Ah, success. That magical word everyone worships. The thing people chase their whole lives as if it's some golden ticket to happiness. Money, power, fame—apparently, that’s all you need to be successful.

And guess what? I have all of it. Born into wealth, raised in luxury, surrounded by people who would sell their souls for a chance to sit at my family’s dining table. Sounds like a dream, right? Well, let me tell you something—success is nothing to me.

Because while the world sees gold, I see rust. While they admire the Singhania name, I know the truth. In this family, love is a myth, trust is a joke, and success? Just another cage made of diamonds.

When I was born, I had something that no ordinary baby had—consciousness. Even as a newborn, I could sense everything happening around me. Most infants don’t remember their birth, let alone understand the world at that moment, but I did. You might think I was special, a chosen one, blessed by the gods. But no, I wasn’t lucky. I was cursed.

Because I could sense everything, I could also see the truth—humanity’s real, dangerous nature. Their greed, their lies, their cruelty. And worst of all, I was born into a family where love did not exist.

I belong to the Singhania family, a wealthy and powerful dynasty that spans across India and London. My father is Indian, my mother is an English noblewoman. To the world, we are a perfect blend of cultures, a modern aristocratic family. But behind closed doors, we are nothing more than beasts in expensive suits. In the Singhania family, marriages are not for love—they are for business. Wealth is our god, and power is our only loyalty.

And in a family like this, there is only one rule—the throne has only one master.

The Singhania family has everything—wealth, power, a legacy spanning generations. They own people, they own cities, they own everything.

And yet, in a world where they have everything, even they are desperate for more.

"Push! Push!"

The voices surrounded me—urgent, frantic, filled with a tension that made the very air heavy.

I was suffocating. The pain in my body was unbearable, like I was being torn apart from the inside. Darkness wrapped around me like chains, tightening, dragging me down into nothingness. I felt trapped—caged within a world I didn’t understand.

For a moment, I thought I was dying.

Then, a voice.

Soft, desperate, yet filled with warmth.

"Come on, my baby… you must come out."

"I need you… your mother needs you… please, don’t let Mama wait."

I don’t know why, but when I heard those words—when I heard the word "Mama"— something shifted inside me. I felt a surge of power. A pull toward that voice. A reason to fight through the suffocating darkness.

Someone was waiting for me.

Someone needed me.

And then—agony.

A sharp, crushing pain took over, and suddenly, I was no longer trapped in darkness. I was in the world.

A sharp, blinding light hit my eyes. My tiny body felt cold, wet, exposed. A cry—a broken, weak sound—escaped my lips.

There were voices, hurried movements, gloved hands touching me. The bright white walls of the hospital were the first thing I saw—blurry, sterile, suffocating. Machines beeped in a constant rhythm, the room smelled of antiseptic and sweat.

And then, I saw her.

A woman—lying on the hospital bed, her body trembling from exhaustion. Her face was drenched in sweat, her golden hair clinging to her pale skin. Her eyes—swollen, bloodshot from crying—were locked onto me.

She looked... beautiful.

Not in the way the world defines beauty, but in a way only a child can see their mother. She looked like home.

I wanted to keep looking at her. To memorize every detail. But my body was weak. My eyes were closing.

Just before the darkness swallowed me again, I heard her scream.

"No!"

The word rang through the room like thunder.

I didn’t understand. No?

No for what? For me? Why?

Then—silence.

When I woke up again, everything was different.

The air in the room was thick—not with warmth, but with anger.

I heard shouting.

Turning my tiny head to the left, I saw her—my mother. She was no longer lying down. She was crying, begging, screaming.

And in front of her stood a man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a crisp black suit. His jet-black hair was neatly combed, his sharp brown eyes were filled with something cold. Something cruel.

His voice was ice.🥶🥶🥶🥶🥶

"I don’t want her."😡😡

The words sliced through the air.

"She will be a burden." He spat the word like it was poison. "How can she be a girl?"

A girl?

Was he talking about me?

His furious gaze snapped to the doctor standing beside him—a man in a white coat, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

"You told us we were having a boy! A Singhania heir! How can she be a girl?!"

The doctor looked like he was about to collapse.

"I—I don’t know, sir… I checked the scans multiple times… We were sure—"

"Then how did this happen?!"

His voice was sharp, cutting, filled with disgust.

My mother was still crying. But this time, she turned towards me. Her blue eyes met mine—full of sorrow, full of love.

And I felt it.

The dread.

The unspoken truth.

I was not welcome in this world.

I was not supposed to be born.

Something inside me—something deep, something small—broke.

This was my first memory of life.

My first lesson.And I had already learned one thing—I was not wanted.

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👍All images are copyrighted to their respective creators and owners."

. "Images depicted are fictional or belong to their rightful owners."

No ownership or copyright claimed for images; credits belong to their creators."

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Love? No, it was not love.

Her eyes—at first, I thought they held love. But no, they did not. They burned like fire. A blue flame, scorching and fierce. She was looking at me, but not with kindness. Her gaze held something cruel, something terrifying, as if she wanted me gone.

Dead? Why would she want me dead? I was her child.

Or was I?

I am a girl. My father always said that, as if it was a curse. But is there really a difference between boys and girls? Before I could think further, I heard something—a whisper, a movement. A shadow in the dimly lit hospital room.

I turned.

My mother.

She was coming toward me, her hands trembling. She picked me up, holding me close, but something was wrong. Her arms were warm, but her eyes… they were cold.

Then I saw him.

My father. He stood near the door, watching us. His face was unreadable, but his voice was sharp.

“What do you think now? What are you going to do?”

For a moment, I thought he was talking to me. But no—his piercing gaze was fixed on my mother.

She hesitated, then whispered, “We don’t need her.”

My breath caught.

“She must disappear. The family cannot know she was born. If they do, our business, our properties, our power—everything will be at risk.”

She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking through me. As if I were nothing. As if I had never existed.

“Your brother’s wife is also pregnant,” she continued. “She’s carrying a boy. If we keep this girl, everything will go to them instead.”

Her voice was urgent, desperate. She turned to my father. “Do something. We need a son.”

The doctor standing nearby remained silent, his face pale. My mother’s next words were a command.

“Bring a boy. We will introduce him as our child.”

I did not cry.

Even when my mother’s voice sealed my fate, even when they planned my disappearance as if I were nothing more than a mistake—still, I did not cry.

Then my father picked me up.

His hands were cold. His grip was firm.

I wanted to scream, but no sound left my lips.

We left the hospital in silence. He placed me in the car, and we drove into the night. The road was empty. The air was thick with something unspoken, something heavy. I looked at him, searching for answers, but his face remained expressionless.

At last, the car stopped.

A lake.

The water stretched out before us, dark and endless. My father stepped out, carrying me in his arms. He looked down at me, and for the first time, he spoke.

"Your mother wanted you dead. Even I wanted you dead."

His grip tightened.

"But your blood… you carry the Singhania name. And that is the only reason you are still here."

He sighed, almost as if it pained him to admit it.

"If you had been born a boy, everything—our business, our properties, our power—would have been yours. But you are a girl."

His voice hardened.

"And that… is your fault."

MY FAULT ..........❄❄❄❄❄❄

"We expected a boy, not a girl."

His voice was sharp, cold—devoid of any warmth. My father stood before me, his expression unreadable, his presence suffocating.

"We didn’t want you."

He wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. As if even speaking about me was a waste of his breath. Instead, he turned away, handing me over to the man beside him.

A man in black.

A bodyguard.

The moment my father let go of me, he didn’t look back. He simply walked away, stepping into his sleek black car and driving off—leaving me behind like discarded trash.

The bodyguard looked at me for a moment. His face was unreadable. Then, without hesitation, he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun.

He pointed it directly at my forehead.

Cold. Heavy. Unforgiving.

The world went silent.

This was it.

My life was going to end before it had even begun.

I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to feel. My mother, the woman who had carried me for months, had commanded my father to replace me with another child—a boy. Someone else would take my place in the Singhania family. Someone else would live the life meant for me.

And I?

I would be erased.

The gun clicked.

A gunshot rang through the air.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

But there was no pain.

No searing heat. No darkness swallowing me whole.

I opened my eyes.

The man—the bodyguard—was still standing there. The gun was still in his hands. But I was alive.

He exhaled heavily and lowered his weapon.

"I am not a good man," he muttered. His voice was rough, filled with something strange—something torn.

"I’ve done terrible things. I’ve taken lives without hesitation. But a baby…?" He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Even I am not that kind of monster."

He looked at me again, his dark eyes unreadable.

"But orders are orders."

He bent down, pulled out a large basket, and placed me inside.

He walked toward the lake.

The water stretched out before us—dark, endless, waiting.

The wind was cold. The night was silent.

He set the basket down near the water’s edge.

"This is your fate," he whispered. "Live or die—it's up to the world now."

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

I was alone.

A helpless newborn, left to fate.

Would the water swallow me whole? Would I drift away into the unknown? Would someone find me?

Or was this truly my end?

I don’t know what that bodyguard was thinking at that moment. Maybe he felt pity. Maybe he had his own reasons But I think… I should thank him.

At least he didn’t kill me.

Even as I floated in the basket, surrounded by the vast, endless water, I felt my body weakening. My tiny hands trembled. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. My eyelids felt heavy—too heavy.

I feel like _

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ALL mages are copyrighted to their respective creators and owners."

"Images depicted are fictional or belong to their rightful owners."No ownership or copyright claimed for images; credits belong to their creators."

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