Uday Singh Rana, the eldest son of the Rana family, was actually the adopted son of Vikrant Singh Rana and Ankita Singh Rana. His biological parents had abandoned him at an orphanage when he was only nine years old. It was there that Vikrant and Ankita found him and decided to adopt him. They enrolled him in the best schools, nurturing him into a quiet and composed child.

For his higher studies, his adoptive parents sent him to Canada . Uday proved to be exceptionally talented, completing a two-year MBBS course in just one year and earning his degree.

For the past three years, he had been managing his adoptive father’s company, which under his guidance had expanded its branches to Canada, the USA, France, and Italy.

A passionate gym enthusiast, Uday had a strikingly manly physique, a well-kept beard, and stood tall at six feet two inches.

Despite his robust appearance, he had always resisted getting a tattoo, following the advice of his grandfather. But after his grandfather’s passing last year, Uday had grown even more withdrawn and taciturn.

He had always been a workaholic, so much so that he never found the time—or the inclination—for marriage. Yet, respecting his mother’s wishes, he appeared on the day of the wedding. And the moment he arrived, he immediately noticed the mischievous antics of his younger brother, setting the tone for a tense and complicated family gathering.

“S-suniye…?”

Her trembling voice reached the man whose nostrils were flaring with restrained fury, his jaw clenched as his burning gaze remained fixed on the staircase where his brother had disappeared moments ago. But the instant Nisha’s voice reached him, he lifted his eyes for the first time—and looked at her.

There was an unmistakable innocence in her voice, a raw sincerity untouched by deceit or pretense. Each word carried a quiet warmth, as if someone dear was calling out softly. At times, when hesitation crept in, her voice quivered faintly—making her sound even more fragile, even more real. Her face was flushed from crying, her eyes swollen, her chin trembling once again as if she might break down any second.

Uday’s gaze fell to her neck.

There was no dupatta there—only the unmistakable marks of Abhay’s fingers.

Following his line of sight, Nisha instinctively turned around. And then she broke down completely.

“I-I haven’t d-done anything, sir,” she sobbed. “H-he c-called me to the r-room… u-under the p-pretext of tea—”

Before she could finish her sentence, she felt something gently settle over her head. A dupatta. Covering her.

Her reddened eyes slowly lifted toward him—still fearful, still shaken by his intimidating presence.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Uday said quietly. “I know everything. Trust me—I will punish him for this. You are innocent. I know that. Now come… before anyone sees you like this.”

He extended his hand toward her, silently asking her to take it. His eyes never once lifted to her face; they remained lowered, heavy with restraint.

Nisha looked at his hand. Then at him.

She shook her head slowly, refusing.

“I-I’ll g-go on my o-own, s-sahab,” she stammered, trying to rise from the bed.

But the moment her foot touched the ground, a sharp pain struck her head again. Before she could collapse, strong arms caught her—his hands gripping her waist to steady her.

Startled, she gasped.

Before either of them could react—

“Shiv… Shiv… Shiv! What is happening, Nisha?!”

Her heart shook violently at the sound of her mother’s voice. Uday looked toward the voice instantly. Nisha hurriedly shoved his hand away from her waist, almost as if shaking it off, and rushed to her mother.

Gayatri stood frozen in shock. Nisha’s head was uncovered, her clothes disheveled, her face red and swollen from crying.

Gayatri’s eyes moved slowly to the man standing there.

“S-sahab…?”

Her questioning voice barely reached Uday when suddenly she clutched the left side of her chest. Pain shot through her body.

She collapsed—right there, where she stood.

Within moments, the entire village gathered—Ankita, Abhay, Vikrant, chachi, bua—everyone. Chaos erupted around them.

But for Nisha, the world had stopped.

“A-amma…?”

Her voice broke.

“AMMA! AMMAAA!”

She shook her mother desperately, patting her cheeks, pleading for her to wake up. But it was already too late.

Uday knelt beside Gayatri as well, checking her pulse, trying to revive her.

And Nisha—

She stood there in complete silence.

Not crying.

Not screaming.

Just staring.

Lost in shock, as the reality slowly, cruelly settled in.

UDAY'S POV

Uday felt it before he allowed himself to think it.

That slow, suffocating tightening in his chest—the kind that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with guilt.

His eyes were fixed on Gayatri’s lifeless body, yet his mind was nowhere near the room. It had slipped into a darker place, one he hated revisiting. The orphanage. The day he had learned what it felt like to be powerless. The helplessness of watching adults fail their duty, of knowing that silence often protected the wrong people.

And now—history was repeating itself.

I was too late.

The thought hit him harder than any blow ever could.

His hands, trained to command boardrooms and control chaos, trembled slightly as he checked for a pulse he already knew wouldn’t be there. Years of discipline kept his face unreadable, but inside him something was breaking apart, piece by piece.

If I had come earlier.

If I had trusted my instincts.

If I had stopped him before.

His jaw clenched painfully as his gaze flickered—just for a second—to Abhay.

Rage surged, hot and violent, but he forced it down. This wasn’t the time. Rage could wait. Justice would not.

Then his eyes found Nisha.

She stood frozen, hollowed out by shock, her small frame looking unbearably fragile against the chaos around her. Her silence screamed louder than her cries ever could have.

And that was when something twisted violently inside Uday’s chest.

She reminded him of himself.

A child who had learned far too early that the world was not kind, that innocence was something people took without permission, and that the aftermath was always lonelier than the crime itself.

His throat tightened.

She trusted me.

That realization hurt the most.

When she had looked at him—scared, shaking, yet still hoping—she had believed him.

Believed that he would protect her. That his words meant safety.

And yet her mother lay dead at his feet.

The weight of responsibility pressed down on him mercilessly. He wasn’t just a bystander. He was the eldest. The protector.

The one who was supposed to see everything before it went wrong.

His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head, steady and disappointed.

“Power means nothing if you fail the weak.”

Uday closed his eyes briefly, inhaling slowly, forcing control back into his body. He could not afford to break. Not now. Not in front of her. If he shattered, she would have nothing left to hold on to.

When he opened his eyes again, they were darker. Colder. Sharper.

This wasn’t just anger anymore.

This was a vow.

Abhay would pay—not impulsively, not loudly—but completely. And Nisha—

Nisha would never be left unprotected again.

Not while Uday Singh Rana was breathing.

NISHA'S POV

Nisha didn’t cry.

Not anymore.

She stood there as if her body had forgotten how to react, how to breathe, how to exist. The noise around her—voices, footsteps, gasps—felt distant, muffled, like she was underwater. Her eyes remained fixed on her mother’s face, pale and still, as if staring long enough might undo reality.

Amma will wake up.

The thought echoed stubbornly in her head.

She always wakes up.

But her mother didn’t move.

Something inside Nisha cracked silently.

Her hands felt numb. Her chest felt hollow. And her throat—no matter how hard she tried—refused to let a sound escape. It was as if her pain had no language anymore.

Moments earlier, she had been terrified. Shaking. Ashamed. Confused. But now—now there was only emptiness.

A vast, terrifying emptiness where fear and grief collapsed into one unbearable weight.

If I hadn’t gone.

If I hadn’t listened.

If I had screamed louder.

The blame settled on her shoulders quietly, cruelly. No one had said it aloud—but her mind did.

Over and over again.

She felt exposed.

The absence of her dupatta burned more than the bruises she hadn’t dared to acknowledge yet.

She folded her arms around herself instinctively, as if trying to hold together the pieces of her dignity that felt torn apart. Every glance in the room—real or imagined—felt heavy. Judgmental. Sharp.

Her body remembered what her mind tried to suppress.

The way her heart had raced.

The way fear had frozen her limbs.

The way her voice had broken.

She felt small. Smaller than she had ever felt in her life.

And then there was her mother.

The only person who had ever been her shield. Her home. Her safety.

Gone.

Just like that.

Nisha’s knees weakened, but she didn’t fall. She refused to. Falling felt final. And she wasn’t ready to accept anything final—not yet.

Inside her, a scream built itself endlessly, clawing at her chest, demanding release. But it never reached her lips. It stayed trapped, turning into something colder, heavier.

Trauma.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just suffocating.

She didn’t look at anyone. Not even him.

Because if she did—if she met someone’s eyes—she feared she would shatter completely. And she couldn’t afford that. Not here. Not now.

FLASHBACK ENDS

Ankita rushed forward and immediately pulled Nisha into a tight embrace, holding her as if she might shatter any second. Vikrant, moving just as quickly, knelt down and checked Gayatri’s pulse again. Being a doctor, he had already known the truth the moment Gayatri collapsed—her eyes, even as she fell, had been fixed only on Nisha.

Ankita looked at her husband, silently asking the question her lips refused to form.

Vikrant slowly shook his head in denial.

The gesture broke something inside her. Ankita tightened her hold around Nisha even more.

Nisha was still crying when a middle-aged woman spoke up, her voice sharp with judgment.

“Oh God… what will happen to this girl now? She has no home, no family left. And what was she doing alone in a room with the sahib? A death in a wedding house is such a bad omen… Ram, Ram, Ram.”

Her eyes moved suspiciously between Nisha and Uday.

Hearing this, Vikrant stiffened. His gaze shifted toward Uday, who had been watching Nisha’s broken state silently. She was a mess—her glass bangles lay shattered on the floor, broken when she had beaten her hands against the ground in despair.

Abhay scoffed and walked out of the room.

Vikrant’s eyes burned as he glared at him.

“Everyone out of this room. RIGHT NOW!”

His voice thundered.

The villagers—men and women alike—slowly exited, leaving behind only Ankita, Uday, and Nisha, who seemed barely conscious of her surroundings.

Vikrant turned toward them again.

“What were you two doing alone in a room?” he asked firmly. “Uday, I trust you. Tell me.”

Uday, who had been staring at Nisha, lifted his eyes toward his father. But inside Ankita’s mind, only the woman’s poisonous words echoed—words spoken about Nisha and Uday.

“D-Dad… Abhay called her into his room,” Uday said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “He tried to rape her. When I confronted him, he scoffed and walked away. When I reached the room, she was unconscious on the bed—”

“Enough,” Vikrant snapped, cutting him off. His eyes were red with fury.

“I understand. I don’t know what sin from which lifetime I am paying for—having a son like him.”

Exhausted, Uday sank onto the sofa. He had never imagined his brother capable of something so vile—nor that he would feel no remorse afterward. Every time Nisha’s sobs reached his ears, his blood boiled. She was still trying to wake her mother, clinging to hope that no longer existed.

Vikrant ordered a servant to bring Abhay immediately.

Abhay entered the room casually, scrolling on his phone.

Before anyone could react, Uday sprang up from the sofa. In a burst of rage, he grabbed Abhay by the collar, dragged him across the room, and threw him down at Ankita’s and Nisha’s feet.

Both Ankita and Nisha flinched.

Nisha didn’t look startled—she only stared at Abhay, silently.

“LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE!” Uday roared.

“HER MOTHER IS DEAD, YOU BASTARD! SHE’S DEAD! YOU DESTROYED HER LIFE!”

Ankita tried to stop him, but Vikrant held her back, knowing their son deserved every word.

Abhay stood there confused—angry even.

Because of a girl, his brother had abused him? Insulted him?

He glared at Uday.

Before he could say anything, Nisha’s trembling voice rang out.

“You ruined everything… AMMA! My mother is gone because of you! You took everything from me, you filthy monster! I will kill you!”

She rushed toward Abhay like a madwoman and slapped him hard. His face snapped to the side. His jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot as he raised his hand to choke her—

But Vikrant stepped between them.

“I will burn you alive if you ever lay a hand on this girl again.”

Abhay froze.

No one had ever spoken to him like that. No one.

Ankita, who had watched everything in stunned silence, turned to see Uday gently lifting Gayatri’s body and placing it respectfully on the bed.

Nisha panicked.

“A-are you taking my amma away?” she whispered.

But he laid her mother down softly.

Nisha rushed back, sat beside her mother, forced a painful smile, and whispered,

“I wish I had never come to this haveli. Amma, I didn’t do anything. Are you sleeping? Amma… can you hear me?”

She clutched her mother’s feet and broke down.

Uday looked at Ankita, silently asking her to take care of Nisha.

Ankita’s bloodshot eyes turned toward Abhay.

“Son… I won’t say anything to you now,” she sobbed.

“I don’t even want to say what’s in my heart.”

For the first time, something broke inside Abhay as he saw his mother like this—this woman who had always looked at him with nothing but love.

“When someone does this to your daughter—” Ankita began, but Vikrant gently covered her mouth.

She looked at him through tears.

“Vikrant… what have we done? What kind of child did I give birth to? This girl’s curse will fall upon us.”

Vikrant held her, knowing her pain came from somewhere deeper—from the daughter they had lost long ago. Nisha’s suffering mirrored that loss.

“What will happen to her now?” Ankita whispered.

“She has nowhere to go. Everyone saw her with Uday. The village will never accept her.”

Then she turned toward Abhay again.

“You are not my son anymore. Leave. LEAVE, ABHAY!”

Tears streamed down his face as he walked away, suffocating under the weight of shame.

Ankita sat beside Nisha, who clung to her.

“M-Malkin… my amma left me. I have no one now…”

She cried like a lost child.

After a while, Ankita wiped her tears and cupped her cheeks.

“I’m here. Come with us to Mumbai. This village won’t let you live in peace.”

Nisha pulled back suddenly.

“No… I will stay here. In my amma’s house.”

She held her mother’s hand against her cheek.

Uday stood torn apart.

Vikrant placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“We need to talk. Now.”

Outside, villagers whispered about Nisha’s character. Vikrant heard it all.

Uday exploded.

“No, Dad! I’m not ready for marriage. I’ll support her financially, in every way—but marriage?”

Vikrant listened calmly.

“I won’t force you. But after the wedding ends, everyone will leave. She will be alone. And your brother—he has ruined her life.”

Uday stared at the ground, drowning in guilt.

“Nisha is a good girl,” Veejay added quietly.

“She spent her whole life caring for her sick mother. She’ll fill your life with light.”

Uday inhaled deeply.

“Please… give me some time.”

And he walked away—his heart heavier than ever.