Chapter Five: Empty Crowns and Lonely Nights

The Rathore estate stood in quiet authority under the fading hues of dusk. The walls had witnessed generations of power, decisions that shaped legacies, and men who carried crowns heavier than they ever admitted.

Tonight, those walls listened again.

Veeresh Rathore sat across from his parents in the grand sitting hall, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. His father—Rana Sa—watched him with a gaze that carried both pride and something deeper… something almost weary.

“Veeresh,” his father began, his voice calm but firm, “it is time.”

Veeresh didn’t respond immediately. He already knew what this was about.

“I have carried this throne long enough,” his father continued. “The responsibilities, the expectations… they were mine. But now, they should be yours.”

A pause.

“I want to pass it on to you.”

The words were not surprising. They had been coming for years, lingering in conversations, hidden between expectations.

But tonight, they were final.

His mother leaned forward slightly, her voice softer, warmer.

“And with that, beta… it is also time for you to settle down.”

Veeresh’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

Marriage.

Of course.

“If there is someone in your life,” she added gently, “we have no objections. We only want you to be happy.”

Happy.

The word felt distant. Almost unfamiliar.

For a brief second, Veeresh looked away, his gaze drifting toward the tall windows that overlooked the vast lands of . Lands that would soon be his not just by name… but by responsibility.

“There is no one,” he said finally, his tone steady, detached.

His mother studied him, as if trying to read between the words.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

A single word. Final.

His father exhaled slowly, nodding. “Then we will see someone suitable for you.”

Another pause.

Veeresh turned back to them, his expression composed, almost indifferent.

“You can choose,” he said. “I have no problem.”

It wasn’t hesitation.
It wasn’t reluctance.

It was acceptance without emotion.

Because to him…

Marriage was not about love.

It was duty.
An arrangement.
Another decision to be made with logic, not feelings.

His mother’s eyes softened, but there was something unsettled in them. A mother’s instinct, perhaps—knowing her son had built walls too high for anyone to cross.

“Very well,” she said quietly.

The conversation ended there.

No arguments.
No drama.

Just understanding… and silence.

Veeresh stood up, giving a slight nod before walking away.

As he entered his room, the weight of the discussion didn’t linger on his face. If anything, it disappeared entirely.

Because this was how he functioned.

He compartmentalized.

Personal life in one corner.
Business in another.

And business always won.

Within seconds, he was seated in front of his laptop, the glow of the screen reflecting in his sharp eyes as files opened, numbers moved, layouts adjusted.

The Royal Heritage Corridor project demanded precision—and Veeresh gave it nothing less.

Hours passed unnoticed.

Because work was easier.

Work didn’t demand emotions.
Work didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer.

Work never left.

Across the city, under the same night sky of , Poornima stood alone in her penthouse.

Unlike the palace, this place was entirely hers. No shadows of the past. No whispers of judgment. Just silence… and her own existence within it.

The city lights flickered beyond the glass windows, alive and restless.

But inside…

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

She walked slowly toward the counter, her movements slightly heavier than usual. Her fingers reached for the familiar bottle—.

Her favorite.

Not because she enjoyed drinking.

But because it numbed the edges of her thoughts.

She poured it into a glass, the dark liquid catching the dim light before she took a slow sip.

It burned.

But it didn’t hurt as much as the words still echoing in her mind.

“Illegitimate.”

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head as she leaned back against the counter.

“Pathetic…” she muttered to herself.

Her reflection stared back at her from the glass window. Perfect. Composed. Untouched.

A lie.

“You built everything on your own…” she continued, her voice low, almost bitter. “And still… one word is enough to break you?”

Another sip.

Her grip tightened around the glass.

“What were you expecting, Poornima?” she whispered, her eyes glistening. “That one day he’ll suddenly accept you? That he’ll call you his daughter?”

Her voice cracked slightly.

“Stupid.”

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, but the tears came anyway—quiet, stubborn.

“You should have known better.”

She moved toward the couch, sitting down heavily, the glass still in her hand.

For someone who believed in love…

She had never truly received it.

Not from family.
Not from anyone.

And yet… she wrote about it.

Created worlds where love was intense, consuming, unconditional. Where the girl was never questioned, never rejected.

“Mannat,” she whispered, a faint, broken smile touching her lips.

In that world, she was powerful. Desired. Loved.

But here…

She was just Poornima.

A girl who drank alone in her penthouse, trying to silence the past that refused to let her go.

Another sip. Slower this time.

Her head tilted back as she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts blurring, her emotions spilling in quiet waves.

“I hate you…” she murmured, though she didn’t know if it was meant for her father… or herself.

Maybe both.

The night stretched on.

In one part of the city, a man buried himself in work to avoid feeling anything at all.

In another…

A woman drowned in her emotions, wishing she could feel less.

Two lives.
Two extremes.

Moving forward…

Without knowing how closely their paths were about to collide.