The grand ballroom was filled with the soft hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses. The prestigious annual business awards ceremony was well underway. Chandeliers glittered above, casting a golden glow over a sea of guests dressed in their finest attire. The night was electric with anticipation. One specific name was whispered on everyone's lips—Aaransh Singh Rathore, the young tycoon dominating the industry.

In the front row, Aaransh sat confidently. He wore a sharp, custom-tailored black Armani suit that hugged his tall, muscular frame. His jet-black hair was immaculately styled. His clean-shaven jaw was set in determination, and his piercing dark eyes focused straight ahead. He exuded absolute power and control, as if he already knew the outcome of the night.

To his right sat his father, Mr. Raghuveer Singh Rathore, holding an air of regal pride. The elder Rathore, Chairman of the Rathore Group, was a giant in the business world. He was known for his iron will and sharp business acumen—traits he had clearly passed down to his son.

Beside Raghuveer was his wife, Kusum. Draped in an elegant silk saree, Aaransh's mother looked on with soft eyes filled with immense pride. Aaransh's younger sister, Siya, sat close by, smiling with excitement. Right behind them were Aaransh's Uncle Viraj, Aunt Vaidehi, and his cousin Arjun. They all beamed with pride, knowing this night marked a monumental achievement for their family legacy.

The anchor took to the stage with an air of enthusiasm. The audience fell silent, awaiting the announcement of the night's most coveted award.

"And now," the anchor's voice boomed across the hall, "the moment we've all been waiting for—the Best Young Businessman of the Year award."

A ripple of excitement surged through the crowd. Aaransh's name was on everyone's lips, though no one dared speak it aloud yet. The anchor smiled mischievously, drawing out the suspense.

"And the Best Young Businessman of the Year goes to..."

The audience collectively held its breath. All eyes darted toward the front row where Aaransh sat. The pause felt eternal.

"...AARANSH SINGH RATHORE, the CEO of Vanguard and heir to the Rathore Group!"

The room erupted into deafening applause. Aaransh's mother clasped her hands together, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy. Raghuveer Singh Rathore nodded approvingly, his stern face betraying the faintest smile. Arjun and Siya cheered loudly, clapping enthusiastically for him.

Aaransh, ever composed, rose from his seat. Every move exuded supreme confidence as he adjusted his suit jacket and buttoned it crisply. With long, commanding strides, he walked toward the stage. The spotlights followed him, making him appear almost larger than life. He ascended the steps and accepted the gleaming trophy from the presenter.

Standing at the podium, trophy in hand, he paused for a brief moment. His sharp eyes scanned the room, finally resting on his family. His mother was glowing. His sister and cousin were beaming. And his father's gaze held a rare, unspoken approval. Aaransh's heart swelled with emotion, but his face remained a mask of calm control.

He leaned into the microphone, his deep voice resonating across the hall.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Aaransh began, his tone polished yet sincere. "Standing here tonight to accept this prestigious award is not just a personal victory. This moment represents years of hard work, dedication, and, most importantly, the invaluable lessons passed down to me by my father, Mr. Raghuveer Singh Rathore."

At the mention of his father's name, Aaransh glanced toward Raghuveer. A rare softness crossed his usually stoic expression. The elder Rathore met his gaze with a proud smirk.

"I didn't achieve this success alone," Aaransh continued, his voice firm and proud. "I grew up watching my father command the Rathore Group. He taught me everything I know—how to be ruthless when necessary, but also how to lead with integrity. My father is not just my role model; he is the very foundation upon which my career stands."

The captivated audience remained entirely silent. There was an undeniable power in his words.

"But beyond business," he added, his voice lowering slightly, "my family has been my constant pillar of strength. My mother, who has always been my silent supporter. My sister and cousin, who keep me grounded. And my uncle and aunt, who have guided me through countless challenges. This award belongs to all of you.

Kusum wiped a tear from her eye, her heart overflowing. Siya and Arjun exchanged thrilled glances, while Viraj and Vaidehi smiled fondly.

"As for the Rathore Group and Vanguard," Aaransh's tone shifted, flashing the steely determination that had earned him the feared title of 'The Corporate Reaper' at such a young age, "this is just the beginning. We have greater heights to reach, and I promise you, our empire will only continue to rise under my leadership."

A thunderous round of applause erupted once again. Aaransh stood tall, accepting the admiration of the room with elite grace. He turned slightly, lifting the award toward his family in a silent tribute before stepping away from the podium. As he descended the stage, he knew this moment would be remembered forever. He had officially solidified his place in the business world, following in his father's legendary footsteps.

He walked back with pride, his heart beating fast beneath the calm exterior he had mastered over the years. But it wasn't the applause making his blood pump—it was the anticipation of facing his father.

As Aaransh approached his seat, Raghuveer Singh Rathore stood up. The entire room seemed to still, as if this single interaction carried more weight than the entire ceremony. Aaransh halted before him. He was taller than his father, yet he still felt the immense weight of the man whose approval he had sought his entire life.

For a brief second, their eyes locked. A shared pride passed between them. Then, in a rare show of public affection, Raghuveer extended his hand. Aaransh took it, his grip firm and respectful.

Raghuveer's stern face softened into a proud smile—a look Aaransh had rarely seen before. His deep voice, filled with years of discipline and expectation, carried across their row.

"Look, Mrs. Rathore," Raghuveer said, looking at his wife but speaking loud enough for the family to hear. "I have got THE BEST SON!"

The words were simple, but to Aaransh, they held more value than the gleaming trophy in his hand. It was the ultimate acknowledgment. For a split second, the thick armor around Aaransh's heart cracked, and the ice within melted as he held his father's gaze.

His mother clasped her hands to her chest, her eyes moist with emotion. Arjun and Siya exchanged bright smiles, sensing the massive significance of the moment. Even his usually reserved uncle and aunt beamed with pride.

Aaransh nodded, his voice low and genuine. "Thank you, Dad."

As they both sat down, the applause slowly faded, but the weight of Raghuveer's words lingered in the air. The young CEO now felt his path to greatness was absolutely clear. With his father's blessing backing him, nothing could stop him from conquering the world.

༺═────────────═༻

The cold floor bit into my skin as I lay there, curled in on myself. The familiar sting of the belt still burned across my back. I didn't cry anymore. I had run out of tears long ago. This pain wasn't new; it was just another night in the house that never felt like home.

"You're an ungrateful bitch!" My mother's voice was cold, dripping with hatred as she raised the belt again.

The sharp crack of leather against my skin echoed through the room, but I didn't flinch. I had learned long ago not to react. I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break. This numbness was my only shield now.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Deepti? Don't argue with me!" Another lash fell, harder this time. My breath hitched, but still, I stayed silent. In her twisted world, she was right; arguing was pointless. It only made things worse.

Suddenly, her hand slammed onto my face. Her cold fingers gripped my cheeks tightly, pinching them and forcing me to look up at her. Her eyes burned with pure anger and disgust. I wondered, for what felt like the thousandth time, why she hated me so much.

"Whenever your Sahab comes, you treat him nicely! I don't want any nonsense from you!" Her words were sharp, cutting deeper than the belt ever could.

Sahab. He was the wealthy client she brought into this house. The man who smirked at me like I was some cheap toy to be played with. He was the one person I dreaded even more than my mother. But Malika Jaan never cared. She never asked what I thought, and she never cared about what I wanted. To her, I was just a tool to keep her lucrative business running smoothly.

A single tear slipped from my eye, but I bit my lip hard to keep from making a sound. Crying only made her angrier, and I didn't have the strength left to endure any more tonight. The harsh slap that followed felt like an afterthought, her parting gift before she threw me down onto the mattress.

My body hit the bed with a dull thud, the shock of it barely registering anymore. I stayed there, motionless, trying to slow my breathing. I tried to focus on anything but the agonizing ache spreading through my bones. She slammed the door behind her, and the lock clicked into place. The sound echoed through the quiet room, sealing me safely inside my cage.

I stared up at the dark ceiling, feeling entirely empty. Numbness had taken over, dulling the sharp sting of the lashes on my back and turning my body into something that didn't even feel like mine anymore. The physical pain had become such a constant that it barely registered. It was the crushing emptiness that consumed me, swallowing me whole.

The room felt cold and suffocating, but I didn't have the energy to move. I didn't want to. What was the point? Every single day was exactly the same—the beatings, the threats, and the suffocating control my mother wielded over me. Every day, I prayed for it to stop. Every day, it didn't.

A small, incredibly gentle touch on my back pulled me out of the dark thoughts. It was Aashu. My little brother was carefully dabbing soothing ointment on the fresh wounds with his tiny hands. He had become so used to doing this—treating my bruises and cuts—that it broke my heart into pieces every single time. He was just a child. He was only six years old. He shouldn't have to know what this dark life felt like. He shouldn't have to see his sister like this.

But here he was, just like every other night.

"Deepu Di," his voice whispered. It was soft, yet filled with a fierce determination that made my throat tighten. "Don't worry."

I blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. I couldn't cry in front of him. I couldn't let him see how broken I truly was. He needed to believe in something. He needed to believe in someone.

"I'll grow up and become a strong man," he whispered, his little fingers still working carefully over my torn skin. "And I'll save you from here. I promise."

His words—so innocent, so full of pure hope—stabbed at my heart, cracking right through the thick walls I had built around myself. A hot tear slipped down the side of my face, stinging against my cold skin. I turned my head slowly, my eyes meeting his.

Aashu's big, brown eyes were so determined. They were filled with something I had lost a long time ago: hope. How could he still have it? How could he look at these walls and still believe we could get out? He was just a child, yet he was trying to carry the heavy burden of saving me.

"You shouldn't have to," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I couldn't say aloud.

I was the older sister. I should be the one protecting him and keeping him safe. Instead, here we were—both trapped, both broken by the house that was supposed to be our shelter.

"You should be free, Aashu. Not stuck here with me... not in this nightmare."

But he shook his head, that fierce, stubborn look pooling in his eyes. "No, Di. I'll be strong. I'll take you far away from here. One day, no one will ever hurt you again."

A faint, broken smile tugged at the corners of my lips, though it hurt my bruised face to even try. I reached out, gently brushing his soft cheek with my fingers. I wished—wished with everything left inside of me, that I could believe him. I wished I could hold onto that beautiful hope he had and see a future where we both escaped this hell.

But deep down, I knew the reality of our world too well.

"Okay, Aashu," I said softly, refusing to break his brave little spirit. "I'll wait for you to save me."

He nodded proudly, truly believing he could do it. Truly believing that one day, we would walk out into the sunlight.

But as he finished and tucked himself beside me, I lay there staring into the darkness. My body ached, my heart felt like lead, and I felt the familiar despair creep back into my chest. We were trapped. And no matter how hard I wished for a miracle, no one was coming to save us.

Not yet.

.

.

.

.

AUTHOR NOTE 🤍

HELLO SHYRAHEARTS!! HOW ARE YOU ALL??

Did you like the chapter??

SPECIAL NOTE FOR MY OLD READERS:

This book is a re-upload on this brand-new ID! I have decided to make some major changes to improve the overall plotline, update the family dynamics, and polish the corporate world (goodbye Raghuveer Empires, hello Rathore Group!). Because of these changes, I highly suggest you read the book from the very beginning, including the updated character profiles. Thank you so much for your continuous love and support!

I genuinely teared up writing Deepti and Aashu's part 😭🫂 My babies deserve the absolute world.

What do you think about Aaransh and the Rathore family so far?

Do comment and let me know which part was your favorite!

Okay, Bye!

With Love,
Authorshyra 🩷🫶🏻