GILLI GILLI CHUU 🪄 AGAR VOTE NA KIYA ❌ TO BED SE GIRJA TUU 😲(hum to innocent hai yeh to keyboard ki galti hai)

The night had already swallowed the sky whole, leaving behind nothing but a thick blanket of darkness that pressed down on the city like an unspoken warning, the kind that didn't scream danger but made sure everyone felt it in their bones.

Rathore Mansion was alive- no

Breathing.

Lights shimmered against polished marble floors, crystal chandeliers throwing reflections like scattered stars, laughter and conversations floating in the air like carefully rehearsed notes of a symphony, every sound measured, every smile intentional, every presence aware of where they stood and whose ground they were standing on.

The party was at its peak, and so was the responsibility resting on my shoulders, heavy yet familiar, because this was not new to me,it was inherited.

I stood near the poolside pavilion, a glass of untouched drink in my hand, listening intently as Mr. Kapoor spoke about the upcoming project;numbers, timelines, expansions, collaborations his words flowing smoothly

His confidence practiced, the confidence of a man who knew the rules of the game and also knew that rules bent differently under the Rathore roof.

"Yes," I replied smoothly, nodding at the right moments, my tone calm and controlled, never hurried, never excessive. "Rathore Group will ensure everything runs as discussed. Quality and timelines both are non-negotiable for us."

That was the mask.

The heir.

The host.

The Rathore.

A role worn so often that it had stopped feeling like one.

Just as Mr. Kapoor was finishing his sentence, a shadow shifted beside me, quiet, precise, trained not to draw attention to itself, and before I could even turn my head fully, one of our senior bodyguards leaned in close enough that his words were meant only for me, close enough to respect privacy but not fear proximity.

"Sahib bade Rathore sahib ghar se bahar gaye hain," he whispered.
"He asked me to inform you; he will return by tomorrow morning. You shouldn't wait for him. Handle the party."
(Sir,Senior Rathore Sahib has gone out of the house.)

For a fraction of a second, my jaw tightened, a muscle reacting before thought could intervene.

Tomorrow morning.

No explanation.

No context.

Just an absence announced after it had already begun.

I didn't react outwardly. I never did.
Instead, I simply lifted my hand, two fingers moving subtly back and forth a silent command, a language that didn't require repetition. Go.

The guard understood immediately and disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by music, lights, and obedient motion, as if he had never been there at all.

I turned back to Mr. Kapoor, my expression unchanged, voice steady, posture relaxed.

"Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Kapoor," I said politely, because manners were not weakness here, they were control. "Enjoy the evening."

I didn't wait for a response.

I walked through the crowd with practiced ease, guests parting instinctively, bodies shifting before I reached them, eyes following me;not out of curiosity, but respect sharpened with caution, because people didn't stare at Rathores, they acknowledged them.

Near the indoor lounge, I found Vansh - my right-hand man, my shadow when it came to Rathore affairs, the one who stood close enough to hear silence.

"Vansh," I said quietly, stopping beside him. "Where did Dad go?"

He hesitated. Just for a second.

A pause small enough to miss, but heavy enough to mean something.

"Urgent work," he replied finally. "He didn't share the details. He only said you're to take care of the party "

I exhaled slowly through my nose, the kind of breath taken to keep thoughts exactly where they belonged.

Of course.

No details.

No explanations.

Just orders wrapped in silence and sealed with authority.

I gave a short nod. "Alright."

And just like that, the conversation ended.

Because with my father -.questions were a luxury no one dared to afford, not because they were forbidden, but because they were unnecessary, and unnecessary things had no place in his world.

I straightened my blazer and stepped back into the role the night demanded of me.

I became the host again.

Moving from group to group.

Greeting investors.

Acknowledging compliments.

Closing conversations without appearing to end them.

Smiling when required, listening when necessary, never revealing more than intended, because here, even charm was a weapon when used correctly.

Every gesture calculated.

Every word measured.

Every silence intentional.

The party went on, flawless on the surface, smooth enough to convince anyone that nothing could possibly be wrong, yet somewhere between the clinking glasses and polite laughter, my mind kept drifting back to that single sentence, lodged like a blade behind my thoughts.

Tomorrow morning.

Hours later, when the last guest had left and the mansion finally fell into an uneasy silence, the kind that echoed louder than noise, I made my way upstairs, footsteps steady, posture unbroken.

My room greeted me like it always did dark, spacious, minimal, stripped of excess the way life had taught me to be. I loosened my tie, shrugged off my blazer, and stood in front of the mirror for a moment longer than necessary.

Sharp jawline.

Broad shoulders.

Eyes that had learned too early how to hide things and too well how to observe.

People saw confidence.

Power.

Control.

They never saw the weight that came with inheritance.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, elbows resting on my knees, fingers laced together, knuckles pressing faintly against each other.

Where are you, Dad?

Some mission, maybe.

Something important.

Something too dangerous-or too secretive-to share.

We never asked.

Not because we didn't care-but because he had built this house on authority, not explanations, on presence and absence both carrying equal command.

He was the king here.

No matter what position I held, no matter how many deals I closed or responsibilities I carried, no matter how often the world addressed me with respect ; this empire was his legacy, not mine.

He had dragged us from nothing to this.

Brick by brick.

Blood by blood.

Silence by silence.

And maybe that was why he walked alone into the night because he always had, because that was the price of being the one everyone depended on but no one followed.

I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling, letting the darkness settle instead of fighting it.

Tomorrow morning, he had said.

Until then

The Rathore house would keep standing.

Morning didn't arrive gently.

It didn't ease its way into the room with warmth or calm; it crept in through the narrow gaps of the curtains, pale and cold, like it was intruding somewhere it wasn't invited, and I woke up before the alarm could even think of going off, eyes opening to the ceiling above me, mind already awake, already working, already circling the same thought it had refused to let go of all night.

Tomorrow morning.

That's what he had said.

I got up without lingering, muscle memory taking over, movements precise, controlled, because hesitation was a habit I had trained myself out of long ago.

The room was still, untouched, carrying the faint heaviness of the night that had passed without answers.

I changed quickly and made my way toward the gym, the quiet halls of Rathore Mansion stretching endlessly, every step echoing just enough to remind me that this place never truly slept it only waited.

The gym was already alive when I entered.

The familiar scent of metal, sweat, discipline.

Rithvik was there, mid-workout, muscles tense, focus sharp, the kind of focus that came from being raised under the same roof, shaped by the same rules, taught early that strength wasn't optional;it was survival.

He looked up as he noticed me, a quick grin flickering before settling into something more observant.

"Bhaiya," he said, then added more quietly, " dad ghar nahi aaye kya?"
(Brother, Hasn't Dad come home yet?)

I picked up a towel, wrapping it around my wrist slowly before answering, my voice even, deliberate.
"No. He'll be here in a few hours."

Rithvik paused, just for a moment, his expression shifting-not alarmed, not scared, but calculating, like pieces were already arranging themselves in his head. He wiped his hands on his towel and looked at me again.

"Something going on?"

I shrugged slightly, starting my warm-up, stretching muscles that were already used to carrying weight.
"Don't know. Dad didn't share anything. Yet. Maybe when he comes back, he will."

He nodded once, accepting it;not because it made sense, but because that's how things worked with him too. With us. With this house.

We didn't talk much after that.

We trained.

Hard.

The kind of training that left no room for overthinking-heavy lifts, controlled breathing, the sound of iron meeting iron, sweat dripping down skin like proof that at least this part of life was still predictable.

Every rep burned away restless thoughts, every strike against the bag grounded me further, but even then, beneath the rhythm of discipline, something felt..off.

Like the air itself was holding back information.

After finishing, I made my way back to my room.

A shower.

Cold water.

Clear head.

I dressed in black-clean, sharp, precise. A tuxedo that fit like it was tailored around authority itself. By the time I stepped into my study, it was already past ten.

Work didn't wait.

Meetings blurred into one another-voices on calls, decisions made, approvals given, instructions passed without hesitation. I handled everything the way I always did, efficiently, unemotionally, but the clock on the wall felt louder than usual, every passing minute ticking closer to something unnamed.

When the meeting finally ended, I stood up, adjusting my cuffs, and was just about to leave when a knock echoed against the door.

"Come in," I said.

A house worker stepped inside, head lowered respectfully.
"Bade baba(Arnav) , bade sahab(vikram) aapko bula rahe hain apni study mein."
(Sir (Arnav)—Sir(Vikram) is calling you to his study.)
For a second, everything stilled.

My fingers paused mid-adjustment.

He's back.

I nodded once. "I am coming."

As the door closed behind her, I stayed where I was for a moment longer than necessary, something unfamiliar stirring at the back of my mind not fear, not excitement, but a quiet certainty that whatever waited behind that door wasn't routine.

I stepped out, my footsteps steady as I made my way through the corridor toward my father's study, the walls watching silently, holding secrets the way they always did.

I knocked.

"Come in."

His voice carried no urgency, no warmth; just authority, calm and immovable.

I stepped inside.

My father's study was exactly how it had always been, yet tonight it felt heavier, darker, as if the walls themselves were listening. Black and grey dominated the room—matte black shelves lined with files and books arranged with surgical precision, grey stone walls absorbing light instead of reflecting it. A single large window stood behind him, curtains drawn, shutting the world out.

In the center stood the table.

Massive. Dark wood polished to a mirror finish.

And behind it; only one chair.

His chair.

Wide, high-backed, immovable, like a throne that didn't need decoration to announce power.

Across from him were multiple chairs placed in perfect alignment, facing him, separated by a long narrow table in between, creating distance not physical, but symbolic. A reminder of where we stood and where he did.

I walked forward and took my seat without a word.

Before I could speak, a knock echoed again.

"Come in."

Rithvik entered, his presence instantly filling the space, his gaze flicking briefly toward me before settling on Dad. He took the seat beside me.

"What happened, Dad?" we both asked, almost in unison.

Dad didn't answer immediately.

He leaned back slightly. "Wait," he said calmly. "Let the others come first."

We nodded, understanding passing between us without words.

Minutes later, the door opened again.

Kabir entered first;silent, observant, his sharp eyes scanning the room instinctively before he sat down. Arin followed him, posture straight, expression unreadable, both of them taking their places without asking questions.

The room was full now.

Yet the silence felt louder.

Dad adjusted his shirt slowly, deliberate, fingers smoothing the fabric as if buying time not for himself, but for us. Then he straightened, his gaze moving across each of us, one by one, weighing reactions that hadn't yet formed.

"I need to talk to you all," he said finally. "Urgently."

We nodded together.

My heartbeat picked up;not visibly, not outwardly-but inside, it was loud, uneven, a rare betrayal of control. Something in his tone told me this wasn't business. This wasn't strategy. This wasn't damage control.

This was personal.

He inhaled once.

"I am adopting a child."

The words landed like a gunshot.

For a second, no one spoke.

No one moved.

I felt my breath stall halfway, my mind refusing to process what my ears had clearly heard. Adopting, a child? The meaning clashed violently with everything we knew, everything this house represented.

Dad?

Adoption?

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out, low but sharp.
"Dad, what are you talking about?"

My voice held no disbelief theatrics, no raised tone just raw seriousness, edged with confusion that I didn't bother hiding.

Inside, thoughts collided.

Why now?

Who?

From where?

And why without a word to us?

Arin shifted slightly in his chair, brows knitting together, his voice controlled, respectful, but strained.
"Umhhh..Dad..this is unexpected. Is everything alright? Are you pranking us "

(A/N:- Arin darling child adoption prank nahi hota hai specially aap jaise mafia's ke ghar mai 😐)

Kabir stayed silent, eyes fixed on Dad, reading between every pause.

Dad cleared his throat.

"Let me finish," he said evenly. "After that, you can say whatever you want."

We nodded again.

My heart kept pounding, every beat echoing the same question what is he hiding?

Why does this feel like the beginning of something irreversible?

I leaned back slightly, fingers tightening together unconsciously, eyes never leaving him. Whatever he was about to say next wasn't just going to change the structure of this family.

It was going to alter its foundation.

And for the first time in years, I wasn't sure whether I was ready for what my father had decided alone.

--------------------------👉🏻👈🏻-----------------------

Ohh my Anuvians🎄✨

Your fav (mana krke dikhaye, murder kr denge 😏) author is back with her unstoppable yapping vibes

So, guys tomorrow is Christmas, and I can't help but remember my childhood (haan haan, abhi bhi hum bache hi hai 😅).

The days when I did drag my papa to buy the perfect X-Mas tree, call all my friends over for a party, decorations flying everywhere, chocolates and laughter spilling over like confetti.

But now..... now I have grown up, and honestly, it feels a little boring.

All my friends are busy with college, assignments, exams, and yeah.....

Maybe we left the carefree childhood behind
But but but.......

Humse zyada serious nahi  hua jata hai
Toh
Yasuu Yasuuu di balle balle 💃✨

(P.S.—I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, just following the trend 😜)

Also, follow me on Instagram fast for all my fresh updates and my Ates (yes, my Turkish crush 😍) stories-trust me, you don't want to miss these!

Miss me?????????

Next update is dropping tomorrow

after 10 p.m—stay ready, Anuvians.

SUGGEST SOME GOOD SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER PEAZE 🥺

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