His love, His possession

CHAPTER - 1 The city of Dhanpur a place so cruel that even the shadows feared stepping out at night. Streets littered with secrets, buildings painted in blood, and whispers of power that could crush a man’s soul. It was here, in the grand courtyard of an ancient palace, that a fifty-year-old man stood, an arrow in his hand, a smirk on his lips, and a young girl trembling before him. His name was Raghav Rathore. A man feared more than loved, worshipped more than trusted. The lines on his face weren’t of age, but of battles fought, men buried, and blood spilled. His eyes sharp, calculating were the color of burnt coal, holding no kindness, no hesitation. His broad shoulders and sturdy frame told stories of strength, but his mind? His mind was his deadliest weapon. And now, he stood with a bow aimed at a little girl’s head. The girl, barely eight, shivered as the cool wind wrapped around her tiny frame. Her hands clenched the hem of her simple cotton frock, her dark eyes wide with terror. A single apple rested atop her head, its weight pressing down as if reminding her of the danger she was in. Her lips trembled. “Baba… please…” Raghav's smirk widened. “Still afraid, little one?” His voice was smooth, deep, yet laced with an authority that sent chills down anyone’s spine. She nodded, her breath shaky. “Then you must learn.” The arrow whizzed through the air. She screamed, eyes shutting tight. Thwack! A gasp escaped her lips as she felt the apple shatter, tiny pieces falling over her hair. She was alive. He hadn’t missed. He never did. She bolted. Feet thudding against the marble floors, she ran like the wind, her heart pounding louder than the drums in the festival courtyards. Her tiny hands pushed open the grand palace doors, and she stumbled inside, her voice echoing through the vast halls. “Maa! Maa! Maa!” Tears streamed down her face as she rushed past golden pillars, her breath heavy, her chest rising and falling in rapid terror. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. And then thud! She crashed into someone. The impact sent her falling backward, but warm hands caught her before she hit the ground. She looked up, her tear-streaked face meeting the softest, most beautiful face she had ever seen. Meera. Her stepmother. The only one who had ever shown her kindness in this cruel palace. Meera was breathtaking. Skin like golden honey, lips soft and pink, eyes large and brown kind, yet hiding a thousand sorrows. Long, dark hair cascaded down her back, framing a face so gentle that even the harshest storm would bend before her. But tonight, there was something different about her. She was glowing. A life bloomed inside her, her swollen belly pressing gently against the little girl’s side. Meera placed a hand over it, a soft smile on her lips. “What happened, my child?” she asked, her voice like silk, smoothing over the girl’s terror. But before she could answer, footsteps echoed behind them. Heavy. Slow. Purposeful. Raghav Rathore had entered the palace. And he was smiling. The little girl clutched Meera’s silk dupatta, burying her face into the fabric, her small body still trembling. Meera, too, stiffened. She turned slowly, the blood in her veins freezing as her gaze landed on him Raghav Rathore. He stood in the grand doorway, his frame dark and towering, framed by the massive doors like a demon watching his prey. His hands, rough and veined, rested at his sides, but his presence alone was enough to send shivers down Meera’s spine. A slow smirk curled his lips. “She ran,” he said, his voice deep, smooth, almost amused. “Just like you do.” Meera swallowed hard, her fingers pressing against her belly, as if shielding the life growing inside her. “I ” she started, her voice barely above a whisper. Raghav took a step forward. She took one back. Another step. Another retreat. Until her back hit the cold stone pillar. “Did I scare you, Meera?” His voice was like silk wrapped around steel soft, but capable of cutting through flesh. She shook her head quickly, her lips parting, but no words came out. Lying to him was useless. He could smell fear. He fed on it. The little girl whimpered, holding onto Meera tighter. Raghav’s sharp gaze shifted to her. “My little one…” He knelt, reaching out to brush a tear from the child’s cheek. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. “So weak, just like your mother.” Meera’s breath hitched. Raghav rose again, towering over her, his face inches away from hers. His fingers brushed against her stomach, tracing the curve of the unborn child within her. “This one,” he murmured, his voice sending ice through her veins, “will not be weak.” Meera’s heart pounded. She wanted to scream, to push him away, to run but she knew better. Raghav Rathore was not a man you disobeyed. He leaned in, whispering into her ear. “Make sure of it.” And then, just as easily as he had entered, he turned away. His heavy footsteps echoed through the halls, and with every step he took away from them, Meera felt the air return to her lungs. The moment he disappeared, she collapsed onto her knees, holding the little girl close, her body shaking. For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then the little girl whispered, voice barely audible “Will he kill us one day?” Meera closed her eyes, pressing a kiss to the child’s forehead. She didn’t have an answer. The palace was never silent for long. Before Meera could gather her breath, the sharp clack of heels echoed through the marble corridors, slicing through the air like a whip. Rajmata Devika Rathore had arrived. Raghav’s elder sister. The true ruler of this household. If Raghav was feared, she was worshipped in terror. Tall, with sharp, angular features and kohl-lined eyes that could burn holes through steel, Devika was a vision of power wrapped in a silk saree. Heavy gold jewelry clinked as she walked, her fingers adorned with thick rings, each studded with rubies and emeralds that gleamed under the chandelier’s light. But her most dangerous weapon? Her tongue. A single word from her could turn a servant into dust. A mere glance could silence an entire room. And right now, her gaze was locked onto Meera. "So fragile," she murmured, her lips twisting in disdain as she looked at Meera’s swollen belly. "Still carrying that thing inside you, huh?" Meera tightened her grip on her stomach, swallowing hard. That thing. That’s what they called her child. Because they weren’t sure if it was a boy. The little girl beside Meera shrank further behind her, trying to disappear. Devika smirked. “Afraid, aren’t you? Just like your mother. Just like your unborn child will be.” She turned to her brother, her tone suddenly softer almost affectionate. “Brother, I have something important to tell you.” Raghav, who had been watching in amusement, finally raised a brow. “What is it?” Devika took a step closer, her voice dropping into a whisper, yet thick with excitement. “I met Acharya Vishnudev.” Silence fell. Raghav’s eyes darkened. Even he couldn’t ignore the name. Vishnudev. A man whose prophecies never failed. A man whose words could change destinies. Meera’s breath caught in her throat. No. No, no, no. Devika smiled, sensing Meera’s tension. "He was passing through Dhanpur today. And guess what?" She leaned in, her lips curling. “He had something… interesting to say about your future, Brother.” Raghav studied her for a moment, his sharp mind calculating. Then, he exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "Call him here," he ordered. His voice was calm, but there was a storm beneath it. "Tonight." Meera felt her blood turn cold. Devika’s smirk widened. She had won. "As you wish, Brotheri," she said, turning to leave. But not before throwing one last glance at Meera full of poison, full of victory. And as she walked away, Meera finally let out a shaky breath. Because she knew whatever was coming tonight, it would change everything. The palace was bathed in golden light as night fell. Thick silk drapes swayed gently with the evening breeze, and the scent of sandalwood and burning camphor filled the halls. Servants rushed about, preparing for the arrival of the one man even Raghav Rathore might listen to Acharya Vishnudev. Meera sat on the floor of her chamber, holding her belly, her fingers trembling. She wasn’t allowed in these discussions, but that didn’t stop her from knowing what was at stake. If the astrologer said her unborn child was a girl… She didn’t want to think about it. In the grand hall, Raghav Rathore sat on his ornate chair, his face carved from stone. To his right stood Rajmata Devika, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. Across from them, seated on a wooden stool, was Acharya Vishnudev a frail-looking man wrapped in saffron robes, his forehead smeared with ash, his fingers twirling a string of prayer beads. The entire palace held its breath. Vishnudev opened his eyes dark, bottomless, filled with something ancient. His gaze met Raghav’s. “You did well to call me tonight, Thakur Sahab.” His voice was low, hoarse, as if carrying the weight of forgotten centuries. Raghav leaned forward. “I do not believe in stories, Acharya. I believe in fate that is shaped by my hands. But my sister says you see things that others do not.” Vishnudev smiled faintly. “Fate bows to no man, Thakur.” Devika clicked her tongue impatiently. “We do not have all night. Tell us what you see about Raghav’s child.” The Acharya nodded and pulled out a black thread. Thick, twisted, ancient. He held it between his fingers and began chanting, his voice rising and falling like waves in a storm. The flames in the golden lamps flickered wildly. Raghav watched in silence, his fingers drumming against the armrest. And then the chanting stopped. Vishnudev’s eyes snapped open, and for the first time that night, his face lost all color. Devika’s brows furrowed. “What is it?” The Acharya’s throat bobbed. He looked at Raghav, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “This child… is not ordinary.” Silence. Raghav narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” Vishnudev exhaled shakily. “It is written in the stars. Your lineage, your rule this child will bring the end of it.” A sharp crack! Raghav had slammed his fist against the table. Servants flinched. Even the lamps seemed to dim for a moment. Devika’s lips curled in disgust. “Meaning?” Vishnudev’s voice dropped to a whisper. “This child will not be your heir, Thakur Sahab. He will be your destruction.” The words echoed like a death sentence. For the first time in years, Raghav Rathore said nothing. Devika, however, had heard enough Her eyes darkened, her grip tightening on her heavy gold bangles. “Kill it,” she said coldly. The words sliced through the air like a blade. Meera, standing hidden behind a pillar, felt her world crumble. Meera felt her knees weaken. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as the words rang through the air sharp, merciless. “Kill it.” She clutched her belly, bile rising in her throat. No. No, they couldn’t. Inside the grand hall, Raghav sat unnervingly still. He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t reacted. But Meera had known him long enough to recognize the danger in his silence. Devika, however, was unrelenting. “This child is a curse,” she pressed, stepping forward. “Vishnudev himself has spoken. We cannot allow ” Raghav raised his hand. Silence fell instantly. Devika narrowed her eyes, but she did not speak further. Slowly, Raghav leaned back into his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You say this child will destroy me,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “How?” The Acharya hesitated. He had delivered many prophecies in his lifetime, but never had he seen a fate so tangled in darkness and fire. “The stars are unclear,” he admitted. “But the destruction is certain. If the child is allowed to live, your bloodline will fall. Your name will be erased from history.” Raghav Rathore had spent a lifetime building his power. He had crushed empires, spilled blood, rewritten fate with his own hands. He did not fear death. But annihilation? That was different. His jaw tightened. “You want me to kill my own child over a prophecy?” His voice was measured, but there was steel beneath it. Devika scoffed. “It is not a child, brother . Not yet.” Her gaze flicked toward Vishnudev. “Tell him. Tell him how it must be done.” The Acharya lowered his eyes. “There is a ritual,” he murmured. “It must be done before the child takes its first breath. Before destiny is sealed.” Meera’s breath caught in her throat. No. Raghav said nothing. His face remained unreadable. “ She's a girl !" Acharya said, But then, after a long silence, he gave a single nod. “Do it.” In a while, The halls of the palace blurred as Meera ran. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. Now. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. Not now. Not when her child’s life hung in the balance. She burst into her chamber, bolting the door behind her. The little girl her stepdaughter sat curled in the corner, hugging her knees. She looked up, alarmed. “Maa?” Meera knelt, cupping the girl’s face, trying to calm her own trembling hands. “Listen to me,” she whispered, her breath ragged. “You mustn’t make a sound. No matter what happens.” The girl nodded, fear flickering in her wide eyes. Meera’s mind raced. She needed to escape. Tonight. But where? There was no place Raghav’s men couldn’t find her. No corner of this city that wasn’t under his control. Dhanpur belonged to him. And yet… There was one place. A whisper of a name, buried deep in her memory. A place even Raghav Rathore feared to step foot in. The Temple of the Forgotten Goddess. A place of exile. A place of lost women. A place where even men like Raghav could not tread. Her decision was made. She turned to the little girl, pressing a finger to her lips. “We are leaving.” The girl’s eyes widened. “B-but Baba ” Meera swallowed. “Don’t say his name.” Because if she did Meera would break. Because for the first time in her life, she knew she wasn’t just running from her husband. She was running from a monster.