His love, His possession

3 (I)

Part 1

The black SUV sped through the dusty roads of Dhanpur, its tires skidding as it came to a sharp halt in front of the grand Rathore Haveli.

The two goons inside exchanged a nervous glance.

Jeevan, the older one, wiped the sweat off his forehead. “If Rathore finds out we failed ”

“He won’t,” Vikram cut him off, gripping the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. “We tell him what he wants to hear. Aanya is dead. Meera, whatever she calls herself, is as good as gone. And the baby… almost no chance of survival.”

Jeevan swallowed. It was a gamble. A dangerous one.

They stepped out of the SUV, their boots crunching against the gravel. The grand doors of the haveli loomed in front of them, carved with intricate patterns, flanked by two massive torches that flickered even in daylight.

Inside, Rathore sat on his throne-like chair, legs spread out, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a half-smoked cigar in the other.

His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a thick gold chain. His dark, wavy hair was a little messy, like he’d just woken up but his eyes, sharp and full of mischief, were always awake.

He looked up at them, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Back already?” He stretched his arms lazily. “What, did you miss me?”

Jeevan and Vikram exchanged a glance.

Jeevan cleared his throat. “Sir… the job is done.”

Rathore raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

Vikram nodded quickly. “Aanya is dead.”

Silence.

Then

Rathore grinned.

A slow, wicked grin.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Dead?” He exhaled, the smoke from his cigar curling in the air. “Just like that?”

Jeevan hesitated. “Yes, sir. And Meera she met with an accident. She was already in bad shape. With the baby… the survival rate is almost zero.”

Rathore let out a low chuckle. Then, suddenly

He threw his head back and laughed.

Loud. Full-bodied.

The sound echoed through the grand hall.

“Oh, man,” he clapped his hands together. “This… this is a moment to celebrate.”

He took another sip of whiskey, rolling the glass in his hand.

“You know,” he continued, “there was this part of me tiny part that thought she’d actually get away. That she’d escape. But no. She’s gone. The brat is gone. And I… am free.”

He let out another laugh, shaking his head.

“But sir…” A voice cut in.

His sister.

Vasundhara Rathore.

She entered the room like a storm, her maroon saree trailing behind her, heavy gold jewelry clinking against each other.

Unlike Rathore, her amusement wasn’t playful.

It was pure, cold hatred.

Rathore sighed dramatically. “Oh, look who’s here. My dearest, most paranoid sister.”

Vasundhara’s kohl-rimmed eyes bore into him. “And you’re celebrating based on the words of these two idiots?”

Jeevan and Vikram stiffened.

Rathore smirked. “Well, they do have a track record of being semi-useful.”

Vasundhara scoffed. “A baby, even in the worst conditions, can survive. Aanya could have survived. And if she did…” Her eyes darkened. “She will be your destruction.”

Rathore groaned, leaning back into his chair. “Here we go again.”

“I’m serious, Raghav.” Her voice was sharp. “You should see it with your own eyes. Don’t trust anyone.”

Rathore sighed, rubbing his temples. “Vasu, darling, I love you. I do. But you have the emotional range of a funeral. Let me enjoy this moment.”

“You’re a fool.”

“I’m a happy fool.”

Vasundhara’s eyes flicked to the goons. “They’re lying.”

Rathore tapped his glass, pretending to think. “Hmm. Could be.” He turned to Jeevan and Vikram, his grin returning. “Are you lying?”

The two men froze.

Vikram shook his head quickly. “No, sir! We we saw it happen!”

Jeevan nodded. “We’re telling the truth!”

Rathore studied them. Too closely.

Then, without warning

He slammed the glass onto the table.

The sound shattered through the hall.

Jeevan flinched. Vikram took a step back.

Rathore leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You know… lying to me is a very, very bad idea.”

Jeevan’s throat went dry. “S-sir ”

“Because if I find out…” Rathore’s smile widened. “That the girl is alive if I find out that baby is breathing ”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Then you two? You’re dead men walking.”

Silence.

Jeevan and Vikram nodded frantically.

“Yes, sir. She’s dead. We swear it.”

Rathore sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. Then, with an exaggerated yawn, he stood up.

“Well, then,” he stretched. “Let’s drink. To a future without brats and betrayals.”

Vasundhara’s jaw clenched. She turned on her heel and stormed out.

And Rathore?

He laughed.

Because as far as he was concerned

The nightmare was over.

And nothing could bring it back.

…Or so he thought.

Meera sat on the edge of a small, creaky wooden cot, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her dupatta. The room was small but warm. Walls painted in faded yellow, a few Bollywood posters stuck unevenly, a single ceiling fan whirring noisily above.

This wasn’t a grand mansion. This was a Mumbai chawl. A cluster of tiny homes, stacked next to each other, separated by narrow lanes where children played cricket and aunties gossiped over evening tea.

Across from her, Ishita the actress sat cross-legged on the floor, grinning like she had just won an award.

“So you mean to say…” Ishita pointed at Meera, then at the baby bump, then at Aanya, who was curled up asleep on a thin mattress in the corner. “That some hero saved you, knew my name, and dropped you at my house?”

Meera nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”

Ishita squealed.

“OH MY GOD. I’m famous!” She clutched her own face dramatically. “People know me! I mean, okay, maybe just one person, but still! Recognition is recognition!”

Meera blinked.

Ishita kept talking, barely pausing for breath. She was the opposite of Meera. Loud, fast, full of energy. Even in a dimly lit room, she sparkled.

Meera, exhausted and on edge, could only stare.

“But wait,” Ishita’s excitement dropped slightly as she leaned closer. “Who was this guy? You didn’t ask his name?”

Meera shook her head. “It happened too fast. He just… helped. And then left.”

Ishita sighed, flopping back onto the mattress. “See, this is what I mean. I always get side roles. Never the heroine. Even in real life, some mystery guy knows me, but does he stop to introduce himself? No. Typical.”

Meera almost smiled.

Almost.

Because reality weighed heavy on her shoulders.

She looked down at Aanya, the little girl sleeping peacefully, unaware of the storm outside. The storm that was still after them.

Ishita noticed her silence.

Her playful expression softened. “Meera…”

Meera swallowed. Should she tell her? The whole truth?

Ishita had been kind, but kindness could be dangerous. If she knew too much, she’d be in danger too.

Meera chose her words carefully.

“I was in trouble. Aanya and I… we ran. They were after us. But this man, he saved us. He knew your name, so he thought we’d be safe here.”

Ishita studied her for a moment.

Then, to Meera’s surprise, she simply shrugged.

“Okay.”

Meera blinked. “Okay?”

Ishita grinned. “I mean, I already assumed it was something dramatic. You did disappear from the set like a ghost.” She laughed. “The director was pissed, by the way. Thought you were some crazy method actor.”

Meera looked away.

She wished it was all just a role. A movie. Something she could walk away from when the director yelled ‘Cut!’

But this was real.

And the villains weren’t scripted.

Ishita sighed, stretching her arms. “Anyway, whatever happened, you’re here now. You’ll be safe. My chawl people are good people.”

Meera hesitated. “I don’t want to bring trouble to you.”

Ishita waved her off. “Arey, yaar. What’s life without a little filmy drama?”

Little did she know, the real drama was just beginning.

Dhanpur Palace was a fortress of power, built on generations of fear. The walls held secrets, the floors soaked in silent battles of blood and betrayal. And tonight, another storm brewed within its grand halls.

Seated on his high-backed chair, Raghav Rathore twirled his glass of whiskey, watching the golden liquid swirl as he hummed an old song. His mood was light. Too light.

Because for the first time in months, he felt free.

He leaned back, stretching lazily, his deep chuckle echoing in the grand chamber.

“She’s dead. Gone. Both of them. No more Meera. No more child. No more weakness.”

Across the room, his sister, Rajeshwari, didn’t share his amusement.

She stood stiffly, arms crossed, her kohl-lined eyes burning with suspicion. Unlike her brother, she didn’t trust words. She trusted proof.

And the goons hadn’t brought her proof.

Rajeshwari stepped forward. “You’re celebrating too early, Raghav.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

She slammed her palm on the table. “Yes! You didn’t see the bodies. You didn’t confirm it. You’re believing some third-class goons who would sell their own mother for money!”

Raghav sighed dramatically, swirling his whiskey again. He liked his sister, but god, she could be exhausting.

“ Sister, for once, relax.” He smirked. “I know you love drama, but this is done. Finished. I’m free.”

Rajeshwari wasn’t convinced.

She took slow steps toward him, her voice dropping dangerously. “You think you’re free, Raghav? That child was your destruction. And if she’s alive…”

She leaned closer, her lips curling.

“Then you will burn.”

Raghav’s smirk faltered.

Rajeshwari saw it. And she pressed harder.

“You think it’s over. But what if Meera survived? What if she ran?” Her voice dripped with poison. “And what if that child, your child, breathes this very moment?”

She watched as Raghav’s fingers tightened around his glass.

“Do you know what happens when the thing you fear the most comes back?” Rajeshwari whispered, her voice hypnotic.

She leaned even closer, her breath hot against his cheek.

“It destroys you.”

The glass in Raghav’s hand shattered.

Silence.

A single drop of whiskey ran down his fingers, mixing with the fresh cut on his palm. He stared at it, his heartbeat suddenly loud in his ears.

And in that moment, doubt slithered into his mind.

Rajeshwari’s lips curled into a slow, victorious smile.

“I knew it.” She stepped back. “You’re scared.”

Raghav snapped his head up, his jaw tight. “I fear no one.”

Rajeshwari laughed, a slow, mocking sound.

“Then prove it.” She crossed her arms. “Go. See it for yourself. Find Meera’s grave. Touch the ashes of that child. And if you don’t find them…”

She tilted her head. “You know what that means.”

Raghav’s breath was heavy, uneven.

For the first time in years, he felt something he wasn’t used to.

Restlessness.

Doubt.

And rage.

He hated when someone made him feel weak.

With one swift motion, he got up, grabbed his coat, and stormed out.

Rajeshwari smirked.

She had won.

Because she knew Raghav better than anyone.

And when Raghav Rathore doubted something, he always destroyed it with his own hands.

Mumbai.

Raghav Rathore hated this city.

It was chaotic, loud, suffocating. It smelled of sweat, ambition, and desperation.

The very things he despised.

But tonight, he was here for a purpose.

Dressed in black, his coat flowing behind him, he stepped out of the airport with a dangerous calm.

His men silent, sharp-eyed, deadly followed closely.

“Where do we start, sir?” one of them asked.

Raghav slipped on his sunglasses, despite it being night. Because his eyes held storms no one was ready to see.

“Find her,” he said smoothly, stepping into his waiting car.

His voice was casual. Too casual.

And that was the most dangerous kind of anger.

The one that smiled before it struck.

Meera unknowingly breathed her last few moments of peace.

Because Raghav was here.

And when Raghav Rathore came looking…

He never left without finishing the story.

Mumbai is a City That Hides Secrets Well.

But tonight, Raghav Rathore was here to dig them out.

The streets of the city were alive with the chaos of night cars honking, street vendors yelling, neon lights flickering. It was a world so different from his palace in Dhanpur. Yet, the hunt made it thrilling.

And then, he met Samar.

Samar was a simple man. He ran a small automobile repair shop near a local market. A man who preferred peace over violence. But tonight, peace was the last thing he’d get.

He was just locking up his shop when a deep, rich voice called out.

"Nice place you got here," the man said.

Samar turned, only to see a stranger in a sleek black coat, sunglasses still perched on his nose despite the dim streetlights.

Raghav Rathore.

Samar frowned. “Who are you?”

Raghav removed his sunglasses, flashing a charming yet unsettling smile. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"New in town. Call me Raghav," he said, extending his hand.

Samar hesitated. There was something too smooth about this man, too polished for these streets. But he shook his hand anyway.

"What brings you here?" Samar asked, eyeing him carefully.

Raghav sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck as if exhausted. A fake exhaustion.

"Ahh, it’s a long story, my friend. Let’s just say I’m looking for someone."

Samar’s grip tightened slightly on his keys. He had a feeling he knew who that 'someone' was.

"Really?" Samar said, keeping his voice neutral. "And who might that be?"

Raghav smirked. “Ahh, a lost soul. Someone who thinks they can run away from fate. But I always find what’s mine.”

Something about the way he said it made Samar’s stomach tighten.

This wasn’t just a man looking for someone. This was a predator hunting prey.

But he kept his face calm. “Well, Mumbai’s a big place. Might take you a while.”

Raghav chuckled, taking a cigarette from his pocket. “That’s the fun part, Samar. The chase.”

Samar watched him light it, the flame flickering against the sharp edges of his face. The man was dangerous. He could sense it in the way he spoke, in the way his fingers tapped lightly on the side of his coat like a man too used to holding weapons.

"So, Samar… what do you do?" Raghav asked casually.

Samar shrugged. "Fix cars. Live a simple life. Unlike you, I bet."

Raghav laughed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Oh, you’d be surprised. I like simple things too, you know? Like loyalty. And revenge.”

Samar tensed.

He didn’t like this man.

Not one bit.

But he had to play it smart. Because now, Raghav Rathore was standing in front of him. And that meant Meera’s past had finally caught up with her.

And this time, running might not be enough.