The Ahir mansion looked untouchable under the afternoon sun.
White marble. Gold railings. Guards at every gate.
Power lived here.
And power had a face.
Savita Ahir.
She stood at the head of the grand hall, her sari perfectly arranged, her silver hair pulled tight. Her eyes missed nothing.
Not even the slight tremble in Meera's hands.
Meera stood barefoot on cold marble.
Pale.
Exhausted.
One hand rested unconsciously over her abdomen.
Two months.
No one knew.
Not yet.
Around her, her six children played, their laughter echoing against walls built on legacy and pride.
Aghav argued with Vivaan over a toy sword.
Aria watched everything silently.
Anaya clung to her doll.
Reyansh, only seven, stood closest to his mother, as if sensing danger.
Savita's voice cut through the hall.
"This family does not tolerate weakness."
Silence fell.
The staff lowered their eyes.
Meera swallowed. "Ma… I don't understand."
"You don't need to." Savita stepped forward. Her footsteps echoed sharply. "You will leave this house. Today."
The words felt unreal.
The children froze.
"Leave?" Aria whispered.
Reyansh grabbed Meera's hand. "Mama?"
Meera's heart pounded. "I have done nothing wrong."
Savita's gaze dropped to Meera's stomach.
Cold. Calculating.
"That," she said quietly, "is the problem."
Meera's breath stopped.
No one else noticed the way Savita's fingers tightened around her cane.
"This family's legacy will not be risked," Savita continued. "You will take your children and disappear."
Aghav stepped forward. "Dadi, we didn't do anything!"
Savita didn't even look at him.
Staff moved.
Too quickly.
Too prepared.
Meera understood then.
This had already been decided.
"Mama… are we bad children?" Anaya's small voice trembled.
Something inside Meera shattered.
"No," she whispered fiercely, kneeling down. "You are my strength."
Reyansh's tiny fists clenched. "I won't go."
But hands pulled them apart.
Orders were given in low voices.
Cars were arranged.
Documents were ready.
The expulsion was clean. Precise.
Cruel.
Meera struggled. "Savita, please. At least let me speak to my husband—"
"He is not here," Savita interrupted smoothly. "And he will understand."
A lie.
But spoken with authority.
One by one, the children were guided away.
Aria didn't cry.
She just stared at Savita.
As if memorising her face.
Reyansh screamed for his mother until his voice broke.
The mansion doors closed.
Heavy.
Final.
Outside the gates, the world felt colder.
Meera stood alone on the pavement.
No car.
No protection.
No family.
Only the faint ache in her lower abdomen.
She pressed her hand there gently.
"I will survive," she whispered.
Not for herself.
For them.
Behind the gates, Savita returned to her high-backed chair.
The hall was quiet again.
Order restored.
Or so she believed.
She did not notice the portrait behind her — the glass had cracked.
A thin line spreading across generations of pride.
And somewhere beyond the city lights, beneath a sky that did not care about power or legacy…
A storm had already begun.
It had no name yet.
But one day—
It would be called Mukul.