Morning had barely broken, yet the royal palace of Sandhanpur was already alive with bustling excitement. The entire household moved with a joyous urgency—for today was the engagement of Princess Prathyusha Singh to Varun Kapoor, son of India’s leading business magnate, Kunal Kapoor. The delightful chaos was merely a prologue to the grand union awaiting them.

Prathyusha stood on the upper terrace, gazing at the decorations below. At five and a half feet tall, she carried the effortless dignity of her royal lineage, yet her simplicity made her irresistibly endearing. She possessed a regal beauty—one that compelled anyone who saw her to look twice.

Because this was a love marriage, her heart brimmed with anticipation. But her grandmother, Kalyani Devi, had agreed to the marriage only on one firm condition—that all rituals must follow their ancestral traditions at the royal palace. That condition alone made her nervous.

Varun was unfamiliar with their customs, and she had planned to stay beside him, explaining every ritual. But that morning, her mother Maithili said,
“Bringing the bride to the groom’s house for the engagement isn’t our custom. Your brother, your grandmother, and I will go to Varun’s place. You rest and prepare for the later ceremonies.”

Prathyusha felt a surge of irritation toward her grandmother’s insistence on outdated traditions. But no one in the family dared argue with her, so she remained silent.

Suddenly someone called out, “Where are the gifts prepared for the groom?”

Maithili replied, “Avanthika handled all of that. She knows what to do. Avanthika? Come here!”

The five-foot whirlwind, who had been arguing with the florist, hurried over.
“Coming, Mom! Just make sure they fix this before I’m back, okay?” she ordered before rushing forward.

“Mom, everything meant for Varun is safely kept in Usha’s room. Don’t worry. And leave the decorations to me—I’ll talk to Balram bhaiya and get it done,” she said in her rapid, confident tone.

Beside Maithili, Prathyusha’s grandmother Kalyani Devi smiled warmly.
“You have no idea how helpful you are. If everyone is working peacefully today, you’re one of the reasons. By God’s grace, if a suitable groom appears for you within this very palace, I’ll keep you under my roof forever.”

“Nani, don’t worry. Before today ends, someone will appear in front of me. I’ll grab his hand and bring him straight to you. You can get me married along with Usha,” Avanthika teased, winking before hugging her.

This was Avanthika—the heroine of our story. Mischievous yet pure-hearted, affectionate yet fiercely self-respecting. She excelled in everything she undertook and never hesitated to call out a mistake, no matter who the person was.

Kalyani Devi kissed her cheek.
“Where is Rithima? She must join us at Varun’s house today. Tell her to get ready. And you go rest—you need to look fresh this evening.”

After they left, Prathyusha entered.
“So even Rithima won’t stay with me? I’ll be so bored until you come back, honeybee,” she complained like a child.

“Usha baby, we’ll return in two hours. Unless, of course, a guy really appears in front of me like Nani predicted. Then I might take a little longer,” Avanthika laughed.

Just then, Rithima walked in.
“Who is going to appear in front of you?” she asked, confused.

Rithima was the opposite of Avanthika—gentle, calm, someone who smiled even when hurt. She was their cherished childhood friend.

After explaining everything to her, the three girls headed to Prathyusha’s room for a bit of rest.

Although the wedding was set in Sandhanpur, Prathyusha had grown up entirely in Bangalore due to her father Rajvardhan Singh’s business.
Rithima’s mother was a bank manager and her father a lawyer—she was raised like a princess.

Avanthika, on the other hand, had lost her parents early and moved from Chennai to Bangalore to live with her aunt and uncle. Her aunt was strict, not particularly affectionate, but she never denied Avanthika anything—comforts, education, or wishes.
Even so, Avanthika felt closer to her uncle than her aunt. And perhaps that was why she adored Maithili Singh, who treated her like her own daughter. Rajvardhan too considered her a part of their family.

Together, the three girls had stood by one another—from convincing the elders about Prathyusha’s love marriage to preparing for the engagement itself. Watching them, Kalyani Devi always felt proud, secretly hoping Avanthika’s groom would also come from their own palace.

Little did they know that destiny had already begun to move. Yes—Avanthika’s fate was about to change. The one meant for her had already set foot in Sandhanpur.

At that very moment, a bungalow at the border of Sandhanpur was filled with noise. Varun spoke on the phone, frustration evident in his voice.
“Don’t talk! I agreed to this engagement date only because you promised you’d come today. Otherwise, I would’ve changed it. If you make a promise, keep it!”

This was Varun—Prathyusha’s devoted lover, the eldest heir of the Kapoor family, the perfect son.

A voice behind him said,
“So Varun bhaiya is really angry at me today… Should I catch the next flight back to Mumbai?”

Varun turned instantly.
“Raghav!” he exclaimed, hugging the tall man enthusiastically.

Raghav—the hero of our story. The second heir of the Kapoor family. The man who had taken the Kapoor Group of Companies to new heights.
Six feet tall, with the fair complexion typical of Punjabis and naturally red lips untainted by cigarettes, he grinned at Varun.

“How are you, bhaiya? Not bad. And that glow—your love life is clearly treating you well,” he teased.

He greeted everyone politely, touching the elders’ feet. The maids exchanged glances.
A new maid whispered, “Who is he? He looks so kind…”

An older maid said,
“That’s Raghav—Varun sir’s cousin, Madam’s sister’s son. Don’t be fooled by his smile. When he gets angry, no one can go near him. And unlike Varun sir, he doesn’t mix with people he considers beneath his level. Be careful. If you upset him, you won’t last here.”

It was true—born with a silver spoon, raised with discipline and stubbornness, Raghav disliked mingling with those he thought beneath him. But he was also someone who took responsibility for his own mistakes—even if it meant facing consequences.

His mother was proud of him, yet equally worried about his temper—known far and wide.

After meeting his aunts, uncles, and cousins, he finally joined his siblings—Kishore, Amar, Neka, and Bindu.

“Raghav bhaiya,” Bindu chirped, the youngest and his favorite,
“How is your ex-girlfriend doing? She seemed fine when she came on holiday with us last time. Why did you break up?”

“Our wavelengths didn’t match, sweetheart,” he answered casually.

“I don’t understand, bhaiya.”

“My life partner shouldn’t question me. And I can’t spend twenty-four hours following her around. These two conditions must suit whoever marries me. She didn’t fit either—so we broke up.” He rolled up his sleeves nonchalantly.

Varun laughed.
“There are plenty of girls like that among our relatives, Raghav. You’ll find a partner who gives you no trouble.”

Kishore, son of the late Niranjan Kapoor, had been listening attentively.
“Raghav bhaiya, what if a brave girl enters your life—someone who questions you? What would you do then?”

“I’d divorce her,” he replied without hesitation—and walked away.

He didn’t know then that a girl was about to enter his life—one who would shatter his arrogance beneath her feet.