RUDRANSH'S POV:

Around five in the morning, my eyes fluttered open before the first rays of sunlight could seep through the curtains. There was no alarm blaring on my bedside table, no phone vibrating beside my pillow. I simply woke up.
It had become second nature—a habit carved into my bones over the years. My body had its own clock, one that never betrayed me. Five in the morning. Every single day.

After freshening up, I headed straight to the gym, just as I always did. Discipline wasn't a choice for me; it was a lifestyle. Every drop of sweat that rolled down my skin reminded me that comfort created weakness, while discipline forged strength.

I treated my body like a temple. Junk food never found its way into my system, and body fat never got the luxury of staying. Every meal was calculated, every workout planned, every routine followed without exception.

People often asked me how I stayed so consistent. The answer was simple. Because I refused to let my desires become stronger than my determination. 
Punctuality and discipline were not merely qualities I admired—they were the foundation on which I had built my entire life. And perhaps that was why I could never trust people who lacked either.

If someone couldn't stay true to their own commitments... if they couldn't honour the promises they made to themselves... then how could I possibly believe they would stay true to anyone else?

That was my philosophy. Rigid. Unforgiving. But effective.

Oh, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself.
I am Rudransh Singh Rathore. The King of Rajasthan. The CEO of the Rathore Chain of Hotels. To the world, I am known as ruthless, intimidating, and impossible to please. Some call me arrogant. Others call me emotionless. 
Frankly, I couldn't care less. People's opinions never paid my bills or built my empire.

I hated almost everyone. Almost. Because there were a few people who owned pieces of my otherwise frozen heart. I respected my grandparents beyond words. I valued my father's wisdom. I adored my siblings more than I would ever admit aloud. And my mother... She was the only woman in the world whose tears could shake the walls I had spent years building around myself. 

As if summoned by the mere thought of her, my phone vibrated again. For what felt like the hundredth time. I glanced at the screen.

Mom Calling...
A sigh escaped my lips.

She had been trying to reach me for the past ten minutes. I already knew why.

Adjusting my breathing, I finally answered the call, "Good morning, Maa."

My voice remained calm, composed... almost painfully formal. Not because I loved her any less. But because somewhere along the journey of becoming the man the world feared, I had forgotten how to express affection through words.

Love existed in my heart. It simply never reached my lips. Sometimes, I wondered if I was destined to remain this way forever—
A man capable of protecting the people he loved with his life...
Yet incapable of telling them just how much they meant to him.

"Good morning, beta. How are you? And when are you coming back?" Maa asked, her concern evident as she fired one question after another without waiting for me to answer.
(Son)

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Some things never changed. No matter how old I became or how many companies I owned, to her, I would always be the little boy who needed to be asked if he had eaten, slept well, or was taking care of himself.

"I'm fine, Maa," I replied patiently. "I'll be back tomorrow."

I was currently in London with my business partner, finalising the location for our newest luxury hotel. The deal had taken weeks of negotiations, endless meetings, and site inspections. Everything was almost in place; all that remained was the final round of discussions before we could seal the agreement.

As much as I loved expanding the Rathore empire, I couldn't deny that I was looking forward to returning home. Home wasn't just a place. It was where the only people I genuinely cared about were waiting for me.

"Okay, beta, come back fast. I can't handle your father anymore, and your brother isn't making my life any easier either," Maa complained dramatically, sounding as though she was one argument away from filing a case against both of them.

A small chuckle escaped my lips. Some things were universal. No matter where I was in the world, the Rathore household never failed to resemble a daily comedy show.

Before I could respond, I heard Dad's unmistakable voice in the background. "Seriously, Asha. Are you complaining about me to your cold-hearted son? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

I could already picture the scene in my head. Dad was probably standing with his arms crossed, trying to defend himself, while Maa glared at him as if he had just committed the greatest crime known to mankind.

Right on cue...
"You, just shut up. Who calls his son cold-hearted? My son is a diamond, and a diamond's exterior is strong, but everyone knows its value. Mera beta mera heera hai."
(My son is my precious gem.)

If there was one person in the entire universe who believed I could never do anything wrong, it was undoubtedly my mother.

Then came the voice of the family's certified drama king, "Wow, maa. Just wow. Agar woh beta heera hai toh kya mai keera hu. Jo hamesha meri bezati kar dete ho."
(If he's the diamond, then what am I—a worm? You always end up insulting me.)

I could practically imagine Veer placing a hand over his heart, pretending to be deeply wounded while waiting for someone to console him. Unfortunately for him...That someone was our mother. And she believed in emotional damage more than emotional support.

Without missing a beat, she delivered the final blow, "Beta, bezaati ke liye izaat hona zaroori hai. Woh toh tune kamayi hi nhi."
(Son, to be insulted, you first need to have some dignity. Unfortunately, you never earned any.)

For a second, complete silence followed. Then, Dad burst into laughter. The house staff probably did too. Veer's imaginary dignity packed its bags and left the mansion. Even I couldn't stop the smile tugging at my lips. It was moments like these that reminded me why, despite all the chaos, noise, and relentless teasing, no place in the world felt more like home than the Rathore mansion.

A dramatic gasp echoed through the phone before Veer spoke again, sounding as though he had suffered the greatest injustice in human history. "Dadi, why weren't you like those saas in the old Bollywood movie who is cruel to her bahu then the bahu doesn't insult everyone. See now because of you, this lady taunts me so much as if mujhe kachre se utha ke laye the yeh sab."

(All of you picked me up from a garbage dump.)

I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop myself from laughing. Trust Veer to turn himself into the victim in every possible situation. Maa, however, wasn't someone who let such opportunities slip away. Not even for her beloved younger son.

She scoffed loudly before delivering yet another verbal missile. "Agar kachre se uthake ke laana hota toh acha baacha le aati tujh jaise nhi."
(If I had brought a child home from a garbage dump, I would've chosen a better one—not someone like you.)

Silence. Absolute silence. I could almost hear Veer's soul leaving his body. If words could physically knock someone unconscious, Maa would've been charged with attempted murder by now.

"Dadiiiiii..." Veer dragged out the word dramatically, sounding like a five-year-old who had just been denied chocolate.

I could already picture him clutching Dadi's arm with the most pitiful expression he could manage. 

Right on cue, my grandmother stepped in, "Okay, enough now. Stop troubling my Veer."

Her voice carried the warmth only a grandmother possessed. I was certain she had pulled him into a hug and kissed his forehead by now. That was Dadi, Radha Singh Rathore, the greatest queen Rajasthan had ever seen—not because of the crown she once wore, but because of the love she carried in her heart.
She loved every member of our family unconditionally. But if two people held permanent VIP passes to her heart, they were undoubtedly Veer and Myra—the youngest Rathores and the undisputed owners of everyone's affection.

Veer, naturally, seized the opportunity immediately. "Only you love me, Dadi. Let my Bhabhi come, then I will complain about bhai to her."

Suddenly, as if the entire family had unanimously decided that now I was today's target, Maa changed the direction of the conversation.

A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she said, "You are so right, Veer. If only I had a daughter-in-law. Someone to gossip with, shop with and..."

I knew exactly where this was going. And I wasn't about to let that train leave the station.

"You don't need a bahu for that, Mom," I interrupted matter-of-factly. "You already have Chachi for all of that."

For exactly two seconds... Silence. Then, true to her nature, Maa completely ignored my existence as if I hadn't spoken a single word. Selective hearing. A superpower all Indian mothers are born with.

Turning to Veer instead, she continued as though I had merely been background noise. "Veer, I know my dream of having a daughter-in-law will only remain that—a dream—because your brother won't marry. Why don't you give me a bahu instead?"

I closed my eyes. There it was. The daily marriage agenda. No matter what the topic was—business, politics, the weather, or grocery shopping—it somehow always ended with my marriage.

Veer, the shameless actor that he was, gasped dramatically. He sounded personally offended by the suggestion. "Haww, maa. How can I marry before bhai? Paap lagega."
(It would be a sin.)

I nearly scoffed. The audacity. This was the same man who had been hopelessly in love with his girlfriend for years and behaved as though wedding venues were his second home. If anyone in this family was desperate to get married... It certainly wasn't me. It was the drama king pretending to be the epitome of tradition. I could already imagine Dad rolling his eyes, Chachi trying not to laugh, Dadi smiling knowingly, and Maa looking at Veer with hopeful eyes.
The entire Rathore family knew one thing. The day Veer got permission, wedding cards would probably be printed before breakfast. And yet... There he was. Acting like Lord Ram himself had descended to preach family values.

"Mom, please stop it. I have already told you I don't wish to marry," I said, my voice calm yet firm enough to make it clear that this discussion was over—for me, at least.

Unfortunately...
No discussion was ever truly over with Indian mothers.

Maa let out an exaggerated huff before muttering under her breath and said, "Aaj kal ke bacche jitni independence de do utne hi inke nakhre hain. Lo Ram aap baat karo apne bete se."
(Children these days become more stubborn the more independence you give them. Here, Ram, you talk to your son.)

I could practically picture her shoving the phone into Dad's hands while throwing one last glare in my imaginary direction.

Dad, on the other hand, never missed an opportunity to tease her."Waah ji waah acha kaam kare toh apka warna mera beta."
(Wow, that's wonderful. When he does something good, he's your son. The moment he disappoints you, he suddenly becomes my son.)

A faint chorus of laughter echoed in the background. For a moment, the line fell silent. Unlike everyone else in the family, Dad never rushed into conversations. He always gave people a moment to breathe. 

Then, in his usual composed voice, he asked, "How are you, Rudra?"

"I'm fine, Dad. We're almost done with the plot finalisation. Tomorrow I'll be discussing the construction plans with the Mittal brothers. Once that's done, my work on the London project will be complete."

"Hmm..." Dad hummed thoughtfully. "Isn't Vihaan Mittal with you to oversee the plot?"

"Yes, Dad," I replied. "Vihaan is handling the logistics and operational side of things. The construction and architectural planning are being managed by his younger brother."

"Good." Dad had always believed in surrounding yourself with competent people rather than trying to do everything alone.

After a brief pause, he spoke again. "And Rudra......I'm not forcing you, but at least give it some thought. Your mother isn't wrong."

His tone wasn't commanding. It wasn't authoritative. It was simply... that of a father who wanted the best for his son.

"There comes a time in every person's life when they need someone to walk beside them. Your life can't revolve around work forever." His words lingered in the silence between us.

"I'll think about it, Dad," I replied quietly, though both of us knew it wasn't a promise.

It was simply the easiest answer. He didn't press any further. That was another thing I admired about him. He knew when to stop. After exchanging a few final words, I ended the call.

The suite fell eerily silent once again. The laughter that had filled my ears only moments ago faded into nothingness.

I looked out through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of my London hotel suite, where the city buzzed with life beneath the evening sky.

I knew Maa wasn't going to let this topic die. Once she had made up her mind about something, convincing her otherwise was nearly impossible.

Which meant... I already knew what I had to do. It wasn't something I wanted. It wasn't something I had ever planned for. But sometimes, for the people you love, you make choices you'd never make for yourself.
I just hoped that when the time came...
I wouldn't regret the decision I was about to make.