The morning arrived,
and the darkness of last night slowly faded into the pale light of dawn.
The car rolled through the iron gates of the Malhotra mansion, tires crunching softly against the gravel. The guards at the entrance straightened instinctively as it passed, but no one spoke.
Reyansh stepped out without a word.
He didn’t look around. Didn’t pause. Didn’t acknowledge anyone.
He walked straight inside, his footsteps steady and unhurried, heading directly toward his room.
The night was over.
But its silence followed him in.
Inside his room, Reyansh closed the door behind him.
He removed his coat first.
A faint, dark stain marked the cuff—small, almost invisible unless someone knew where to look. Reyansh glanced at it once, his expression unchanged, then placed the coat carefully over the back of a chair, every movement precise, controlled.
Order mattered.
Even after chaos.
He walked to the sink, rolling his sleeves up slowly, and turned on the tap. Cold water ran over his hands, washing away the last traces of the night. Within seconds, the water ran clear, disappearing down the drain as if nothing had ever happened.
But silence lingered.
It always did.
Reyansh dried his hands and walked toward the chair beside the tall window, lowering himself into it without a sound.
From here, the estate stretched out in perfect order—gardens trimmed to precision, pathways empty, guards moving at measured intervals. Beyond the gates, the city was already awake, alive, unaware of how fragile everything really was.
He sat there for a long moment.
Not thinking. Not resting.
Just… still.
On the table beside him lay a thin folder.
It hadn’t been there the night before.
Reyansh reached for it, opening it without hesitation. His eyes moved steadily across the pages, sharp and unreadable, but whatever he saw stirred nothing on his face—no anger, no satisfaction.
Only the same cold concentration.
A photograph slipped loose from between the papers, sliding onto the table.
Reyansh picked it up.
He studied it for a moment, his gaze steady, unreadable… then placed it back down, turning it face down as if the image no longer needed to exist.
The room fell silent again.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time moved differently in stillness—slower, heavier, stretching between breaths.
Finally, Reyansh leaned back in the chair, his eyes drifting to the pale morning light spreading across the polished floor, inch by inch, patient and inevitable.
His expression remained unchanged, but something in his eyes hardened—not anger, not impatience… but something colder.
Patience.
The kind that didn’t fade.
The kind that waited until the world itself shifted.
Because Reyansh understood something most people never did.
Violence was never the hardest part.
Waiting was.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The house was quieter now, morning fully settled into its rhythm.
Reyansh walked down the stairs, his steps unhurried, and headed toward the kitchen. The staff was already awake, but at this hour he preferred not to call anyone. Silence, even in small moments, was something he valued.
He poured coffee into a cup, the faint aroma rising with the steam.
“Reyansh Malhotra, the CEO of Malhotra Dynamics, making coffee for himself… why?”
The voice came from behind him—warm, amused, and entirely unimpressed by titles.
“Can’t he find a girl for himself,” the lady continued, “or has he already been rejected by someone?”
Reyansh exhaled softly, closing his eyes for a brief second before turning around.
“Maa,” he said, shaking his head faintly, “come on… don’t be stuck on this topic.”
His mother, Meera Malhotra—The best criminal lawyer by profession—leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching him with a look that held equal parts affection and stubborn determination.
“I’m your mother,” she replied calmly.
“If I don’t worry about these things, who will?”
Reyansh took a sip of his coffee, unfazed.“I think the board of directors worries about me enough.”
“That’s different,” she said immediately. “They worry about your company. I worry about your life.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Sunlight filtered through the kitchen window, falling across the marble counter, catching faint lines of steam rising from the cup in Reyansh’s hand.
His mother studied him quietly now, her voice softer when she spoke again.
“You work too much,” she said. “You stay alone too much. And you don’t let anyone close enough to change that.”
Reyansh looked down at the coffee for a second, his expression unreadable, then glanced back at her.
“Some things,” he said quietly, “are easier that way.”
She didn’t argue. But the silence between them carried more than words.
After a moment, she sighed and changed the subject.
“When did you come to India and not even tell any of us?” she asked, giving him a mildly accusing look.
“Last night,” Reyansh replied calmly. “Had some urgent work.”
“You have meetings today?”
“Yes.”
“In the city?”
“No. In Delhi.”
She nodded slowly, as if storing the information away in some invisible ledger only mothers seemed to keep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thank you for reading this chapter.
Your time, your patience, and your support mean more than you know.
Every read, every vote, and every comment keeps this story alive.
Now I’m curious…
What do you think Reyansh was looking at in that photograph?
And do you believe patience can be more dangerous than violence?
Tell me your thoughts—I love reading them. ♡
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