Ira followed beside Mrs. Rathore as they descended the grand staircase, her heart still unsettled.

Mrs Rathore lips now curved in a faint smile, as though the storm from earlier had finally eased.

But Ira couldn’t shake the weight pressing on her chest. Devraj’s eyes.

That hard, unflinching stare. Cold. Stern. Almost merciless.

And that word he had thrown out so casually. Kill.

It lingered in her mind like an echo, making her skin prickle.

If his own mother had been forced to coax him into agreeing…

if her tone earlier carried that mix of irritation and weariness… then surely, Ira wasn’t the first girl they’d brought here to work for him.

Others must have tried. And failed. Or maybe they hadn’t even lasted long enough to try.

Would i?

Will I even survive this? she wondered, the thought whispering like a shadow as she followed Mrs. Rathore into the drawing room.

"So, Ira…" Mrs. Rathore’s calm voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, snapping her back to the present.

The woman seated herself gracefully on a polished sofa, while Ira remained standing, her fingers knotting together nervously.

She offered her a soft smile, almost maternal. A servant stepped forward, handing her a slim file. Mrs. Rathore accepted it, then extended it toward Ira.

Hesitant, Ira reached for it, her brows knitting together in quiet confusion.

"That.." Mrs. Rathore explained smoothly, "contains everything you will need to do for my son. His schedule, his needs, and the hours you are expected to arrive and leave each day."

Ira flipped the file open, her eyes scanning the neatly typed pages. It felt… overwhelming.

Too neat. Too precise.

"As for the payment.." Mrs. Rathore added, "you’ll finalize that tomorrow when you resume. And don’t feel pressured, Ira. If tomorrow is too soon, next week will do. What matters is that you are ready."

She smiled again, though there was a hint of steel beneath her tone.

"But do go through those pages carefully. My son despises disorder. He will not tolerate uncleanliness or anything… unkempt. You’ll understand more once you’ve read it."

Ira’s stomach twisted. She clutched the file tighter, feeling oddly suffocated.

A caregiver job doesn’t need this many rules, she thought uneasily.

Why does it feel like I’m signing up for something else entirely?

Before she could dwell too much on it, a new voice rang across the hall.

"The goddess is still here?"

Startled, Ira turned her head and her breath caught.

Vivaan with an easy grin strode in, his eyes lighting up the moment they landed on her.

He looked nothing like Devraj — where the elder son’s gaze had been sharp and unforgiving, this one was mischievous, warm, and entirely too bold.

"Ira, isn’t it?" he asked, smile widening.

Ira’s throat tightened as she nodded, suddenly self-conscious beneath his gaze.

"You two know each other?" Mrs. Rathore asked, brows arched.

"No.." Ira answered quickly.

"Yes.." he said at the same time.

Ira blinked at him in disbelief, her lips parting.

What?

The boyish man chuckled, eyes twinkling. "Kidding, Ma. We don’t. I just saw her a little while ago. Guess she’s here for a job?" He flopped onto the seat beside his mother, still smiling at Ira.

Her palms grew clammy. This guy… he’s trouble. The kind that smiles while he’s causing chaos.

"Ah, you’re very silly, Vivaan." Mrs. Rathore sighed, though the corners of her mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. "But yes. She’s here for work."

"Huh? Work?" Vivaan tilted his head, his grin turning teasing. "Ma, we’ve got plenty of maids running around.

And even if we needed another one, you can’t give her the job."

Ira froze, staring at him in disbelief. Excuse me?

Mrs. Rathore frowned. "Vivaan! What on earth are you saying? She isn’t here for that. And why would you–"

"Ma.." he interrupted, eyes still dancing with mischief. "She doesn’t fit that job. Goddesses don’t scrub floors."

He winked at Ira, who was utterly thrown off by his audacity.

Mrs. Rathore, on the other hand, looked seconds away from smacking her son upside the head.

"You are impossible. Anyway, she’s Devraj’s new caregiver." Mrs. Rathore introduced.

Vivaan’s brows lifted. He looked at his mother, then back at Ira, confusion flashing across his face.

"What?" his mother asked, sensing his stare.

"She?" he asked pointedly.

Mrs. Rathore shot him a glare.

"I hope she lasts long.." he muttered under his breath. Ira caught it, but brushed it off.

"Anyway, Ira.." his mother continued, "you can leave now. Text me back if you want to start tomorrow or next week. Reply to the same email."

Ira smiled, nodded, and was already on her feet.

"Wait, let me drop you." Vivaan said, rising too.

"N-no… no thanks, I’m fine." Ira forced a polite smile.

"I have to go now. Bye, ma." She hurried out of the living hall.

"She looked scared." Vivaan murmured, eyes lingering on Ira until she disappeared from view.

"Somewhat brave too." his mother replied, standing. She began walking toward the staircase but stopped halfway, turning back to him.

“One more thing...” her voice turned stern, cutting the warmth from earlier, “I got a call from Rani. Why are you ignoring her?”

Vivaan’s playful mask shattered instantly. His jaw tightened, his shoulders straightened, and the easy charm drained from his face.

“I told you already, Ma. I don’t like her.” His tone was sharp, unwavering.

“She loves you.” Mrs. Rathore insisted.

He gave a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair in annoyance. “No, she doesn’t. Not me. She’s obsessed with Devraj. Even when she’s with me, all she does is talk about him. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You push her away. She cares for you...deeply.”

Vivaan stepped closer, his eyes hard. “I don't care.. She is freaking Clingy, rude and selfish. Don’t try to dress it up, Ma. I don’t want her. I never will.”

Vivaan raked a hand through his hair in frustration, then turned to leave.

"Don’t walk away from me, Vivaan."

"And I’ve told you not to bring that topic up again!" His voice rose, sharp with anger. "I don’t like her. I can’t be with a spoiled brat who spends recklessly and only talks about Devraj every time we meet. Not that I care about her interest...but it’s annoying. Please, enough with the matchmaking. It’s starting to piss me off. Bhai, is way older than i am, fix him up with someone and stop bothering me."

Vivaan stormed off, jaw clenched. The silence that followed was heavy.

Mrs. Rathore stood frozen, her glare lingering at the space he left behind.

Her chest rose and fell before she exhaled deeply, smoothing her saree with trembling fingers.