The Nightmare That Never Ends
—------BHOOM—---
The gunshot split the dark.His father fell before the echo died.His mother’s scream never finished.
“Papa!” The word tore from his throat like flesh from bone.
The smell of gunpowder filled the air—acrid, chemical, real enough to choke on even in sleep.
Virender stood watching Calm. Satisfied.
“You understand, don’t you?” his voice whispered. “This is legacy.”
The scene burned.Flames rose against a black sky.
She stood inside them, untouched. Hand reaching for him.
“Abhi…”
Their fingers almost met.
She turned to ash.
Abhimanyu jerked awake.
His chest heaved violently as he sat upright in the massive king-size bed, sheets twisted around him like restraints. Sweat soaked through his shirt, cold against his skin. His heart hammered against his ribs—a rhythm that felt too fast, too frantic, like it was trying to escape the cage of his body.
The room materialized around him slowly: tall glass windows, dawn light bleeding through in pale gold, the quiet elegance of furniture that cost more than most people’s annual salary. His bedroom in the Rajvansh mansion. Safe. Secure. A fortress built from ambition and rage.
“Damn it.” His voice came out rough, raw. He ran both hands through his hair, gripping hard enough to hurt, using the pain to anchor himself in the present.
Some wounds never healed. They just turned colder. Sharper. Transformed into weapons you could use against the world.
His eyes found it without meaning to. Bottom of the wardrobe. A brown cardboard box that had not been opened in ten years. The Singhania housekeeper had pressed it into his hands on the day he left — Rajveer sir would want you to have these. And Mishti... she would want you to remember. He had opened it once. Raj uncle’s pen, his dairy Old photographs. Mishti’s anklets and the ridiculous stuffed animals she’d collected throughout her entire chaotic life. He had touched them. Heard the faint chime of the anklets. And locked the box forever.
“One day”, he promised the ghost that lived in that box. “One day, I’ll make him pay.”
But not today. Today, he had meetings. A company to run.
Today, he would be Abhimanyu Rajvansh—the ruthless billionaire, entrepreneur, the Ice King of India’s fashion empire.Tomorrow’s revenge could wait.
The transformation hadn’t been easy. Veer Rajvansh had stepped in.Abhimanyu’s maternal grandfather—
“You are a Rajvansh,” Veer had said,
Awasthi died with his parents. He became a Rajvansh—reclaiming a legacy almost destroyed.A new identity. A fresh start.
“Your enemies think they won,” Veer had told teenage Abhimanyu, eyes fierce despite the grief lines carved into his face. “Let them think that. Let them believe you’re too young, too traumatized, too broken to be a threat. And while they are comfortable in their stolen empire, you build something none can touch. Something strong enough to crush anyone if required.”
So Abhimanyu had built it.His roommate thought he was insane. Everyone did.
But Rithik Agarwal had understood.. Another young man running from a past that wanted to devour him. They’d bonded over instant noodles at 2 AM, over shared desperation to prove they were more than their circumstances.
“Why so driven?” Rithik had asked one night, watching Abhimanyu work on his fourth design commission of the week.
“Because stopping gets you killed.,” Abhimanyu had answered. “And I’m not done fighting.”
And he fought , incorporated Rajvansh Designs , merged with his grandfather’s struggling textile factory.
At twenty-eight, Abhimanyu Rajvansh was the youngest self-made billionaire in India, with a fashion-textile empire that employed thousands and competed with century-old brands.
Sharp jawline. Cold brown eyes. Tailored suit. But it wasn’t his looks that intimidated people.It was his mind. Strategic. Precise. Ruthless.
His employees called him the “King of the Devil Realm”, and they weren’t entirely joking.
He deflated desperate attempts of women who saw a handsome billionaire and thought they could thaw him.They couldn’t. No one could.
Because the only person who could was locked up in a box up there.
By the time Abhimanyu descended the stairs—impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit the house was already alive with controlled chaos.
“Good morning, my Ice King!”
The voice boomed across the breakfast hall with theatrical enthusiasm. Abhimanyu didn’t even need to look to know who it was.
Rithik Agarwal. His friend , brother and by far the most obnoxious before 9 AM.If Abhimanyu was the brain of the empire, Rithik was the nervous system.
They say bonds formed during a crisis are the strongest and stand the test of time and so they made the unbreakable bond that stood through the year.
Rithik was the kind of man who knew everything and his network spamming the seven continents..Government officials…Corporate giants…Even people from the darker side of society.There was nothing he couldn’t handle.
“Professional nuisance”.
“Why so grumpy?” Rithik continued, undeterred by Abhimanyu’s silence.
Akash Rajvansh lowered the financial section just enough to make eye contact. CFO of Rajvansh Empire, shy in personal settings but terrifyingly decisive when numbers were involved.
“Boys. Enough.”
The voice carried weight beyond volume. Authority earned through decades of winning impossible cases and surviving impossible losses.
He sat at the head of the table and looked at his grandsons with an expression that mixed pride and worry in equal measure.
Accomplished. Successful. Rich beyond measure. But cold. So terribly cold.
“A woman makes the house a home,” Veer said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.
All three looked up sharply.
“dadu—” Abhimanyu started, warning in his voice.
“I’m serious.” Veer set down his teacup with deliberate care. “You’ve built an empire, Abhi. You’ve given your brothers security, given our family respect and power. But you’ve given yourself nothing. No joy. No companionship. No—”
“I have everything I need,” Abhimanyu cut in, his tone colder than the coffee in his cup.
“I don’t need—”
Veer interrupted gently. “Someone graceful and cultured. Emotionally strong. Someone who respects our traditions but isn’t afraid of modern challenges. A woman who can become both the heart of this family and the guardian of its legacy.”
He paused, and for just a moment, an image flashed through his mind unbidden: a young girl with mischievous eyes laughing as she stole a sketchbook from a boy who pretended to hate her.
He blinked back sudden tears and sent a silent prayer to his deity and to the soul who’d held the keys to Abhimanyu’s smile.
“Just... think about it,” Veer said finally. “That’s all I ask.”
Abhimanyu stood abruptly. “I have a meeting. Excuse me.”
He left without another word, glaring at Rithik, his coffee unfinished, his walls intact.
Behind him, his brothers and grandfather sat in silence, three men who loved him desperately and had no idea how to reach him.
Rajvansh Empire Headquarters rose like a monument to ambition—Abhimanyu walked through the lobby with the same expressionless mask he’d worn since leaving the house. The office fell silent. Employees straightened instinctively as he passed. The receptionist—new, pretty, hopeful—stood up and adjusted her hair.
“Good morning, Mr. Rajva—”
He walked past without acknowledging her existence.
She deflated like a punctured balloon. The senior receptionist patted her shoulder consolingly. “Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t see people. He sees functions.”
Abhimanyu dropped his briefcase and fell into his leather chair. “Schedule.”
“Singapore investors confirmed the video call at eleven. Finance team meeting at two. Product launch briefing at four.” Rithik scrolled through his tablet with practiced efficiency. “And next week, we have PA interviews.”
Abhimanyu groaned audibly. “Again?”
“Yes, because the last one resigned yesterday. Well—” Rithik paused delicately,
“I expect competence. Is that too much to ask?”
“When combined with zero empathy, impossible standards? Yes.” Akash said calmly
“Find that one who can actually work,” Abhimanyu ordered. “Hire her.”
“We’ve been trying,” Rithik muttered. “Turns out, competent people with thick skin and zero interest in their handsome billionaire boss are surprisingly rare.”
Before Abhimanyu could respond, Rithik’s expression shifted to something more cautious. “Also...dadu called again.”
“And?” Abhimanyu’s voice held a warning.
“He says if you don’t start seriously considering marriage, he’ll personally begin interviewing potential brides.” Rithik paused. “I think he’s already started making a list and mentally planning bling dates for you.”
Abhimanyu glared at all of them. “You’re both fired.”
“You can’t fire a family,” Akash pointed out reasonably.
“Watch me.”
But even as he said it, Abhimanyu felt something inside him crack—just slightly, just enough to let in a sliver of warmth. These idiots were his brothers. His family. The people he’d spent years protecting, building for, living for.
Even ruthless CEOs had weaknesses.
And family was his.
The mansion had gone quiet by the time he reached home. Abhimanyu stood at the window of his room overlooking the garden.. Delhi glittered outside— a city that had watched him become something it feared and respected in equal measure. He had everything. He had built it from ash and spite and the promise made to a cardboard box. He had the empire. He had the revenge still to come. He had Rithik and Akash and a grandfather who loved him with the specific tenderness of someone who knew exactly what they were trying to save.
He had everything except the only person who had ever made him feel like himself.
And she had been dead for ten years.
Or perhaps some connections transcended memory or even death.
