The air inside the hall was heavy with tension, but Gauri—ever composed—smiled softly, stepping closer to Sarvansh.
"Arre, why so much anger?" she said sweetly, folding her hands. "You're a son of this family too, and now that you've married Kesar, you're officially one of us. Today is Vrat Savitri puja, remember? Every husband and wife must take part in the rituals together."
Her voice was gentle, almost coaxing. The family exchanged uncertain glances, unsure if Gauri was being brave—or reckless.
Sarvansh arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his crimson eyes. "You expect me to sit in some mortal ritual?" he asked, his tone low and mocking.
Gauri tilted her head, her smile deepening with quiet confidence. "Tradition doesn't spare even those with power. You must honor what binds you, not what you can destroy."
Before he could reply, she began softly reciting—her voice flowing like a quiet river through the tension in the air:
> "The earth remembers every promise,
The flame remembers its spark.
Even the shadow kneels before dawn,
For no darkness can outlast the mark."
Her words lingered in the silence that followed. For a moment, Sarvansh's expression softened—just a flicker of something unguarded. Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a silky whisper that brushed her ear.
"I told you once," he murmured, the ghost of a smirk on his lips, "you're very bad at poems."
Gauri blinked, her composure faltering.
Sarvansh straightened, his gaze locking with hers—intense, amused, and disarmingly human. "So you shifted course… to acting."
The smirk turned devilish. "And you play your role well, Mrs. Kothari."
The words stung and intrigued all at once. The family watched silently as the two circled each other—not in hatred, but in something far more dangerous.
Tension rippled through the grand hall like an unseen storm. Sarvansh stood near the sacred fire, his expression unreadable as the faint smell of sandalwood filled the air.
"Why all this pretense?" he asked coldly, his gaze sweeping across the family. "I didn't come here for your blessings. I came for her." He nodded toward Kesar, his tone laced with possession.
Vihaan stepped forward, still pale from his earlier weakness, his voice trembling but resolute. "Sarvansh, please… whatever anger you have toward me, let it go. You're my brother. This family—they've accepted me despite my flaws. They can accept you too."
Sarvansh's lips curved into a cruel smile. "Brother?" He chuckled darkly. "You and I share blood, not sentiment. I am everything you fear becoming, Vihaan. That's why they'll never truly accept me."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Gauri glanced toward the temple corner, her mind racing. "If Kesar wishes to perform the Vrat Savitri puja, then let her," Sarvansh said mockingly. "But do it quickly. My patience wears thin."
The family exchanged worried glances. Gauri forced a pleasant smile, trying to mask her rising dread. "Of course," she said softly. "But the Savitri puja isn't done in haste. It honors life, love, and faith. You must both sit together and follow the customs."
Sarvansh tilted his head, studying her. "You're stalling."
Gauri's heart skipped a beat, but she held her ground. "I'm respecting the ritual."
Meanwhile, Yug and Charvi moved quietly in the background. They exchanged a quick nod before slipping behind the table where a tray of refreshments waited. Yug poured a shimmering liquid from a small vial into one of the glasses, whispering, "This should keep him still long enough for the ritual."
As they returned, Yug held out the glass. "Bhaiya, the heat's harsh. Drink some juice before the ritual."
Sarvansh eyed him, his crimson gaze glinting with suspicion. "You think I don't smell deceit?" he asked softly. Then, in a flash, he snatched the glass and flung it across the floor—juice splattering like liquid fire. "Do you take me for a fool?"
Kesar flinched. The tension broke like a snapped string. Gauri stepped forward quickly. "Please, no more anger," she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. "This day is about harmony, not hate."
"Then show me harmony," Sarvansh sneered.
Gauri's mind worked fast. She met Kesar's eyes, and a silent understanding passed between them. With a deep breath, she said, "Then let us offer this day to the goddess with devotion."
Soft music began to play. Gauri took Kesar's hand, and together, they began to dance—graceful yet filled with defiance. The two women moved like opposing elements: Gauri, fluid and serene as water; Kesar, fierce and radiant as fire.
Sarvansh watched, his anger flickering into fascination. He didn't notice Yug circling behind him again with the remaining glass—until it was too late.
But this time, Sarvansh reacted faster. His hand shot out, grabbing the glass, and with a smirk, he splashed the drugged juice right back at Yug. "Did you think I'd fall for that again?"
The music faltered. The family froze.
Sarvansh turned toward Gauri, his voice low but sharp. "No more games, Gauri. I see through your poetry and rituals. None of it will save Vihaan."
Gauri stepped closer, refusing to back down. Her eyes glistened with both fear and strength. "Maybe not," she whispered. "But faith might."
And as the first mantra of the Vrat Savitri puja echoed through the mansion, Sarvansh's smirk faltered—just slightly—his eyes flickering between anger and something far more dangerous: doubt.