The golden hour cast its final light over Good Hope district as Athavan and Dhiviya walked hand in hand, unbothered by the ripples they left in their wake. Their fingers were interlocked—not by accident, not by impulse, but by choice. And the neighborhood watched like spectators to a scandal, gasping at a love they didn't expect and a man they couldn't comprehend.
Dhiviya, long admired as the flawless girl next door—smart, graceful, modest—had always felt like a dream just out of reach. And now, that dream walked beside a mystery. The man once mistaken for a soft-spoken spiritual type, now looked every bit the enigma: composed, commanding, and unmistakably hers.
From her balcony, Archana's hand froze mid-air, a damp shirt clutched tightly in her grip. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she spotted them on the street below—her daughter, her Dhiviya, casually holding hands like a teenager in love. Her motherly instincts kicked in, a flurry of shock, confusion, and something else she couldn't name.
Dhiviya spotted her mother's reaction too late. Her heart jumped, cheeks blooming red as she tried to yank her hand away. But Athavan held firm, his eyes locked on her with the quiet fire of someone who refused to play by the rules of appearances.
She threw him a panicked glance, subtly nodding toward her mother. His response? A single lifted eyebrow that said everything: Let them watch.
With no way out, Dhiviya surrendered, her face a shade redder than dusk as they reached the doorstep.
Archana stood frozen, speechless.
"Atte," Athavan greeted, voice smooth as silk.
"Yes, Maapillai?" she answered on instinct, eyes still glued to their clasped hands.
He chuckled, mischief twinkling in his tone. "You call me Maapillai but stare like I've abducted your daughter in broad daylight."
With that, he stepped inside, casually releasing Dhiviya's hand—timed perfectly to leave her standing between two worlds: the girl her mother raised and the woman she'd chosen to become.
He slipped into his meditation room, the air around him cooling, steadying. The chaos could rage outside—but inside, the storm was always under control.
Elsewhere, across town, chaos had no leash.
At Raja Sekaran's mansion, rage crackled like dry leaves catching fire. He slammed his fist into the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery.
"You two imbeciles!" he roared. "Do you know how many eyes are on us now? The police aren't fools. They're sniffing too close."
Navin leaned against the wall, smirking like it was all a bad sitcom. "Relax, Dad. I talked to Muru from Gang Nagas. He's on it. The cops are just performing. Nothing'll stick."
Sekaran's stare could've drilled holes through concrete. "You think this is about street thugs and favors? You idiots sabotaged a half-a-million-dollar BMW. Limited edition. If you'd stolen it, we could've flipped it for two hundred grand. Instead, you played revenge games like children."
Navin's grin faded. "Didn't think of that."
He smacked his own forehead, eyes wide with delayed realization.
"Damn… that's actually a pretty good idea," he muttered, half in shock, half in admiration.
"Of course you didn't. Thinking isn't your strength," Sekaran hissed. "If you had even half of Dhiviya's mind, I wouldn't be cleaning your messes every week."
The comparison hit like acid. Both Navin and Anjana stiffened. That name—Dhiviya—always the measuring stick. Always the unreachable ideal.
From her corner of the room, Leela finally spoke, trying to cool the air. "Dear, don't compare. They're still learning. With time—"
"With time?" Sekaran snarled. "They'll die stupid. No, Leela. You know why I compare? Because it's the truth. Dhiviya has what they don't. And instead of letting that go to waste, I took it."
He leaned back, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"Do you know how I keep control of Vasanthan, my stepbrother?" he asked, his tone lowering to a conspiratorial murmur.
Leela shook her head. So did the children. Vasanthan—the name hung in the air like a forgotten curse. Dhiviya's father. Raja Sekaran's stepbrother.
"I destroyed him. Piece by piece. Sold his business secrets to competitors. Made him doubt his own brilliance. Turned him into an alcoholic, made sure no decent job would hire him. I dragged his prestige and good name straight into the gutter. I fed him poisons disguised as supplements—slow, precise, undetectable. His heart? Already weak. All I had to do was wait for gravity to take over."
Navin and Anjana froze. Their mouths went dry.
"I made sure that when he withered, I'd cash in. Signed him up for a ten-million-dollar life insurance policy. I'm the sole beneficiary. Took me a decade to set it all up. And when he dies one month from now, during his bypass operation... it will be payday."
A long, eerie silence followed.
"I didn't stop there," he said, voice now velvety. "I created Blue Valley Architects—not to build buildings, but to build a cage. Dhiviya's cage. I spotted her talent early. So I played the patron saint. Pulled strings to get her a scholarship she earned, but made sure the whole family thinks I paid. Her brilliance? My asset."
Anjana's jaw clenched. Navin looked ill.
"And her brother," Sekaran chuckled darkly, "the rebel. I made sure his university keeps throwing 'technical difficulties' in his path. Eventually, he'll break. Then they'll have to come to me. They always do."
He rose from his chair, pacing slowly, his voice now a sermon on power.
"That's how you control people. Not with anger. Not with loud threats. With strategy. With patience. Let them believe you're their savior. Feed their gratitude. Drown them in it."
And then Leela spoke again, but this time, it wasn't soft.
"You remind me of your mother."
The room went still. Even Sekaran flinched.
"She would be proud of you," Leela continued, her voice calm, eyes unreadable. "But even you, husband, are only a shadow of her. She is the female Narakasura."
Sekaran's smirk cracked for just a moment. A flicker of old fear passed through his eyes.
Navin and Anjana stood frozen. The stories of their grandmother had always been myth—half-whispers of a woman who could break kingdoms with a word. And now, they saw: the darkness in their father was inherited... but not yet perfected.
And for the first time, they wondered what shadows still lingered in their bloodline... They were toddlers compared to the ones who came before.
The End.
Hindu Mythological / Cultural / Belief References – Chapter 17
Narakasura – The Inheritable Darkness In Hindu mythology, Narakasura is a legendary asura (demon king) notorious for his unrelenting cruelty, tyranny, and hunger for domination. Said to be born of divine lineage, he ruled with terror, capturing celestial beings and disrupting the cosmic balance. His reign was so brutal that even the gods trembled, until he was finally slain by Goddess Parashakti in battle.