The rain had been falling since dawn, soft but steady, wrapping the whole Devendra estate in the kind of calm that made every sound sharper. The gardens shimmered behind the mist, and water slipped down the stone steps like threads of glass. Inside, the house was already awake; the faint echo of footsteps and clinking dishes travelled through long corridors polished enough to reflect the chandelier light.
Aadhirai paused at the end of the hallway, adjusting the collar of his pale-blue shirt. He'd grown up visiting the mansion, but every time still felt the same—like stepping into a temple. The portraits on the walls looked down with quiet pride, each ancestor dressed in the same Devendra grace. Somewhere deeper in the house, the sound of a newspaper folding, and a voice giving calm instructions, floated through the air.
That voice made his pulse quicken.
He told himself it was because Karthikeya Devendra, vice president of the group, was intimidating for anyone. Not because of the way the man's gaze could make people forget to breathe.
A maid passed by with a tray of coffee cups. "Breakfast is ready, sir."
Aadhirai nodded, whispering a thanks, and followed her toward the dining hall. The smell of filter coffee grew stronger with every step.
The room was filled with warmth and chatter—the kind that only existed in families who ran empires yet acted like they had all the time in the world. Janaki Devi sat at the head of the table, silver hair neatly tied, smiling at Pavitra's story about some office mishap. Raghava uncle read messages on his phone while pretending not to hear Lakshmi aunty nag him about skipping breakfast again.
Vinek, bright-eyed and half-awake, waved at Aadhirai from the other end. "Finally! We thought you got lost in that huge hallway."
Aadhirai laughed nervously and slipped into the empty seat beside him. "Good morning, everyone."
"Good morning, darling," Janaki Devi said warmly. "You must eat more. You look thinner than last time."
He nodded, embarrassed. "Yes, Paati."
And then the sound of the newspaper folded again, and silence spread across the table almost automatically.
Karthikeya looked up. He didn't have to say a word for the air to change. Dressed in an immaculate black shirt and a watch that caught the light just so, he seemed carved out of calm authority. His gaze passed over the table, then landed on Aadhirai for half a heartbeat—long enough to make the younger man forget how to swallow.
"Good morning," Karthikeya said evenly.
"G–good morning, anna," Aadhirai managed.
The man gave a polite nod before turning back to his paper. The rest of the family began eating again, the chatter returning in careful tones, as if no one wanted to disturb the quiet rhythm he set.