Beneath His Silence.

The auto-rickshaw sputtered to a stop just before a tall, black iron gate, it was massive, with intricate see-through patterns that gave a haunting glimpse of the grand mansion looming behind it.

Ira stepped out carefully from the Auto rickshaw, smoothing her dupatta as her sandals touched the ground.

Her eyes lifted slowly, tracing the outline of the estate beyond.

The mansion stood like a shadowed beast, silent, towering, and watching. Not just big. Not just rich. But Intimidating.

The kind of house that didn’t just belong to wealth, but to power.

“Thank you, driver uncle.” Ira said softly, reaching into her purse to pay.

As the driver accepted the cash, his eyes didn’t leave the estate.

His weathered hands gripped the handlebar of the rickshaw a little tighter.

“You’re working here, beta?” he asked, voice hesitant.

Ira glanced back at the gate, then shake her head faintly. “Not yet. I got an offer, a vacancy...friend recommended me. And they sent me an email to come today.”

The driver sighed, deep and heavy, as though he’d heard this before, too many times.

“I don’t know who your friend is..” he muttered, “but be careful. You know the whispers. This place…” His eyes darkened. “This is the Rathore residence. That name alone holds weight. Be very, very careful.”

Ira gave him a grateful smile, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “Thank you. I will.”

He nodded once, reluctantly, then turned the rickshaw around and drove off down the hill road, leaving a soft cloud of dust behind.

She was alone now.

Ira turned to the tall gate again. Her eyes moved to the left where a dark stone sculpture stood tall, etched in proud, bold letters:

RATHORE RESIDENCE..

She exhaled shakily and tightened her grip on the handle of her purse.

Of course. She had heard of them...who hadn’t?

The Rathore family wasn’t just wealthy. They owned land, industries, media companies, and more across Delhi and Mumbai.

This entire private estate, spanning acres and surrounded by trees and silence, belonged to them.

No outsiders. No press. Only fear.

You didn’t speak against the Rathores. You didn’t question them. You didn’t even whisper about them too loudly.

And Devraj Singh Rathore? He was the reason.

The eldest son. Thirty Three years old. Not a mafia man, but ten times more feared.

Educated abroad, rumored to have a brain sharp enough to run empires, yet so cold he could silence a room with a single glance.

No scandals. No warmth. No visible weakness.

Except one.

The attack.

Some said it was an assassination attempt. Others said it was karma.

But the truth? No one knew. All that was certain was this, Devraj Rathore hadn’t stood on his own two feet in over a year.

He was wheelchair-bound. Although, Ira didn't know much information about him, it was all talks and Rumors.. kinda..

His life is more private than the coca cola Recipe.

Ira closed her eyes briefly and whispered a small prayer under her breath.

God, please guide me.

She walked over to the silver button by the gate and pressed it.

Within seconds, a camera above clicked to life, swiveling to her direction. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps.

A guard appeared.

Tall. Stern. Dressed in black. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses despite the overcast sky.

He studied her for an uncomfortably long moment.

“Who are you?” His voice was low and gruff.

Ira cleared her throat and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m Ira Verma. I was contacted about a job here. I..I brought proof..” she said quickly, pulling out her phone and showing the message.

He leaned in, glanced at it, then glanced at her. Her skin prickled under his silent stare.

He pressed a code on a hidden panel. The heavy gate began to open slowly, groaning like an ancient creepy castle gate being unlocked.

“Come.” he said.

Ira nodded once and stepped in. The moment she crossed the gate, something shifted.

The air.

It was colder. Thicker. Quieter.

As though the very walls of the estate watched her.

She clutched her handbag tighter and followed the guard up the long stone path.

Their footsteps echoed against the cobbled ground.

The closer they got, the more she noticed the silence.

Not peaceful. Not serene. Just... too still.

On either side of the path were tall hedges, and just behind them? Guards. At every corner. Barely moving, barely blinking. More than she could count.

Security that didn’t look like they were guarding a house, but a kingdom.

Ira’s spine straightened as the massive mansion came into clearer view.

Dark sandstone walls. Regal arches. Windows tinted and reflective like obsidian. Wide steps led up to the entryway, flanked by heavy black pillars.

Finally, they stopped in front of the towering structure. The guard turned to her briefly, not a single trace of warmth on his face.

“Welcome to Rathore Mansion. Go inside.” he said flatly, then turned and walked away, his footsteps disappearing into the quiet like a ghost.

Ira watched him for a second, then glanced around.

A few guards remained posted near the corners of the porch, their expressions unreadable, their gazes pinned on her.

“I’m going to die here..” she mumbled under her breath.

She shifted her dupatta nervously, then inhaled slowly and stepped up the mini marble stairs toward the massive double doors, already slightly open, as though waiting just for her.

The moment she crossed the threshold, Ira felt like she had entered a different world.

The air changed.

It smelled of sandalwood, faint incense, and something luxurious she couldn’t place.

Inside, the mansion glowed, not just from the light, but from the sheer opulence of it.

Every inch sparkled with wealth, history, and silent intimidation.

Polished white floors reflected the golden lighting from above.

A grand chandelier hung from the high ceiling, glittering like a suspended galaxy.

The walls were adorned with subtle royal detailing, Rajasthani heritage proudly woven into modern elegance.

She stepped deeper in, drawn like a moth to gold.

Her eyes wandered to the massive living room ahead, where a wall-sized TV rested in front of a plush, regal couch set.

There were two spiral staircases rising on either side of the room, both dressed in crimson carpeting, like something out of an imperial palace.

And yet… nestled between all this grandeur, tucked gently against a side wall, stood a quiet, modest temple.

A small marble shrine, warm with diyas and framed with yellow marigolds. The contrast made her heart soften. It felt like home. Human.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Maybe this place wasn’t as terrifying as it looked or as they say.

Almost immediately....

“Wow... who let a goddess into our home?”

Ira’s eyes widened as she spun around.

A tall young man was descending one of the staircases, his tone playful and his smile even more so.

He looked about twenty-three or twenty-four, effortlessly handsome with his strikingly Bright blue mischievous eyes and hair that curled slightly over his forehead.

His shirt was half-buttoned like he hadn’t expected company.

“I...um…” Ira blinked, unsure what to say.

He chuckled. “Hi. I’m Vivaan.”

That name clicked in her brain immediately.

Vivaan Singh Rathore.

The youngest son of the family. The one people described as the charming golden boy of the Rathores.

Ira gave a small smile and nodded. “Hi… I’m Ira. I, um..I came for the job. The caretaker job.”

Vivaan’s smile faltered for just a second. “Job?” he repeated, brows furrowing. “What job?”

Panic bloomed in her chest.

Her fingers moved quickly to unlock her phone. “W-Wait, I have the message, I was told to come today, I..” she stammered, showing him the message she’d received.

But before she could fully explain, he burst out laughing.

“Relax..” he said between chuckles. “God, you look like you were about to faint. I’m kidding. I don’t know anything about jobs around here, but my mom probably does.”

Ira blinked at him, torn between relief and secondhand embarrassment. “You almost gave me a heart attack..” she muttered.

He grinned wider. “Not the worst way to meet, hmm?”

With a wink, Vivaan turned and strolled off down the hallway, casually pulling out his phone.

Ira let out a long, tired sigh and placed a hand over her heart.

This boy was going to shorten my lifespan.

As she turned, she caught sight of a few maids moving past in the corridor.

Some were younger, others older, dressed neatly, hair tied back.

She offered them a polite smile… but none of them smiled back.

They simply kept walking.

Heads bowed. Eyes down.

Silent.

The chill she thought she’d left outside returned again.

Like this house only let in light when it wanted to.

“You’re here already?”

The voice was soft, feminine, and carried a tune that instantly demanded attention.

Ira turned, startled, and found herself face to face with a woman walking in from one of the side corridors.

She looked to be in her early fifties, maybe older, but she carried herself with the poise and beauty of someone a decade younger.

Her saree was elegant, silk, cream with gold trimming, minimal but unmistakably expensive.

“Yes, ma’am..” Ira said quickly, offering a polite nod. “My name is Ira Verma. I’m here for the job … someone contacted me.”

The woman stopped in front of her and studied her, really studied her.

Her eyes, a deep shade of blue, lingered longer than Ira expected. And then she smiled.

“You have a unique frame.” she said, softly but with a knowing tilt to her voice.

Ira blinked, unsure what that meant.

“I mean...” the woman added, still smiling gently, “you’re very beautiful.”

Ira flushed slightly, caught off guard. “T-Thank you, ma’am.”

“Come, beta. Let’s sit and talk.”

Ira followed her quietly across the open hallway and into a room that felt warmer, more personal than the rest of the mansion.

It had pale cream furniture, a polished coffee table with fresh jasmine flowers in a vase, and wide windows with sheer drapes that let in soft light.

They both settled onto the couches. The woman crossed her legs gracefully and leaned in just slightly.

“Would you like something? Water? Juice?” she asked.

Ira shook her head quickly. “Oh no, no ma’am. I’m fine.”

The woman nodded once and folded her hands in her lap.

“I’m Mrs. Rathore.” she introduced, gently. “So, Ira. your friend who recommended you must have told you this is a caretaking position?”

Ira nodded. “Yes. She did and it was on the site too…it was a house caretaker job. Cleaning supervision, basic errands…”

Mrs. Rathore’s expression shifted. The warmth didn’t leave, but something in her eyes changed.

“Hmm. That’s what I thought. That’s why I need to clarify something before we proceed.” she said calmly, voice lower now.

Ira’s brows drew together. “Clarify?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Rathore paused. “You weren’t called here for a general caretaker position.”

Ira’s lips parted slightly. “I wasn’t?”

Mrs. Rathore shook her head. “No, beta. This is not a caretaker role. It’s a caregiver position.”

The words sank slowly.

Ira blinked, confused. “I...I’m sorry, I thought...”

She stopped herself. Her stomach flipped.

Caregiver?

Her hands tightened on her dupatta.

“W-What do you mean? I thought I was here to assist around the house…”

“You were brought here...” Mrs. Rathore said gently but firmly, “to care for someone. One person. It is a medical and personal support position. Not housekeeping.”

Ira stared at her.

A caregiver? Was this a mix-up? Rikita never mentioned anything about looking after an actual person. Not just that, she always saw on the Internet. Caretaker.

Ira’s heart started racing.

This is not what I signed up for.

“I… I don’t understand..” she said, her voice quieter now. “Who am I supposed to be taking care of?”

Mrs. Rathore’s smile faded. She stood up slowly.

“I’ll answer your questions, Ira..” she said, “but only if you’re willing to take the job. If not, you may walk away right now. I won’t hold it against you.”

The silence in the room thickened.

Ira’s mind was racing. Was this some kind of trap? Was it wrong?

But she couldn’t ignore the heaviness in her chest.

She needed this job. Jobs like this didn’t come often.

After her last job, of her employer harassing her and she quit, it's been tough to find another job.

Her family needed the money. And walking away meant another round of failed applications, interviews that led nowhere, and financial pressure she couldn’t bear.

She closed her eyes for half a second. Then opened them.

“I… I’ll take it..” she blurted out before her courage could run.

At least, I will just be taking care of someone, maybe their grandparents?

Mrs. Rathore turned back to her slowly.

Their eyes met.

The woman’s expression softened again. “Good..” she said simply. “Then, please follow me.”

Without waiting, she began walking out of the room, her saree trailing softly behind her.

Ira stood, her legs slightly unsteady, and followed.

Up the royal staircase they went, the red carpet muffling their steps.

The walls were lined with framed art and portraits, but Ira couldn’t focus on anything except the weight in her chest.

It’s just a caregiver job, she told herself.

It can’t be that hard… right? Just grandparents.

They walked in silence, ascending one floor, then another.

Ira followed closely behind, her steps hesitant. Her eyes wandered to the ornate frames lining the walls, family portraits, a few paintings too immaculate to be real.

The deeper they went, the quieter it became. The silence thickened around her like smoke, curling into her lungs and settling uneasily.

By the time they reached the final hallway, her arms had goosebumps. The air was colder here. Still.

Something about this floor felt... wrong.

Mrs. Rathore finally stopped in front of a large mahogany door.

"Ira.." she said softly but with weight, "you’ll be taking care of my son."

Ira blinked. “What?”

Mrs. Rathore offered a calm, practiced smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.

Before Ira could ask again, she raised her hand and knocked once.

Then, without waiting for a response, she opened the door and stepped inside.

"Come in, Ira."

Her heart pounded against her ribs. Ira hesitated at the threshold, then slowly stepped in.

And then she saw him.

A man sat propped up in the center of a sprawling king-sized bed, a laptop resting on his lap.

He didn’t glance up right away, but Ira noticed the wheelchair beside his bef.

Her throat suddenly went dry.

Mrs. Rathore’s voice broke through her daze. “Devraj.”

His name hit her like a thunderclap. Ira’s stomach twisted into a hard knot.

Devraj Singh Rathore.

The man everyone whispered about.

The one with the dead eyes and a colder heart. The one who hadn’t been seen publicly in months. The one they called a recluse.

A beast.

A devil.

And now she was supposed to care for him?

Devraj finally looked up, his eyes like obsidian shards, dark and emotionless.

"This will be your new caregiver. Her name is Ira." his mother said.

Devraj’s gaze lingered on Ira. The silence that followed felt like a scream.

Then, with a curl of his lip, his voice slithered through the air.

It was thick and Cold.

"I don’t want another one. Do I have to kill one of them before you stop sending one?"

Ira froze.

Her body turned ice cold. “K-kill?” she whispered, her feet felt jelly and something heavy dropped in her stomach.

Mrs. Rathore's jaw tightened as she turned sharply toward her son.

“Enough..” she said, her voice clipped with frustration. “Why are you doing this again? Do you have any idea how hard it was to find her? You don’t want the maids in your space. You don’t want maids touching your things. You need help. At least let her stay until you’re able to move again. Then she can leave.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Ira dared a glance at Devraj’s hand and saw how tightly his fist was clenched, his veins strained beneath fair to almost wheatish skin tone.

She swallowed hard. Every part of her screamed to run.

Please say no. Please say no. Please let him say no…she begged silently.

Then, Devraj turned to her fully.

And that was when she saw it.

The burn in his eyes, like slow, dangerous fire.

Controlled but deadly.

His Amber eyes are beautiful but the stare coming from them was scary..

His stare pinned her in place, like a predator locking onto prey.

Ira’s breath caught. Oh God. I’m going to die here.

His lips parted.

“Fine..” he said.

Mrs. Rathore exhaled in relief. “Good..” she murmured. She turned toward the door. “Come, Ira.”

Still shaken, Ira followed her. But just before she stepped out of the room, she looked over her shoulder.

Devraj was still watching her.

His face blank. But his eyes… they blazed.

Ira quickly turned away.