Rajesh Rajput: Rajesh Rajput is the undisputed head of the Rajput family—a man whose name alone carries authority, fear, and influence. At 55 years old, he stands at the peak of both power and control, deeply rooted in politics where appearances matter more than morals. To the public, he is a respectable leader: disciplined, sharp-minded, and devoted to his duties. Behind closed doors, he is something far more dangerous.

He is exceptionally intelligent and calculating, always several steps ahead of everyone else. Rajesh doesn’t act out of impulse; he plans patiently, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Cruelty comes naturally to him, but he wears it beneath layers of charm, status, and tradition. Every decision he makes is weighed against one thing—his reputation.

Ayesha Rajput: Ayesha Rajput is the wife of Rajesh Rajput and the quiet pillar of the Rajput household. At 53 years old, she carries herself with grace—soft smiles, composed manners, and a calm voice that rarely rises. To outsiders, she appears gentle, almost harmless, a woman shaped by tradition and devotion.

But beneath that serene exterior lies something far more frightening. She does not scream or lash out. She breaks you quietly.

Ayansh Rajput: Charismatic. Cold. Possessive. A prince with poison in his veins. Second son of Rajesh. He is 27 years old. And married.

Meera Rajput: Beautiful and sweet girl. She is 25 years old and married to Ayansh because of political meeting but she love him.

Reyansh Rajput: Reyansh Rajput is calm in a way that unsettles people. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to. Silence follows him—heavy, controlled, and threatening. His presence alone is enough to make people think twice before speaking. There is danger in the way he watches, in the way he listens more than he talks.

At 30, Reyansh is already deeply embedded in a world of power, violence, and obedience. As Rajesh Rajput’s elder son, he has been molded into a weapon—sharp, disciplined, and unquestioningly loyal. He executes his father’s orders without hesitation, without emotion, and without mercy. For him, cruelty isn’t personal; it’s simply efficiency.

Work defines him. He is ruthless, strategic, and terrifyingly composed, capable of destroying lives with the same calm expression he wears while sipping his drink. Empathy is something he learned to bury long ago. Weakness, even his own, is unacceptable.

Ansh : Ansh is someone people notice without him ever trying to be noticed. He has a soft, almost fragile kind of beauty—gentle eyes, calm expressions, and a presence that feels warm and safe. There is an innocence in him that hasn’t been erased despite everything life has taken away. Orphaned at a young age, Ansh grew up learning how to survive alone, yet his heart never hardened. Instead, it became kinder.

He is unfailingly polite, empathetic, and selfless—often putting others before himself without realizing it. Pain sits quietly inside him, never loud, never demanding attention. He doesn’t talk about his loneliness; he sings it.

His breathing grew shallow, rapid — each inhale a silent scream.

He was running as fast as he could. But from what?

A shadow.

A presence.

Something that shouldn’t have been there.

[Few hours back]

The evening had settled over the city like a velvet curtain.

A loud roar echoed across the concert arena.

"Ansh! Ansh! Ansh!"

His name, like a prayer, a chant, a desperate cry.

And then—

Silence.

A soft, melancholic voice rose in its place — his voice.

The audience fell under his spell.

Even in his silence, he was music.

His eyes were hollow, distant... but beautiful.

A strange sadness clung to him, bleeding through his voice.

Sometimes sweet, sometimes sharp, sometimes aching.

Flashlights lit up the crowd like a thousand stars.

Hands swayed in rhythm, hearts beat in unison.

But Ansh...

Ansh smiled only faintly after his last song, whispering thanks into the mic before disappearing backstage.

He was only twenty-two.

So young, yet so weary.

His curly brown hair stuck lightly to his pale forehead under the stage lights.

His lashes — long and brown — curled over sea-blue eyes that never truly looked at anyone.

His lips, plump and pink, pressed tightly together when no one was watching.

He was fragile — in frame, in soul.

Short in height, soft in speech, silent in pain.

An orphan, raised by the world, owned by no one.

Except maybe... his past.

The mask of the idol slipped behind the curtains.

Makeup artists rushed to him, peeling away layers of glamour.

He changed out of his stage clothes in silence, his face unreadable, his movements methodical.

Then, mask on — the real one now — he thanked everyone and quietly stepped outside into the night.

The stars were scattered across the sky, indifferent to the darkness in his heart.

He stood there for a moment, eyes fixed on the heavens, then walked toward his car.

The driver started the engine as Ansh slumped into the backseat, head leaning on the window. He was thinking—

No, spiraling.

Five minutes away from his house, he suddenly spoke.

"Stop the car. I’ll walk from here."

The driver hesitated. "But, sir—"

"I said I’ll walk."

That same quiet stubbornness.

The car pulled over. Ansh stepped out, smiled vaguely at the driver, and waved him off.

The night was calm. Too calm.

He walked alone under the streetlights, his thoughts louder than the world around him.

But then…

A chill ran down his spine.

Footsteps.

Faint, but matching his pace.

He stopped.

The sound stopped too.

His breath caught in his throat. He turned around slowly.

No one.

Only shadows.

He shook his head. "Maybe I’m just tired," he whispered to himself and began walking again.

Then —

Thud.

His blood ran cold.

He didn’t look back this time. He started walking faster.

The steps behind him picked up too.

Panic. Real, raw panic.

He broke into a run.

His lungs burned, breath ragged and fast — until—

"Ansh?"

His manager, Divesh, was standing outside the house, blinking in confusion.

Ansh almost collapsed from relief, his chest heaving.

Divesh frowned. “What the hell? Is a dog chasing you or what?”

Ansh turned to look behind him again.

Nothing.

No one.

Just empty streets and quiet shadows.

He didn’t answer Divesh. He walked past him and into the house, his heart still pounding.

Divesh followed, rambling about schedules for tomorrow, but Ansh wasn’t listening.

“I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said flatly.

Divesh paused, then nodded and headed downstairs to his room.

Ansh locked his door, undressed, and took a long, cold shower.

Still, the feeling didn’t leave.

The sense of being watched.

Eventually, he lay in bed, eyes open, thoughts circling like vultures.

Who was following me?

Sleep came only after hours of tossing, only to be broken–

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang again and again, slicing through the early morning quiet like a blade.

Ansh groaned. Divesh would answer it.

But no—

It kept ringing.

Frustrated, he got out of bed, stumbled downstairs, and opened the door—

No one.

He stepped out, looked left and right. Empty street.

His brows furrowed. “A prank?”

He shut the door and turned back—

Ding-dong.

His frustration exploded. He stormed to the door and yanked it open.

“What do you wa—”

He froze.

A bouquet of blood-red roses sat on the doorstep.

And beside it, an envelope.

His breath hitched.

A gentle tap on his shoulder made him jump violently.

“Dude, relax! It’s just me,” Divesh yawned, eyes puffy.

Ansh clutched his chest. “Damn it, can’t you speak first? You scared the hell out of me!”

Divesh raised a brow. “You’re acting like you saw a ghost. Another bouquet from a fan?”

He bent down, picked up the roses and the letter, and handed them to Ansh.

“Your fans are nuts, man.”

But Ansh wasn’t smiling.

He walked up to his room, heart pounding, letter still in hand.

He placed it on the table, went to freshen up, dressed himself carefully — white pants, pink shirt, white blazer — trying to look normal.

Trying to feel normal.

His curls were neatly styled, his blue eyes still distant in the mirror.

The boy everyone loved.

But no one really knew.

As he reached for his watch, his eyes drifted back to the envelope.

Something felt... wrong.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

And opened it.

Inside was a single line.

“I will always love you. You are mine.”

Written in deep, red ink.

No—

Blood.

His hands began to tremble. He felt sick. The room seemed to spin.

“Ansh!” Divesh’s voice called from downstairs.

Ansh shoved the letter back into its envelope, threw it in the drawer, and rushed to wash his hands, as if he could scrub off the fear.

When he came downstairs, sweat was dripping from his temples.

“You okay? You look like you ran a marathon,” Divesh said, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ansh muttered. “Let’s just go.”

“But breakfast—”

“I’m not hungry!”

Divesh backed off. Something was off, but he didn’t press further.

They got into the car. Ansh stared out the window the entire ride, lost in thoughts that only grew darker.

Blood.

Letters.

Footsteps in the dark.

The company office was full of people and noise — warm smiles, polite greetings, Ansh's fans and business talk.

But Ansh heard none of it.

All he could hear was a voice in his head.

“You are mine.”

And a single, invisible thorn pressing into his heart from the first bleeding petal.

Hello readersss... This is my first story... I hope my readers will love it... #yourcheesyauthor 😉

Divesh was discussing Ansh's makeup requirements, outfits, and supplements with the staff. Meanwhile, Ansh sat quietly, gazing out of the large window of the building, completely dazed, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts.

"Ansh?" Divesh called.

No response.

"Ansh!"

Still nothing.

Growing concerned, Divesh walked over and gently shook his shoulder.

"Ansh?! What are you thinking about that you didn't even hear me?"

Ansh blinked and looked at him. "Oh... n-nothing..."

Divesh sighed and crouched slightly to meet his eyes. "Look, we've come a long way from Jaipur to this huge platform in Mumbai. We have to work hard, but your mental health comes first. If something's bothering you, you can tell me."

Ansh hesitated, eyes flickering with uncertainty. "Divesh... um..."

Divesh leaned in. "Hm? Say it. I'm listening."

"Um... it's nothing. Let's just focus on our work."

He couldn't bring himself to mention the letter. He didn't want to worry Divesh-not yet.

Divesh frowned slightly. He didn't quite believe him, but decided not to press further. He simply nodded, though the unease lingered in his eyes.

The team got to work with renewed energy while Ansh sat down, scribbling the early verses of a song into his notebook-his mind still quietly haunted.

Later that afternoon, Divesh informed Ansh that they needed to return to Jaipur for a special performance-an exclusive invitation from the Rajput family, a powerful royal lineage with deep roots in both tradition and politics. In Jaipur, no one dared to disrespect them. Their influence was absolute; their word, law. All Ansh knew was that they were respected-and feared.

Soon, a large van arrived. Ansh, along with Divesh and the rest of the staff, climbed inside as it drove toward the airport. Divesh continued briefing the team-how to behave, what to say, and most importantly, how to address the Rajput family with the utmost respect.

Ansh didn't say a word. He simply stared out of the window, the outside world blurring past him.

When they arrived at the airport, security guards surrounded the van, shielding Ansh from fans and media as they escorted him inside.

After a long wait, Ansh, Divesh, and the team boarded the plane. Ansh took his seat, slipped on his headphones, and closed his eyes just as the plane lifted into the sky.

---

[Somewhere far away]

"Argh!! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Master! Please forgive me! I'll never do it again!"

An old man knelt, hands trembling as he begged with folded hands, tears streaming down his wrinkled face.

The man standing before him said nothing. His expression was unreadable-ice-cold and detached.

When he finally spoke, his voice was deep, dark, and thick with menace.

"Shut up. Do it. Don't make me dirty my hands."

The old man gasped in fear, sobbing harder.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than any threat.

"One..."

The old man panicked.

"Two..."

BANG!

The old man collapsed.

Blood spread across the floor, his trembling hands still clutching the gun he'd been forced to hold.

His eyes were wide open.

He had pulled the trigger himself.

Dead silence followed.

---

Hours later, the plane touched down on the runway of Jaipur.

Ansh, Divesh, and the staff exited the plane. Porters carried their bags while the group moved toward the exit.

Outside the airport, a line of sleek black Mercedes awaited them. Each car was flanked by armed guards.

Divesh began heading toward the opposite side to call for a cab when a tall, uniformed guard approached Ansh.

"Are you Ansh?" he asked.

Ansh looked at him with confusion and nodded slowly.

"The Rajput family sent these cars-for you and your staff."

Ansh quickly called Divesh over and repeated what the guard had told him.

Divesh raised a brow, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

The staff began boarding the cars, but when Ansh tried to sit with Divesh, a different guard stepped forward and blocked him.

"You'll be in a separate car," he said sternly.

Ansh's brows furrowed. "I'm fine. I'll sit with my manager."

Before he could say another word, the guard gently but firmly pushed him toward the other vehicle.

Ansh felt a pit of discomfort sink into his stomach.

He entered the car reluctantly. The driver offered no greeting.

Beside him sat another man-tall, dressed in black, face half-hidden by the shadow of the tinted windows.

Ansh quietly slipped into the backseat, quickly texting Divesh.

"I'm feeling a little uneasy. This is weird."

Divesh replied:

"Relax. Don't overthink. Probably just protocol. I'm right behind you."

Ansh exhaled and leaned his head against the window, eyes drifting shut.

But from the front seat, the man in the shadows stared at him through the rearview mirror.

Unblinking.

Cold.

And Ansh never noticed.

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Hey readersssssssss...Second chapter for you all... #yourcheesyauthor 😉