Chapter 1: Return to India

The roar of the airplane engines faded into the background as Veeresh Rajawat stared out of the window. The sprawling Indian landscape stretched below him like a canvas of memories he had long tried to bury. India. The land of his birth, yet the land that had never truly accepted him.

Veeresh adjusted his tailored black suit, the fabric smooth against his skin, a stark contrast to the roughness of his childhood. He had built himself from ashes, brick by brick. A life forged in the fires of rejection and pain. His mother, a dancer in the dimly lit bars of Mumbai, had always been the target of cruel whispers and judgment. And he… Veeresh, the illegitimate son of Ritesh Rajawat, had been the silent witness to every cruel joke, every shove in the school corridors, every taunt thrown like daggers at his fragile pride.

He clenched his jaw as memories of the past flashed before him—the whispers of classmates, the sneers, the way teachers would turn a blind eye. In those days, he had been small, weak, and angry. But anger had a way of sharpening the soul. And Veeresh had sharpened himself into a weapon.

From the ashes of his childhood, he had risen. V Business was now a name that commanded respect. Veeresh had become a shrewd businessman, known for his acumen, his ruthlessness in negotiations, and his unyielding focus. Yet, he wasn’t just brains and strategy. On the court, he was a force to be reckoned with—a basketball player whose height, agility, and precision made him almost untouchable. Those who underestimated him because of his past quickly learned their mistake.

And now, he was back. Not for business this time. Not for revenge. But for family—at least the family that society considered legitimate. His elder stepbrother, Pavan Rajawat, was getting married. The news had reached Veeresh months ago, and though he had debated skipping it, something—a mixture of curiosity and old ties—pulled him back to India.

The airport was crowded, humid air mingling with the scent of spices, diesel, and monsoon rain. Veeresh walked through the terminal with the calm confidence of someone who belonged nowhere yet commanded everywhere he went. His driver, waiting with the sleek black car he had bought upon arriving, opened the door, and Veeresh slid in silently, eyes scanning, calculating.

“Sir, Pavan’s wedding preparations are in full swing. The house is… extravagant, as always,” the driver said.

Veeresh smirked faintly. Extravagance was expected from the Rajawats. Privilege, he thought bitterly, something I never had.

The drive to the Rajawat mansion was quiet, Veeresh lost in thought. Memories of the cold dinners, of hearing his father’s name whispered with pride in other rooms he was never allowed to enter, flickered in his mind. But he had changed all that now. He had money, power, and influence—but more importantly, he had control over his own life. And tonight, at the wedding, he would step into a world that had always denied him recognition.

The mansion came into view—grand, ostentatious, every inch screaming wealth and status. Veeresh’s eyes narrowed slightly. Inside, the festivities would be in full swing. Guests adorned in silks and gold would chatter about Pavan’s achievements, the alliances this marriage would bring. And somewhere among the crowd, Veeresh would stand—a ghost of the boy they once scorned, now a man they could no longer ignore.

He stepped out of the car, adjusting his cufflinks, a calculated calm settling over him. Tonight, Veeresh Rajawat would walk into the heart of his past, and nothing would be the same again.

And as he entered the grand hall, his eyes caught the first glimpse of the bride’s side of the ceremony. A spark of curiosity, almost amusement, flickered across his face. After all, weddings were for unions—but sometimes, they were stages for reckoning too.

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