AUTHOR POV

LOS ANGELES, USA

“One more shot. Now.”

The command slipped from his lips with the kind of confidence only privilege could breed. The prince—barely nineteen but already infamous—leaned back against the velvet barstool like he owned not just the club, but the entire night itself.

He wore a crisp white shirt that hugged the sharp lines of his body, sleeves rolled to reveal a wrist adorned with an expensive watch most people could only dream of. Over it, his black leather jacket rested casually, the perfect blend of royal rebellion and inherited power. He didn’t look handsome—he looked devastating. The kind of beautiful that came with danger, arrogance, and a trail of broken rules behind him.

The neon lights washed over his features, highlighting the smug tilt of his mouth. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, as if even gravity listened to his command. The bartender rushed to pour the next shot—not because he was drunk, but because this was the prince. Saying no wasn’t an option.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter.
He hated waiting.
He never had to.

Vodka met his tongue like an old friend as he tossed the shot back without blinking. He didn’t flinch—spoiled princes never did. Instead, he licked a drop from the corner of his mouth, smirk playing on his lips, as if the world itself existed purely to entertain him.

Girls on the dance floor whispered.
Some stared.
Some dared.

But he didn’t look at anyone.

His eyes were cold tonight—not angry, just bored. The kind of bored that came from getting everything you want and still wanting more. The kind of bored that hid the storm brewing beneath that royal arrogance.

“One more,” he said, softer this time, but with a sharpness that cut through the music.

Spoiled.
Reckless.
Untouched by consequences.

A prince who had never been told no.

“Young man, I hope that’s the last of your drinking tonight,” the calm voice sliced through the music, steady and deliberate. Raj, in his late twenties, leaned against the bar with effortless composure, a glass of juice in hand. His eyes, half amused, half exasperated, tracked Reyansh like a father watching a storm about to break.

Reyansh barely looked up. Instead, he threw back his head and let out a long, theatrical sigh, dragging a hand through his dark, tousled hair. The neon lights caught the sharp angles of his face, turning every glint in his stormy eyes into a flare of melodrama.

“Well… what can I do, jiju?” he moaned, voice thick with mock tragedy. “She… she broke my heart. For someone else, of all people! Everyone—everyone—who’s ever stepped into my life is after my money. My name. My… existence. And for whom am I even living?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms flung wide like a prince betrayed by fate itself. The vodka glass shook slightly in his hand, as if it too felt the injustice of his life.

Raj chuckled softly, shaking his head, trying not to let his amusement show too much. “Reyansh… you’re just twenty. Twenty, man! You have your whole life ahead of you. This is just the beginning. You haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”

“Ohhh, not again, jiju!” Reyansh groaned, pressing both hands to his forehead as though the very act of hearing advice was physical torture. “I just… I just want to enjoy my life! Do you know how suffocating all this is? The expectations, the responsibilities… being a prince… it’s not even my thing! I hate them! I hate it all!”

He spun the chair back halfway before dramatically collapsing into it again, his jacket slipping off one shoulder, revealing a crisp white shirt rumpled by the weight of his despair. Neon lights flickered over him, turning his sulk into a kind of theatrical spectacle. Around them, the music pulsed like a heartbeat, oblivious to the tiny tragedy in the corner.

Raj sighed, leaning closer, lowering his voice so only Reyansh could hear. “I get it, Rey. I really do. But heartbreak, bad choices, responsibilities… none of it lasts forever. You’ll find someone worth your attention. And until then… maybe don’t drown in vodka.”

Reyansh flopped sideways, almost on the floor, his dark eyes glinting with both mischief and genuine pain. “Drown? I’m not drowning, jiju. I’m just… floating… on the misery of everyone being after me, on the chaos of being born into this… this crown I never wanted!”

He sat up, fists clenched on the table, voice rising above the music for a fraction of a second, raw and vulnerable beneath all the drama. “Do you know how heavy it feels? To be everyone’s prince, everyone’s obsession, everyone’s target… and to feel… nothing? Nothing I want?!”

Raj chuckled again, softer this time, but his eyes softened. “You’re dramatic as hell, Rey. But you’ll learn. You’ll learn to take what you want without letting it consume you.”

Reyansh leaned back, exhaling slowly, a small smirk breaking through his stormy facade. “Hmph. Maybe. But tonight… tonight I’m just me. Reyansh. Heartbroken, spoiled, dangerous… fabulous, and completely misunderstood.”

Raj shook his head, unable to hide a grin. “You really do think the world revolves around you, don’t you?”

“And why shouldn’t it?” Reyansh shot back, lifting his glass as if to toast his own existence, “I’m a prince, jiju. My life is chaos and champagne, heartbreak and headlines. Let me enjoy the parts I choose, yeah?”

Raj raised his juice glass with a laugh. “Alright, Prince Chaos. Tonight, you enjoy. But tomorrow… responsibilities are still waiting.”

Reyansh groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “Tomorrow is for commoners. Tonight… tonight is mine.”

Before Reyansh could deliver another theatrical groan or take another shot, she appeared. Riya. His sister. The storm he’d never escape.

“Reyansh!” she barked, eyes flashing like lightning, sequins shimmering under the club lights. Without hesitation, she seized him by the collar of his black leather jacket and yanked him upright.

“Diii!” he squealed, voice high-pitched and shrill, flailing his arms like a trapped puppet. “Di! Wait! I wasn’t—ugh!—I was just—”

But Riya wasn’t listening. She dragged him across the club floor like a ragdoll, his legs kicking helplessly as he squealed and protested with every ounce of his spoiled-prince energy.

“People are staring! My dignity! My—my fame!” Reyansh groaned dramatically, pressed against her grip as if he were being executed. “Diii! I’m heartbroken! I’m a prince! I—ugh!—I can’t take this injustice!”

Raj, standing at the bar, raised his hands in surrender, juice glass trembling slightly. “Fine, fine… surrender,” he muttered, voice laced with amusement and exasperation. “She’s… unstoppable. I knew better than to intervene.”

Riya ignored him entirely, dragging Reyansh through the crowd, elbows and knees bumping oblivious club-goers. “You are done. No more drinks, no more whining, no more dramatics. Get into the car, now,” she said, her tone leaving zero room for argument.

Reyansh’s arms flailed helplessly, legs kicking, voice rising in pitched protest. “Diii! They’re staring! They’ll remember this for decades! I’ll never live this down! How can you do this to me?”

He was finally hoisted, still wriggling, into the car waiting outside, dangling like a rebellious marionette. “Di! Stop! I’m suffocating! I can’t breathe! You’re torturing me!”

Inside the car, Riya finally released her grip—but only enough to glare at him. “You’re lucky I even let you sit down without a lecture,” she snapped.

Reyansh groaned, pressing his face into his hands. “I hate you, di… I hate you so much! But… maybe… maybe I’ll forgive you… in a few decades…”

Raj, watching from the curb, muttered under his breath with a resigned grin, “A few decades… or a lifetime. She always wins.”

Reyansh slumped dramatically into the seat, legs sprawled, black leather jacket slipping off one shoulder. “This is torture. Absolute torture!” he moaned, voice echoing in the car as Riya started the engine, unbothered, unstoppable, utterly victorious.

Riya shot Raj a glare so sharp it could cut through steel. Her eyes, dark and glittering with authority, pinned him in place. Raj, suddenly very aware of every inch of space between them, gulped audibly. The juice in his hand—long forgotten—felt heavier than ever.

“Yes, biwi,” he muttered, voice barely audible, trying to sound confident but failing miserably. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head like a man conceding defeat to a hurricane. “Let’s… let’s go,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Riya didn’t even nod. She started the car herself, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally flicking back to Reyansh in the backseat, who was still half-flopped over, arms crossed, face sulking like a wounded child.

“Diii!” Reyansh groaned, voice echoing in the confined space. “Why am I always the victim here? Why do they get to be normal and I have… this?”

Riya didn’t answer, letting the car glide smoothly through the streets. Her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, her presence commanding and unyielding, while Reyansh continued his relentless whining.

“Di! I’m suffocating! My dignity is gone! I’m… I’m a prince! Do you know what this is doing to my reputation?!” he wailed, dramatically slumping against the seat.

Raj, sitting tensely in the front, hands gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, swallowed another gulp and muttered under his breath, “Every time… every single time. I should just let her drive us off a cliff and call it fate.”

Reyansh groaned again, rolling over, black leather jacket slipping off one shoulder, hair falling over his face in messy, cinematic waves. “Di! I… I hate you! And… I love you… maybe… but ughh!”

Riya’s lips twitched slightly—half a smile, half a warning. “Quiet. Or I’ll drive faster.”

Reyansh flinched dramatically. “Nooo! Not faster! I can’t… I can’t handle this velocity! Diii!”

Raj exhaled slowly, surrendering fully to the storm that was his wife and her unstoppable sibling authority. “She’s… always like this,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, eyes on the road, hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

And in the backseat, Reyansh continued his epic whining, a spoiled prince trapped between the wrath of a sister and the surrender of a husband—completely, utterly, theatrically doomed.

The car rolled into the driveway, headlights cutting through the quiet of the night.

Reyansh had already dozed off the last ten minutes—head against the window, mouth slightly open, breathing slow. The moment Raj killed the engine, Reyansh slumped forward like a lifeless sack.

Riya pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Unbelievable. My twenty-year-old brother behaves like a toddler after one heartbreak.”

Raj chuckled nervously. “He’s… sensitive?”

Riya shot him a glare so sharp that Raj immediately changed tone.
“I mean—yes, yes, absolutely your point is valid.”

She pushed open her door and walked around to Reyansh’s side. Raj quickly followed, knowing better than to let her handle her brother alone.

“Reyansh,” she snapped, shaking him by the shoulder. “Utho.”

Reyansh lifted his head lazily, eyelids half open.
“Hmmm… Di, why is the world spinning…?”

“It’s not the world, it’s you,” Riya muttered. Then, without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar of his expensive shirt.

Raj’s eyes widened.
“Riya! Aram se—”

“Move,” she ordered.

Raj moved.

Riya yanked Reyansh upright. He stumbled, whining like a wounded puppy.

“Diiii, leaveee… I can walk on my own,” he complained.

“No, you can barely stand on your own.”

“That’s ’cause gravity hates me,” Reyansh mumbled.

Riya rolled her eyes so hard she could probably see her brain. She dragged him along the driveway, practically towing him like luggage.

Raj walked behind them, hands up in surrender, knowing there was NO POINT arguing with his wife right now.

Inside the house, Reyansh groaned dramatically,
“Ow, diii… stop manhandling me! I’m a grown adult!”

“You’re a grown headache,” she snapped back.

Raj quickly stepped in to help before Riya lost the last thread of patience. He put Reyansh’s arm over his shoulder and guided him toward the bedroom.

“Come on, champ. Just a few steps.”

“Jijuuu… you’re the only one who loves me,” Reyansh slurred.

Behind them, Riya scoffed loudly.
“Drama king.”

Raj somehow managed to get Reyansh to the bed. He helped him sit, removed his shoes, and eased him down. Reyansh instantly curled into the pillow like he hadn’t slept in years.

Raj pulled the blanket over him while Riya crossed her arms, still fuming but softening just a bit as she watched her brother finally calm down.

Raj whispered, “Let him rest. Tomorrow he’ll wake up with a hangover and regret everything.”

Riya sighed. “Tomorrow I’m going to kill him.”

Raj gently touched her shoulder. “After breakfast?”

Riya nodded. “Ha, after breakfast."

The room was dim, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows as Reyansh slept like a fallen prince—half on the pillow, half dangling off the bed, completely unaware of the emotional storm surrounding him.

Riya stood near the edge of the bed, her breath trembling, fingers wrapped tightly around Raj’s sleeve. Her grip was so firm that Raj could feel the heat of her palm through the fabric.

This wasn’t the fierce, fiery Riya who could scold a room full of royals without blinking.

This was a sister… terrified.

“Raj…” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. “I’m scared.”

Raj’s heart sank. He lifted his hand, placing it gently on her shoulder. “Riya… tell me. What’s scaring you?”

She didn’t even blink. Her eyes were stuck on Reyansh—her brother, her child, her headache, her anchor.

“You know what frightens me?” she murmured, breath shaky. “That I’ll push him too far. That I’ll lose him again.”

Raj frowned softly. “Again? Riya… he’s right here.”

Riya shook her head, tears threatening.

“Raj… he may be twenty, but emotionally? He’s still that fourteen-year-old boy we brought here. The one who clung to me, begged not to be taken back to Jaipur because he was afraid of what he’d have to be there.”

Her voice trembled.

“The day I got married… he cried the entire night, Raj. Not because he was losing me, but because he thought he’d have to face responsibilities without me.”

Raj exhaled slowly, the weight of her words settling deep.

“And now,” Riya continued, swallowing the knot in her throat, “I have to tell that same boy that he has to return. Not as a kid. As a prince.”

She wiped a tear before it fell, but her hand shook visibly.

“He hates it, Raj. He hates the duties, the pressure, the expectations. He hates Jaipur because Jaipur means growing up. He thinks… if he goes back, he’ll lose himself.”

Raj stepped closer, his hand sliding down her arm until their fingers intertwined.

“Riya… you’re carrying this all alone,” he whispered. “Let me worry with you.”

A soft gasp escaped her. Her head bowed, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.

“I’m scared that Jaipur will crush him,” she admitted. “He’s reckless, emotional, impulsive… and none of that fits what the council expects.”

She paused, staring at her sleeping brother with eyes full of fierce love.

“And I adore him, Raj,” she whispered. “Not because he’s a prince. But because… he’s my Reyansh. My little brother. The boy who’d sneak into my room at night because he couldn’t sleep alone. The boy who’d cling to my dupatta and cry during thunderstorms. The boy who still calls me ‘Di’ like he’s five.”

Raj listened quietly, his eyes softening as he looked at her—not as his wife, but as a sister who had never stopped being a guardian.

“And now I have to tell him he has no choice,” she said. “That he has to go to Jaipur. That our father is calling him back. That tomorrow everything changes.”

Her voice broke into a whisper so small it nearly disappeared:

“What if he hates me for it? What if he walks away from us, Raj?”

Raj pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. She pressed her forehead into him, gripping his shirt like she needed something solid to hold onto.

“He won’t leave you,” Raj murmured. “He loves you more than he admits. You’re his anchor, Riya. Even when he’s drunk, even when he’s stubborn… even when he’s childish.”

Riya let out a soft, broken laugh against his chest.

“Childish? He’s a whole circus.”

Raj smiled faintly. “And you’re the ringmaster.”

She gave a small, wet chuckle—but her eyes went back to Reyansh, full of tenderness.

“He’ll always be my baby brother, Raj,” she whispered. “No throne, no council, no kingdom can change that.”

Raj kissed the top of her head gently.

“We tell him together,” he promised. “Tomorrow.”

Riya closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered—half hope, half fear.

Together, they stood over the sleeping boy who had no idea his world was about to shift.

The sunlight didn’t gently wake Reyansh Singhania.

It attacked, a sharp golden beam piercing through the curtains, cutting across his face like a blade. His eyes fluttered open, but his skull throbbed mercilessly, each pulse hammering against his temples.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Every nerve in his body screamed, still tasting the remnants of last night’s chaos—the bitter vodka, the laughter, the heartbreak, the thrill of rebellion.

“Aur kitna maaroge yaar…”
His voice was raspy, hoarse, each word dragging out painfully. He pressed his hands harder to his head, trying to hold together what little coherence he had left.

His hair was in total rebellion, shirt half unbuttoned, tie slumped around his neck. He looked exactly like the spoiled, dramatic prince he was, a man built for freedom, not responsibility.

He tried to start another sentence.
“That bartender… I swear I’ll—”
But the hallway erupted in furious pounding, echoing through the walls like a war drum.

Riya.

Of course.

Reyansh flopped back onto the bed dramatically, arms spread wide, lips curling into a pained, pleading grimace.

“No… not today. Not this early. Not this, di…”
His voice cracked at the end, a mixture of desperation and exhaustion.

The door slammed open, walls rattling.

“REYANSH SINGHANIA, GET UP!”

He let out a high-pitched squeak of panic, clutching at the pillow as if it could shield him from her wrath.

“Di… please… mere dushman bhi thoda pyaar se bulate hain!”

But Riya didn’t care. She stormed in like a hurricane unchained, eyes sharp and unyielding, dupatta flying like a banner of war.

Yet beneath her fury, there was something softer—an undercurrent of fear and protectiveness that made her every step heavier.

Raj appeared behind her, half-awake, rubbing his eyes. He looked caught between amusement, exhaustion, and dread, silently praying the day wouldn’t end in disaster.

Riya’s gaze snapped to him, lightning in her eyes.

“You—” she pointed at Reyansh, her finger trembling slightly from a mix of anger and fear, “—are absolutely impossible!”

Reyansh yelped, covering his face with the blanket.

“Di… I’m dead. Please conduct my funeral quietly.”
His words were dramatic, but the slight tremble in his voice betrayed a lingering fear beneath the performance.

Riya didn’t hesitate. With a swift, commanding motion, she ripped the blanket away.

“GET. UP. NOW.”

“DI! Har baar wrestling kyun?” he shrieked, clutching his chest theatrically.
“Handle me with care! Priceless item hoon!”

Raj let out a small, helpless laugh—but froze instantly as Riya’s glare cut him down like a dagger.

“I said nothing,” he muttered, surrendering completely. “Continue…”

Riya crossed her arms, posture rigid, eyes locked onto her brother. He finally sat up slowly, hair sticking to his sweat-soaked forehead, body trembling from hangover and panic.

“Di… why are you shouting? I drank a little yesterday, that’s all.”
His voice was soft, small, almost boyish, betraying exhaustion and guilt.

“A little?” Riya barked, stepping closer. Her voice sliced through the room like steel.
“You were one glass away from adopting the bar counter.”

Raj tried to suppress a smile. Riya’s glare instantly reminded him who was in charge.

Reyansh winced, the drama fading as reality crept back.

“Di… seriously… what’s wrong?”
His voice softened further, tentative, fragile.
“Why do you look like you haven’t slept?”

Riya inhaled sharply, chest tightening. She could feel Raj’s hand on her back, steadying her trembling frame.

“Riya… breathe.”
She nodded, but her eyes never left Reyansh. Fear flickered in her gaze—fear for the boy she had raised, loved, and protected.

“Reyansh…” she whispered. Her voice was quiet, trembling, carrying the weight of years of love and worry.

He straightened instinctively. He felt the gravity in her tone.

“This isn’t about your drinking.”

His brows furrowed. “Then what—”

“You’re leaving.” Her voice was calm, unwavering, absolute. It cut through the haze like a knife.

Reyansh blinked, throat dry. Once. Twice.

“Leaving… where?”

Riya swallowed, voice low but certain. “Jaipur.”

The word hit like a physical blow. Silence swallowed the room.

Reyansh’s eyes widened, jaw tightening. The hangover was gone; it was replaced by shock, betrayal, panic.

“Di… NO!” he snapped.
“I’m NOT going back there! You KNOW I’m not—”

Riya stepped closer, soft but unshakable, hands trembling slightly from suppressed emotion.

“Dad called. The council wants you. It’s not a request.”

Reyansh’s chest heaved violently, breaths shallow.

“You promised…” his voice trembled.

Riya froze. Her chest clenched, eyes glistening.

“You promised I’d never have to go back unless I wanted to.” His voice broke, fragile as porcelain.

Raj’s chest tightened, watching the raw sibling tension unfold.

Reyansh looked away, jaw trembling.
“I’m not ready, Di… I can’t…”

Riya moved instinctively, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing his temple, her throat tight with emotion.

“I know. I know you’re not. But you won’t be alone. I’m right here.”

He pulled her hand away gently. “Being right here isn’t enough for Jaipur…” he whispered.

Raj stepped forward cautiously, voice low, worried.
“Reyansh… just listen for a minute—”

Reyansh suddenly stood, panic and fear flashing in his eyes, chest heaving.

“No. I’m not listening. I’m not going. I don’t want that life. I don’t want those responsibilities. I don’t want that crown. I don’t want Jaipur.”

His voice softened, heartbreak bleeding through every word.
“I just… want to be me.”

Riya’s lips trembled, tears threatening to fall. She reached out instinctively, aching to protect him.

“Reyansh…” she whispered, voice breaking with love, fear, and desperation.

He stepped back, trembling.
“Di, please… don’t make me do this.”

The room fell silent.

Three hearts breaking in three different ways:

Reyansh—desperate, panicked, trapped between freedom and duty

Riya—fearful, protective, aching, trying not to crumble

Raj—helpless, worried, silently praying for calm

Outside, the sun blazed mercilessly.
Inside, the storm of family, responsibility, rebellion, and love had only just begun.

The morning air was heavy, thick with frustration and tension. Reyansh sat on the edge of the bed, head pounding, fists tight, jaw clenched. Every sound grated against his raw nerves, every movement made his hangover scream in protest.

Raj’s phone buzzed sharply on the table. He glanced down, answered, and immediately a high-pitched, carefree laugh poured from the speaker. The sound was playful, teasing, like sunlight cutting through storm clouds, completely at odds with Reyansh’s mood.

Reyansh froze, ears twitching. His head snapped toward the sound, hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t know who it was. Didn’t care. All he knew was the noise, the cheerfulness, the intrusion—it was infuriating.

He muttered under his breath, sharp, frustrated, venom-laced:

“Chudail…”

No name. No recognition. Just pure irritation, raw and unfiltered.

Riya, standing nearby, noticed the mutter. Her lips twitched into a faint smile, half amusement, half exasperation, all sisterly affection. Raj, phone still in hand, suppressed a laugh, shaking his head discreetly.

Reyansh flopped back against the bed, glaring at the ceiling, muttering the word again. His eyes were narrowed, body tense, as if bracing for a storm he couldn’t see. The laugh continued—lively, playful, teasing—but he had no idea who was behind it, or why it grated on him so sharply.

The suspense hung in the room like electricity. Reyansh sensed someone’s presence—vivid, vibrant, unignorable—but the identity was a mystery, an unseen spark of chaos he couldn’t yet confront.

Riya exchanged a look with Raj, understanding the storm brewing inside her brother. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The tension, the unknown, the clash of moods—it was already enough to throw Reyansh off balance.

And so, the morning carried on. Reyansh, frustrated and suspicious, muttering in irritation. Someone unseen, laughing, teasing, unaware of the havoc they were creating. The collision of fates had begun—but he didn’t know it yet

The morning tension clung to the house like a storm cloud. Reyansh groaned on the bed, head pounding, hair in wild disarray, shirt half open. Every sound grated on his nerves—especially the sharp ringtone from Raj’s phone.

Raj glanced at it, swiping to answer. Instantly, the screen lit up with a vibrant face—Aadhya, energetic, laughing, her presence spilling through the tiny device with sunlight-like warmth.

“Aadhya,” Raj said, his voice soft and affectionate, the way only family can speak to someone they care for deeply. “Good morning.”

On the screen, Aadhya laughed, a bright, mischievous sound that seemed to echo through the room. Her energy was alive, teasing, playful—but completely alien to Reyansh. He squinted at the sound, his headache making every note sharper, sharper, sharper.

Reyansh muttered under his breath, irritation brimming, voice rough from last night’s chaos:

“…Chudail…”

No name. No clue. Just frustration. Just a sharp reaction to someone’s voice breaking into his world uninvited.