Author POV

The Solanki mansion was always awake before the sun.

Guards patrolled the grounds, their heavy boots crunching against the gravel paths. Servants moved in silence; their eyes lowered as they rushed to prepare for the day. But inside the grand dining hall, away from the tension of power and bloodshed, the heartbeat of the mansion remained the same—Dhara Solanki.

She wasn’t just Jitendra’s wife. She was the woman who ran this house with an iron fist and a mother’s warmth.

As she arranged the silverware, her sharp eyes caught sight of Ketan and Jitendra moving toward the door, dressed in crisp suits, their expressions unreadable.

“Stop right there.” Both men halted, mid-stride, their hands already reaching for their briefcases.

Ketan turned with an exasperated sigh. “Maa, we have a meeting—”

“I don’t care,” Dhara interrupted, crossing her arms. “You are not stepping out of this house without eating.”

Jitendra, ever the composed man, checked his watch. “We don’t have time for—”

“If you walk out that door without breakfast,” Dhara cut in, her voice dangerously calm, “then don’t expect me to cook for you ever again.”

Ketan’s jaw tightened, but he knew better than to argue. He'd learned over the years that defying Dhara on matters of food was a battle he was destined to lose.

Jitendra merely sighed. Without a word, he turned around and took a seat at the dining table, motioning for Ketan to do the same. He knew that arguing would only prolong the inevitable, and frankly, he wasn't immune to his wife's delicious culinary offerings.

The moment they settled down, the doors swung open, and a cheerful voice echoed through the hall.

“Aunty!”

Siya.

She entered the mansion like she belonged there—because in Dhara’s eyes, she did.

The young woman strode in, her long hair tied into a sleek ponytail, dressed in a pastel-colored dress that made her look deceptively innocent. But behind that soft face was a woman who knew exactly how to play with fire.

Dhara's face lit up with genuine warmth as Siya approached their table "Siya, my dear! Come, sit. Have breakfast with us."

Siya smiled and moved to embrace Dhara. "I just came to see you before heading out. I missed you."

"You always know how to make this old woman happy." Dhara cupped Siya’s face affectionately. "Tell me, how have you been? And how is your work going? Still keeping those pesky men in line?"

Siya laughed, shaking her head. "They try, but no one can match my skills, Aunty."

Ketan, who had been listening quietly, scoffed. "Or maybe they let you win because you're a woman."

Siya shot him a glare. "And maybe I should show you exactly how I make them kneel, Ketan."

Jitendra smirked at their bickering but remained silent as he finished his meal. Dhara chuckled, leading Siya toward the dining table. “Come, sit with me.”

While the two women chatted, Ketan remained focused on his breakfast, eating quickly but not messily. Jitendra, ever the silent observer, watched his son with mild amusement before turning his attention back to his wife and Siya.

Just as Siya settled into a chair, Dhara spoke again, her voice laced with a knowing smile that hinted at something more. "Oh, Siya, did I tell you? Prisha is coming soon.”

Siya’s fork clattered against her plate.

“She’s coming?” she gasped, eyes wide with excitement. “When?”

“Soon,” Dhara assured her. “The whole family is waiting for her. It feels like ages since we've all been together.”

Siya practically vibrated with excitement, clapping her hands together in delight. "I can't believe it! I have so much to tell her, so much to catch her up on!"

Ketan, finishing his breakfast, wiped his mouth with a napkin before standing up. His gaze flickered toward Siya. And just like that, the cold, ruthless man became someone entirely different.

The moment Siya stepped away from the table, Ketan grabbed her wrist and yanked her into a shadowed corner of the hallway.

She let out a soft gasp, more surprise than pain, but didn’t resist his pull. A strange mix of fear and anticipation coiled in her stomach.

"What the hell, Ketan?" Siya whispered, glancing around to make sure no one saw them. “Someone will see us—”

He smirked, his grip firm but teasing. "A goodbye kiss, Siya. Unless you want me to announce what we really are to my mother?"

Siya’s heartbeat quickened, her cheeks flushing. She leaned in quickly and pressed a kiss to his lips before pushing him away. "Happy now?" she muttered.

Ketan chuckled. "Not really."

His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him. There was no warmth in his touch—only possession. Siya felt a shiver run through her body, a mixture of fear and excitement.

Siya’s breath hitched in her throat. The heat of his body “You’re getting bold.” she managed to whisper, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

Ketan smirked. “And you like it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he didn’t give her a chance.

His lips crashed against hers—hot, demanding, a silent reminder that no matter how much she played with him, he always had control. She felt her knees weaken as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the contours of her lips before parting them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body pressing against his as she deepened the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, Siya was breathless.

She placed a hand on his chest, steadying herself, before whispering, “Tell me the truth. Is Prisha really coming?”

Ketan chuckled, his smirk widening. “Yes. That ‘bandariya’ will be here soon.”

Siya rolled her eyes at the nickname, but she couldn’t hide the excitement in her eyes.

Ketan ran a thumb over her lips before stepping back. “Now, be a good girl and wait for me.”

And with that, he left.

Ketan stepped out of the mansion, his demeanor shifting back to his usual cold exterior. But the moment he reached the car waiting outside, he felt it.

A presence.

His eyes flickered to the driver’s seat, where Vedant sat, already waiting for him. For the first time, Ketan truly looked at him. Silent. Observing. Calculating.

There was something in his stillness that unsettled him. But Ketan was never one to show weakness. A smirk played on his lips as he stepped into the car. “Drive,” he commanded, his voice a low, commanding whisper.

Vedant didn’t respond—his fingers gripped the steering wheel, started the engine and pulled out of the estate.

Ketan leaned back, resting his elbow against the window. He didn’t know who Vedant truly was.

But one thing was certain. The real game had just begun.

The car ride was silent, but Vedant was anything but unaware. His sharp eyes took in every street, every guard placement, every blind spot in the security as they approached the Solanki business headquarters.

By the time they arrived, Vedant had already memorized the entire route.

As Ketan stepped out, a group of men approached. One of them, a sharp-eyed man dressed in black, stepped forward. “Sir, everything is prepared.”

Ketan nodded before turning to Vedant. “Follow them. They’ll inform you of your duties as a gulam.”

Vedant met his gaze evenly, then gave a slight nod before following the men inside.

(Vedant’s POV)

I stood in the dimly lit room, the walls cold and bare. A group of men gathered before me, their faces sharp, their expressions void of emotion.

A man stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with an underlying threat. “Welcome to your new life, Khanna.”

His eyes flickered over me, assessing, but I remained still.

“The rules of a gulam are simple,” he continued. He passed me a document. “Read carefully, because breaking even one of them means death—not just for you, but for your family.”

I had no family left to lose.

Open the document. The Rules of a Gulam.

🔹 The Rule of Silence – A gulam does not speak unless spoken to.

🔹 The Rule of Identity Erasure – A gulam is no longer a person; they are property. Their real names are erased. They are assigned numbers, like livestock.

🔹 The Rule of No Mercy – A gulam is forbidden to feel sympathy—even for their own kind.

🔹 The Rule of the Master’s Right – Any member of the Solanki family has the right to use a gulam however they wish.

🔹 The Rule of Eternal Debt – Once a gulam, their entire bloodline is owned by the empire. If they die, their siblings, parents, or even their unborn children will be taken as replacements.

🔹 The Rule of the Final Betrayal – If a gulam ever dares to raise a hand against their master, they will not just be killed. Their bodies will be skinned and hung at the gates as a warning.

🔹 The Rule of the Forgotten – If a gulam tries to escape, they are not simply killed. They are erased. No one speaks their name.

🔹 The Rule of Fear – The Solanki empire holds a secret: there is no escaping servitude. Even gulams who are "freed" never truly leave—they simply disappear, and their families receive boxes of their bones.

After reading all rules I closed the document. The room fell silent.

The men watched me, waiting for a reaction. But I gave them nothing. I simply tilted my head and asked, “Are you done?”

A flicker of irritation crossed the man’s face, but he quickly masked it.

“You understand, then?” he asked, his voice sharpening.

I nodded once. “Loud and clear.” But in my head, there was only one thought:

Fuck your rules.

Fuck your empire.

I will burn every single one of you to the ground.