never quite belonged. She carried herself with quiet grace, but there was a sadness in her eyes—a reminder of the years she had spent being tolerated rather than accepted.

Rajeshwari's gaze hardened the moment she saw her.

"Did the chef prepare everything correctly?" she asked, her tone clipped.

Aparna nodded. "Yes, everything is as per tradition."

"Good. You should ensure you don't make mistakes."

Aparna's hands clenched at her sides, but she remained silent. She had learned long ago that in this house, her words held little value.

Just then, a deep voice interrupted them.

"I think dinner should be served now."

The women turned to see Virendra, standing near the doorway, his expression unreadable. His presence alone was enough to make the conversation end.

As they moved toward the grand dining hall, the stage was set for the next act of the Rajvanshi family's carefully maintained illusion.

Because tonight, amidst the lavish dinner and formal conversations, the hidden cracks in their perfect family would begin to show.

As the family gathered around the grand dining table, Rajeshwari Devi sat at the head, overseeing everything like a queen ruling her court. The chandeliers above cast a soft golden hue, reflecting off the polished silverware.

"Aparna, serve everyone," Rajeshwari Devi instructed, her tone firm yet poised.

Before Aparna could move, Virendra's voice cut through the room. "She won't." His tone was sharp, carrying the weight of authority. The entire table stilled.

Aparna hesitated, her gaze flickering toward her mother-in-law, whose piercing glare held her in place.

"Biwi," Virendra said again, this time his voice edged with impatience. "Didn't you hear me?"

Aparna swallowed, her hands trembling slightly before she reluctantly took her seat beside her husband. A tense silence followed, broken only by the clinking of cutlery as the family began serving themselves.

From across the table, Rukmini Singh Shekhawat smirked, her sharp eyes catching the fleeting irritation in Rajeshwari Devi's expression. It wasn't often that someone defied the matriarch in such a direct manner, and seeing her son challenge her authority—especially over Aparna—was a rare sight indeed.

Rajeshwari Devi had ruled the household for decades, her word law within the mansion. Even Devraj, her husband, rarely opposed her in family matters, choosing instead to direct his focus toward the empire he built. But Virendra was different. He had always been the one to challenge her authority, the only person who dared to bend, and sometimes break, her rules. And more often than not, it was for his wife. Unlike Devraj, whose power was absolute in business, Virendra had carved his dominance in both worlds—his father's and his mother's. He was the only one who stood firmly before both, unwavering and unafraid.

As the meal was about to begin, Devraj cleared his throat, directing his attention toward Aparna. "Where is YN?"

Aparna quickly responded, her voice composed but cautious. "She sent a message. She'll be home by 8:30. It's just 8:10 now."

Devraj gave a slight nod, accepting the answer. The conversation shifted elsewhere, but an unspoken tension lingered in the air, each member of the family aware of the unyielding power struggles that played beneath their seemingly perfect household.

This section is beautifully introspective, focusing on YN's thoughts about love, marriage, dreams, and family. I've expanded it with more depth, adding emotions and details to make it feel richer and more immersive. Here's the scene:

YN's POV

Love. Relationships. Marriage.

Some people say they're overrated, that they're just illusions society has built over time. But no matter how much we deny it, deep down, we all crave it. We all want someone to call ours. A person who stands beside us, through the storms and the sunshine, through the victories and the losses. We might pretend that we don't care, that we are self-sufficient, but in the end, love is as essential as the air we breathe.

We need someone who understands us without words, someone who sees through our strengths and acknowledges our weaknesses without making us feel small. Someone who holds our hands in a crowded room, who looks at us like we are their entire world.

And I am no different.

I, too, want a love that feels like home. A partner who will be my safe space. A man who will walk beside me, just like my father walks beside my mother.

To the world, my father is a strict and disciplined man, cold and unyielding. A businessman who rarely smiles, a man who commands respect with just a glance. People think he doesn't care much for emotions, that his heart is made of stone. But I know the truth. I have seen it in the way he looks at my mother. The silent, unspoken love in his eyes. The way he always stands beside her, shielding her from my grandmother's sharp words.

Most people would think he doesn't care, that he's indifferent to my mother's struggles in this house, but I know better. Every time my dadi scolds or taunts my mother, my father is always there. He might not raise his voice, but his presence alone is enough to put an end to it. He's her shield, her protector.

And that is exactly what I want.

Every girl dreams of a love like her father's, and I am no exception. I want someone who may not always say he loves me, but shows it in the smallest of ways. Someone who doesn't just call me his wife but treats me like his equal.

But love isn't the only important thing in life.

Dreams matter, too.

My mother once had a dream—to be a doctor. But she had to give it up. For marriage. For family. For responsibilities.

Now, that dream lives within me.

I have seen the way her eyes light up whenever she talks about medicine, how her fingers still instinctively reach for a stethoscope whenever we visit the hospital. She never says it, but I know the sacrifices she made.

And I will make sure those sacrifices weren't in vain.

I will become a cardiologist. Not just for myself, but for her. I want to see that proud smile on her face when I graduate, when I hold my degree in my hands. I want to give her the happiness she had to give up for us.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed the knock on the wooden desk in front of me.

"Miss, the library is closing soon."

Startled, I blinked and looked up. The librarian stood there, giving me a knowing smile. I glanced around and realized that the once-busy library was now almost empty, the silence stretching around me like a thick fog.

I quickly checked the time on my phone—8:00 PM.

Damn.

I was supposed to be home before 8:30, and it would take at least twenty minutes to reach the mansion.

Gathering my books in a rush, I mumbled an apology and hurried out of the library. The air outside was cooler now, the faint chill of the night creeping in. Wrapping my shawl around myself, I walked briskly toward my car, my heart beating just a little faster than usual.

I hated being late.

And I especially hated walking into a dining table where everyone was already seated.

By the time I reached home, it was 8:35. Just a few minutes late, but in this house, even a few minutes were enough to earn a sharp remark.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside the Rajvanshi mansion.

The dining hall was filled with the soft hum of conversation, the clinking of silverware against plates. My entire family was already seated, the long dining table occupied by familiar faces.

My father sat at the head, as always, his expression unreadable. My mother, beside him, serving food onto his plate with quiet precision. My dadi, Rajeshwari Devi, sat with her usual regal presence, her eyes immediately flickering toward me as I entered. My dadaji, Devraj, was speaking to my brother, while my nani, Rukmini Singh Shekhawat, observed the table with an amused expression, as if watching an interesting play unfold before her.

"Namaste," I greeted softly, offering a small smile as I moved toward my mother first, touching her feet, then my father's, my grandparents', and finally my nani's.

"You're late," Rajeshwari Devi's voice cut through the room, sharp as a blade. "A young girl shouldn't be out at this hour. We don't run a hotel where you can come and go as you please."

I clenched my fingers, prepared for another lecture, but before I could respond, my father spoke up.

"She was studying, Maa." His voice was calm, but firm. "Libraries don't close at 6 like your era. They stay open late."

Dadi lips pressed into a thin line, clearly unimpressed, but she didn't argue. My father had that effect on her—where others were too intimidated to contradict her, he did so with ease.

I shot him a grateful glance as my mother stepped in. "Go freshen up, beta. Dinner will be served soon."

Nodding, I turned and hurried toward my room, letting out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

Family dinners at the Rajvanshi mansion were never simple.

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After dinner, I retreated to my room, letting out a long breath as I shut the door behind me. The mansion was still alive with faint sounds of conversation from the dining hall, but in here, in my space, it was quiet.

I changed into a comfortable cotton kurta, letting my long hair down as I sat at my desk, opening my medical books. The heavy textbooks had become my familiar companions over the years, their pages filled with intricate details about the human heart—how it beats, how it functions, how fragile yet resilient it is.

I had barely begun reading when a soft knock sounded on my door.

"Come in," I said, expecting it to be my mother.

Instead, my brother walked in, his usual confident smirk in place. He was holding two cups of chai, a silent peace offering for whatever he was about to tease me about.

"You're still awake?" I asked, raising a brow.

He walked over, placing one cup in front of me before taking a sip of his own. "I could ask you the same thing, doctor sahiba."

I rolled my eyes. "I have exams coming up."

"And I have a sister who thinks too much," he shot back playfully, sitting on the swing in my balcony and motioning for me to join him.

With a sigh, I put my book away and stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The stars above shone dimly, partially hidden by the glow of the city lights. The swing creaked softly as I sat beside him, pulling my legs up comfortably.

"So, aaj nahi puchogi tum kya hua ghar mein?" he started, nudging me with his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. "There's nothing new in it."

He smiled. "That's true, but this time you missed a scene that came straight out of a filmy movie."

I tilted my head in curiosity. "Oh?"

He leaned back, stretching his legs out. "Before you came, Dadi hamesha ki tarah lecture suna rahi thi Mumma ko—yeh karo, serve karna chahiye, yeh theek se nahi kiya."

I stiffened slightly. I hated when Dadi treated Mumma like that.

"Aur usse pehle ki Mumma karti, Papa saamne aaye aur bole, 'Don't.'"

I blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Mumma thodi hesitate ho rahi thi, par phir Papa ne aur ek dialogue mara—'Biwi, don't you hear me?'"

My eyes widened.

"And just like that, both of them stopped." He smirked. "Maa came and sat beside Papa, and you should have seen Dadi's face."

I couldn't help but chuckle, already imagining the scene.

"Aur Nani toh pehle se hi smirk kar rahi thi Dadi par, jaise jaanti ho ki uske khud ke bete ne usko usi ke maidan mein hara diya. And me? main toh apne hasi kasie roki hai mujhe pta kai. dadi ka chera dekhne layak tha uss time"

A smile tugged at my lips. My father wasn't a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes.

I looked at my brother and found him already looking at me, his expression soft. "You always say you want someone like Baba," he murmured. "And you will find him."

I blinked at his sudden sincerity. "What about you?" I teased. "You need someone who will handle your stubborn self."

He let out a chuckle. "I'd rather not think about it right now. One of us needs to focus on the present."

I laughed, nudging him playfully.

After a while, he sighed and stood up. "Alright, enough emotional talk. Sleep now, you have a long day tomorrow."

I groaned. "Don't remind me. Another one of Dadi's religious functions?"

He smirked. "Oh yes. And this time, you can't escape."

With that, he ruffled my hair and walked away, leaving me to stare at the night sky, lost in my thoughts.

YN POV 

A loud knock woke me up.

"YN, wake up. It's 6 AM," my mother's voice called from outside.

I groaned, rolling onto my side, unwilling to leave the warmth of my blanket. But before I could bury myself back into sleep, the door opened, and my mother stepped in, holding a beautiful white and gold Anarkali in her hands.

I blinked sleepily. "What's that for?"

"We're going to the mandir. Your Dadi has arranged a pooja," she said gently, placing the outfit on my bed.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. "Do I have to?"

She gave me a patient look. "It's for the family, beta."

I sighed. As much as I disliked my Dadi's controlling ways, my family was my heart.

As I stepped into the shower, I let my thoughts wander.

I wasn't particularly close to my Dadaji, but as the youngest in the family, he had always been softer with me. He never showed it openly—he, like my father and brother, had an ego too big to express emotions easily. But I knew he cared.

My father was the same way. And even my brother, despite all his teasing, had a way of showing he loved me.

Smiling at the thought, I finished my shower and got dressed, the soft fabric of the Anarkali flowing around me.

By the time I reached downstairs, the family was already preparing to leave.

The temple stood tall and majestic, its intricate carvings bathed in the soft golden light of the rising sun. The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and incense, the rhythmic chanting of priests echoing through the stone corridors. Bells chimed in harmony, their sound blending with the soft murmurs of devotees offering their prayers.

As we stepped inside, my eyes instinctively wandered across the sacred space, taking in the early morning scene—women in colorful sarees bowing before the deities, old men whispering shlokas under their breath, children clinging to their mothers as they learned the ways of devotion.

Then, my gaze halted.

Near the Snan Kund, a man was emerging from the water.

The world around me faded into a dull hum as my attention fixated on him.

He rose from the chilled sacred waters, each droplet cascading down the sharp contours of his body, tracing the ridges of his toned chest and the sculpted muscles of his arms. His white dhoti, damp and clinging to his form, wrapped around his waist, emphasizing the taut strength beneath.

His hands, large and steady, came together in a firm Namaste, his fingers dripping with water as he lifted them to his forehead in silent prayer. Across his chest lay a sacred thread (Janeu), the thin white strand resting over his powerful shoulder, marking his devotion and lineage.

His head remained bowed in quiet reverence, the water glistening against the deep tan of his skin, his breath slow and controlled, as if nothing in the world could disturb his focus.

And then, he lifted his face.

A single drop of water slid from his jaw down his throat, disappearing into the hollow at the base of his neck.

The moment his eyes met mine, a sharp jolt ran through my spine.

Dark. Intense. Mesmerizing.

There was something about them—not just the color, but the weight of his gaze. Like the kind of look that stripped away every layer of pretense and saw straight through you.

The red tilak on his forehead stood stark against his damp skin, the mark bold and unshaken despite the water that had cascaded over him. His thick black hair, wet and slightly disheveled, clung to his forehead, strands dripping as they curled at the edges.

He exuded something ancient and unshakable—a strength that wasn't just physical but something deeper, something rooted in discipline, tradition, and power.

For a moment, he stood there, still and composed, letting the water drip from his fingers.

And then, he turned.

Without hesitation, he stepped away from the Snan Kund, his strides confident, deliberate. His dhoti swayed slightly as he walked, the fabric still damp, clinging momentarily before shifting with each step.

He didn't look back.

Yet, I remained frozen, my breath caught in my throat.

It was as if the world had shifted, like some unseen force had been set into motion.

A stranger.

And yet... I felt something. A pull. An inexplicable connection.

As his figure disappeared into the temple corridors, my heart was still racing.

Who was he?

Why did it feel like—this moment was going to change something in my life?

Something told me... this wasn't the last time I would see him.

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So, this is the first chapter with 4k words! 🎉 Do tell me—how did you like it? 🤔💬

Who is your favorite character from the Rajvanshi family? 💖 Let me know in the comments! 📝

Don't forget to vote, like, and comment—I really appreciate your feedback! 😊 Your support keeps me motivated! ❤️

I'll be updating Chapter 2 soon—stay tuned! ⏳📖

Happy reading! ✨📚