The car rolled to a stop at the grand iron gates of the Mehra mansion. The air was still, cold, too polished, too clean the kind of silence that made footsteps echo.
Rudra stepped out, coat draped perfectly over his shoulders. His expression returned to what the world knew best unreadable, composed, almost sharp.
The guards bowed slightly, and the heavy doors opened.
Inside, everything gleamed. The chandelier, the marble, the untouched perfection that screamed wealth and emptiness.
A butler greeted him nervously. "Welcome home, sir. The family is waiting in the dining hall."
Rudra didn't respond. Just a curt nod enough to make the poor man straighten immediately.
He walked through the long hallway, past the rows of portraits that never felt like home.
The voices in the dining room fell silent when he entered. His mother, always gentle but careful, smiled first. His father, the embodiment of power and restraint, merely gave a nod. His younger sister, Nira, froze halfway through a sip of juice.
"Rudra," his father said, tone even. "You came."
"Yes."
The word came out like a fact, not a feeling.
"Sit," his mother said softly. "You must be tired from work. We're… glad you could make time."
He sat at the far end of the table not next to anyone, not across, just apart.
The lunch began. Conversations happened around him business talk, family chatter but Rudra's replies were minimal. Short, precise.
Halfway through the meal, his mother reached to serve him more curry. "You've lost weight," she murmured, worry flickering in her eyes.
"I'm fine," he said flatly, the same tone he used in meetings.
But when his phone buzzed once in his pocket, the tiniest warmth spread through him.
He didn't take it out but he didn't need to. He knew who it was.
Ayaan.
And somehow, that alone softened his shoulders, just slightly.
His father noticed. "Something urgent from work?"
"No," Rudra replied, tone smooth, unreadable. "Just a message."
His father didn't ask further. No one ever did.
When the meal ended, his mother tried again "You'll stay for dinner too, won't you?"
Rudra hesitated. A flicker of something crossed his face not annoyance, not anger, just tiredness.
He nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
Her smile was faint, fragile, but genuine. "Good."
As the servants cleared the plates, Rudra sat in the quiet room, phone still in his pocket, pulse calm and steady. He could feel that faint, warm echo of Ayaan's earlier words
'I'm always by your side, okay?'
Maybe Ayaan didn't know how much that meant.
Maybe no one did.
But for Rudra, the man the world called ruthless, cold, untouchable that warmth was the only real thing he carried into this house of distance.
,
The dinner table gleamed under the chandelier silver cutlery, crystal glasses, and a silence so crisp it could break.
Rudra sat straight, posture flawless, expression carved from control. His mother occasionally glanced at him, as though afraid he might vanish if she blinked.
"Your father mentioned you closed the deal with the foreign investors," she began gently. "Congratulations, Rudra."
"Thank you," he replied, tone even.
The butler entered then, announcing, "Mr. Riyan Malhotra has arrived."
His younger brother bright, loud, charming walked in with a grin that didn't quite match the air. "Well, look who decided to show up! The Great Rudra Malhotra in person."
Their mother tried to hide a smile. "Riyan…"
Rudra simply looked up. "You're late."
Riyan plopped into the seat opposite him, unbothered. "I was told it's family dinner, not a business negotiation."
"Both require punctuality," Rudra said flatly.
Riyan laughed softly. "Still quoting your company handbook at the dinner table, huh?"
The tension rippled, subtle but sharp. His father's jaw tightened , not angry, just the kind of restraint that had been inherited by both sons in very different ways.
"Enough," their father said finally. "Let's eat."
The servants brought the food. For a while, the only sound was the quiet clink of cutlery.
Riyan glanced across the table again. "You look… different, Rudra."
Rudra didn't look up. "Define different."
"I don't know. Maybe… less murder-y?"
Their mother nearly choked on her soup. "Riyan!"
Rudra raised one brow, but didn't respond. Inside, though, something twitched a faint, almost invisible ghost of a smirk.
Less murder-y, huh?
If only his brother knew why.
If only he knew about the text that had buzzed in his pocket that morning.
'Don't let me have wrinkles 😊.'
The absurdity of it almost made him want to smile again. Almost.
His father cleared his throat. "You've been working non-stop again, haven't you?"
Rudra replied, tone clipped, "As expected."
"Your mother worries."
"She doesn't need to."
The words were polite, but the wall was back high and cold as ever.
Riyan sighed. "You could try not sounding like you're negotiating peace talks every time you speak."
Rudra's eyes lifted, calm, dark, sharp. "And you could try taking something seriously once in your life."
"Boys," their mother whispered, forcing a smile. "Please."
The silence returned.
Only this time, Rudra didn't feel anger. Just exhaustion.
And underneath it, the faint, steady warmth of the thought that somewhere out there far from this table, far from this house someone was probably smiling at the phone, waiting for his message.
The air outside the mansion was cold too clean, too still. The sound of faint crickets filled the garden, soft against the weight of silence that clung to the house.
Rudra stood near one of the marble pillars, his tie loosened, coat draped over one arm.
He had lasted through the entire dinner conversations, polite smiles, that distant kind of family warmth that never reached him.
Now, finally, he could breathe.
He took out his phone, screen lighting up his face in the dark.
One unread message waited for him.
Ayaan:Don't let me have wrinkles 😊
He exhaled a breath that almost turned into a laugh, but softened halfway through.
His fingers hovered for a moment before typing back.
Rudra:I'm out of the dinner.
A moment later, the typing dots appeared.
Ayaan:You survived? 😮
Be honest, did you glare at anyone?
Rudra's lips twitched.
Rudra:No.
Not much.
Ayaan sent a laughing emoji, followed by:
That's progress!
He leaned against the pillar, the stone cool against his back, and closed his eyes for a second. The tension that had coiled through him all day began to ease not from rest, but from something quieter.
From him.
Another message came.
Ayaan:You okay?
Rudra paused. His thumb hesitated over the keyboard, then finally replied:
Rudra:Now I am.
For a few seconds, there was no reply. Then—
Ayaan:Then that's enough.
I'll stop worrying for tonight. Just drive safe when you head home, okay?
His eyes softened slightly.
Rudra:Yes.
Ayaan:Good. Also… try not to look too scary when you enter your car. The driver's probably traumatised enough 😅
Rudra actually smiled barely there, but real. The faintest curve that felt unfamiliar and grounding all at once.
He pocketed his phone, straightened his coat, and started walking toward the gate. The guards bowed again, still terrified of him unaware that the man they feared most had just been reminded to "not look scary" by someone who probably still had flour on his hands from work.
The night air bit at his skin, but it didn't feel cold.
Not tonight
Rudra was halfway down the steps, his car waiting at the end of the drive.
The driver stood straight beside the door, glancing at his watch it was late, almost past midnight.
Rudra's phone was still warm in his palm, the last message from Ayaan glowing faintly on the screen.
Don't look too scary when you enter your car 😅
He allowed himself one last ghost of a smile — so faint it could've been imagined.
The driver, who had never seen that expression in all his years, blinked in quiet disbelief.
But before Rudra could step closer to the car, a voice came from behind.
"Sir—!"
He turned slightly. One of the maids hurried down the stairs, breathless but careful not to seem careless. She stopped a few feet away, lowering her eyes.
"Sir, the Madam and Master have asked you to come to the study," she said softly. "They said it's important."
The faint light in Rudra's eyes dimmed.
Of course.
It was never over that easily.
He slid the phone into his pocket and straightened, that brief moment of warmth replaced by the familiar cold mask.
"Now?" he asked quietly.
"Yes, sir. They asked for you immediately."
He nodded once. "Tell the driver to wait."
As he turned back toward the house, the air seemed heavier.
The laughter from inside his brother's voice, his parents' soft conversation reached him faintly through the half-open door.
He walked through the marble hallway in silence, shoes clicking softly against the floor. Each sound echoed, steady and deliberate the rhythm of someone preparing to become that version of himself again.
The door to the study was open. His father sat behind the desk, his mother near the fireplace. Both looked up when he entered.
"Rudra," his father said. "Come in. We need to talk."
Rudra stepped forward, the door closing behind him with a muted click.
He didn't know why, but as he sat opposite them, his fingers brushed the edge of his phone inside his pocket as if holding onto something that grounded him in the storm he knew was about to come.