The gates of Singhania Mansion stood tall, decorated with a thousand marigolds, jasmine garlands hanging like soft curtains of gold and white, swaying in the evening breeze. The scent of fresh roses and incense blended into the air, making the atmosphere feel like a sacred celebration. The mansion itself — a sprawling palace of marble pillars and chandeliered halls — was glowing tonight, not because of its wealth, but because of the joy it was about to embrace.

After days of anxious waiting, prayers, and sleepless nights, the Singhania family was finally bringing home its newest heartbeat — Ishki and Rajveer’s daughter.

The Return Home

The convoy of black SUVs, polished until they shone like mirrors, moved slowly through the gates. At the center, Rajveer’s car came to a halt. The door opened, and out stepped the man himself — Rajveer Singhania — tall, broad-shouldered, his presence enough to silence the air. But tonight, his ruthless, cold aura had softened. His eyes, usually hard as steel, were molten with something no one had seen in him before — tenderness.

Inside, sitting carefully in the back seat, was Ishki Singhania. She was draped in a pale pink silk saree, her hair tied in a loose braid, her cheeks glowing faintly with the softness of new motherhood. In her arms, wrapped in a white swaddle embroidered with golden thread, slept their daughter — a tiny bundle of innocence.

Ishki’s heart fluttered as she looked at the mansion gates. “Home,” she whispered softly, kissing her baby’s forehead. For her, it was still a surreal moment — to hold a life so small yet so significant, to know she was a mother now. She was nervous, shy, overwhelmed.

But when her eyes shifted to her husband, standing like a pillar beside the car, her nervousness softened. Rajveer’s gaze never left her face or the baby’s form. The mafia king, the feared professor, the ruthless Singhania heir — all of that melted away in this moment. He wasn’t the world’s most feared man anymore. He was just a husband, and now, a father.

“Careful, Ishki,” he said, his voice deep, husky, but laced with gentleness. He reached out his hand, steadying her as she stepped out. His other hand hovered protectively around the baby, as though the very air could be dangerous.

Behind them, Mihir, Samar, and Misha stepped out of the other cars, their faces glowing with anticipation. Mihir’s sharp features softened into a rare smile as he spotted his bhabhi and the tiny baby. Samar, usually calm and stoic, looked like he was about to cry out of sheer joy. And Misha — Ishki’s dearest friend and now her sister-in-law — had tears streaming down her cheeks.

The elder patriarch, Rakesh Singhania, stood at the mansion entrance in a crisp sherwani, his powerful frame carrying decades of authority. But tonight, even the man who had built an empire of blood and fear had nothing but softness in his eyes. He wasn’t the king of the underworld in this moment. He was a grandfather waiting to bless his granddaughter.

And standing like guardians at the steps were Zaar and Zara — the twin lions. Their golden coats glistened in the evening light, their eyes sharp yet oddly calm. The moment Ishki stepped forward, both lions lowered themselves slightly, letting out a deep rumbling purr. They circled once, like protective sentinels, and then stood still as though acknowledging the arrival of their little princess.

Ishki smiled nervously. She had always been scared of the lions at first, but ever since her marriage, she had come to see them differently. They treated her as their queen, never once growling at her, always lowering their heads when she walked by. And now, she could see the same devotion directed at her baby.

“Welcome home, beti,” Rakesh’s voice thundered warmly, echoing across the mansion courtyard.

The Ritual of Entry

At the entrance, the women of the house had arranged a grand aarti thali with sindoor, rice, and lamps. A silver kalash filled with water was placed on the ground, along with a tray of rose petals. It was tradition — the new mother and child had to step into the house under blessings.

Misha rushed forward, unable to contain her excitement. She took the thali in her trembling hands, lit the diya, and circled it in front of Ishki and the baby. Her voice choked as she whispered the welcome mantras. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss on the baby’s tiny forehead.

“My Reevaa…” she whispered unconsciously, though the name hadn’t yet been officially chosen. Something in her heart had already spoken it.

Rajveer noticed and his eyes softened. He didn’t correct her, didn’t say a word. Instead, he gently guided Ishki to tip over the kalash with her foot — the sacred water spilling, symbolizing prosperity entering the house. Then, with the baby in her arms, Ishki stepped onto the red kumkum-dyed cloth, leaving behind tiny red footprints — not hers, but symbolic of her daughter’s first steps into the mansion.

Applause and ululations echoed through the courtyard as the family entered.

The Chhatti Ceremony

On the sixth day after the baby’s birth, the mansion was alive with rituals. The Chhatti ceremony was one of the most sacred, where the child’s destiny was prayed for, and blessings were invoked to protect the newborn from evil eyes and dangers.

The house was decorated with oil lamps and fragrant mogra flowers. Priests sat cross-legged in the central hall, chanting Sanskrit hymns that reverberated through the marble corridors. A cradle made of sandalwood, draped with silk and gold tassels, had been placed at the center.

Ishki sat nearby, dressed in a soft lavender saree, her face glowing with maternal grace. She rocked her daughter gently in her arms, feeling a lump in her throat as the priests recited verses for the baby’s health and future. She was a professor of sociology, a woman of logic and books, but in this moment, tradition and emotion drowned all rational thought.

Rajveer sat next to her, unusually calm. His hand rested on her back protectively, his gaze never leaving the baby. To others, it seemed like he was listening to the mantras. But inside his head, his mafia instincts were alive. No destiny will write my daughter’s life. I will write it myself. And I will burn the world before I let harm touch her.

When the rituals ended, everyone placed gifts near the cradle — gold bangles, anklets, silver toys. But Rajveer didn’t move. Instead, he slipped off the ring he had worn for years — a heavy platinum band that had once belonged to his mother. He placed it gently beside his daughter, his jaw tight.

“This is yours now,” he whispered so only Ishki could hear.

Her heart clenched. She reached for his hand, her eyes misty.

Mihir came forward next, placing a small handcrafted silver rattle by the cradle. “She will always hear her chachu when she plays with this,” he said warmly. Samar followed, placing a protection amulet — a black thread tied with a tiny diamond locket. “For strength,” he muttered softly.

Finally, Rakesh placed his weathered hand on the baby’s forehead. His voice, usually commanding, trembled. “You are the future of this house, my child. And you are my daughter as much as you are Rajveer’s. May no shadow dare touch you.”

Zaar and Zara sat on either side of the cradle, their amber eyes watchful, their tails swishing slowly. It was as if they understood — their new charge was here.

The Naamkaran – Misha’s Gift

A week later, the Naamkaran ceremony was arranged with grandeur. The mansion was transformed into a palace of lights, strings of crystal chandeliers reflecting across the marble floors. Guests from across the city arrived, though only those trusted by the family — the Singhanias kept their circle tight.

The baby was placed in the sandalwood cradle again, dressed in a tiny lehenga of cream and gold, a small black dot of kajal on her forehead to ward off evil. Ishki sat nearby, her dupatta covering her head, nervous yet glowing with pride.

The priest asked, “Who among the family wishes to give this child her name?”

Before anyone could speak, Misha stepped forward. Her hands shook as she lifted her niece gently, holding her close. Tears glistened in her eyes as she looked at the tiny face. “Her name…” she said softly, her voice trembling, “…will be Reevaa.”

The hall erupted in approval. The name, meaning a flowing river, symbolized purity, strength, and eternal life.

Rajveer’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles — a rare sight. Ishki’s eyes overflowed as she hugged Misha tightly, whispering, “It’s perfect.”

Rakesh raised his hands in blessing. Mihir and Samar clapped, their pride evident. And Zaar and Zara let out a low, approving growl, as though accepting the name too.

From that moment, the mansion echoed with one word — Reevaa.

Pampering the Queen

The days that followed turned Singhania Mansion into a sanctuary. Ishki, shy and innocent, suddenly found herself the center of everyone’s affection.

Rajveer was obsessive in his care. If Ishki so much as frowned, he was at her side. Midnight cravings? He had chefs on standby. Sudden tears? He silenced the house to give her peace. When she dozed off holding Reevaa, he would sit beside the cradle, his deadly hands that had ended countless enemies now rocking his daughter to sleep with the gentleness of silk.

Mihir often teased his bhabhi, bringing her books, chocolates, and stories to distract her mood swings. Samar became her silent shadow, ensuring everything ran smoothly so Ishki never had to worry about anything. Rakesh often sat with her, telling her stories of Rajveer’s childhood — things even Rajveer glared at but never interrupted, because they made Ishki laugh.

And Misha — she practically lived in Ishki’s room, helping her with the baby, showering little Reevaa with kisses, and constantly reminding Ishki, “She’s my princess before she’s yours!” to which Rajveer would raise an eyebrow and mutter, “Over my dead body.”

Even Zaar and Zara became part of the pampering — never leaving the nursery door, growling at strangers, lowering their giant heads whenever Ishki carried Reevaa past them.

The Center of Their World

Weeks turned into months, and the mansion transformed. Every corridor echoed with soft coos, lullabies, and laughter. Ishki blossomed as a mother, her shyness slowly mixing with a new strength. Rajveer’s cold, ruthless edges softened — though only for his wife and daughter.

At night, when the world slept, Ishki often woke to find him awake, sitting by the cradle, his dark eyes fixed on the baby. His hand would hover, as though he couldn’t believe she was real.

“What are you thinking?” Ishki once asked softly.

Rajveer’s voice was low, dangerous yet trembling. “That I finally have something the world can’t take from me. And if anyone tries…” His jaw tightened, his eyes burned. “…I’ll erase them from existence.”

Ishki’s heart ached, but she leaned her head against his shoulder, whispering, “You don’t have to fight the world alone anymore. She and I are with you.”

For the first time in years, Rajveer closed his eyes and let himself believe it.

Epilogue: The Flowing River

The mansion’s life now revolved around a single heartbeat — Reevaa Singhania.

From the rituals of her Chhatti to the sacred naming ceremony, from the protective roars of Zaar and Zara to the obsessive love of Rajveer, from the playful affection of Mihir and Samar to the tender care of Rakesh and Misha — she had become the river that flowed through their lives.

And at the center of it all was Ishki — once a shy, innocent professor, now the queen of their world, unaware of the shadows her family hid. She only knew love, devotion, and a home where she and her daughter were cherished like goddesses.

Little Reevaa stirred in her cradle, her tiny fingers curling around Ishki’s thumb. Rajveer watched from the shadows, his lips curving into a rare, dangerous, yet tender smile.

This is my empire now, he thought. Not power. Not fear. But them. And I will burn the world before I let anything touch them.

And with that silent vow, the Singhania mansion, once feared for its darkness, glowed with the light of a new life.

                  ❇✴✳❇✴✳

😍😘 aaj keliye bs itna hi..... To be continued tomorrow..... Hope you like it...... Pardon my mistake..... Till then keep loving and supporting me and my stories......😘😍

🤗😇Thanx for reading😇🤗