The early morning sun streamed through the expansive study window, casting long, golden bars across the polished floor. The room was steeped in a profound, almost oppressive silence.

The clock on the mantelpiece, a masterpiece of quiet precision, offered no rhythmic 'tick-tock,' its hands gliding with an imperceptible, smooth grace that seemed to hold time itself captive.

On the enormous, intricately carved teakwood table-more a fortress of authority than a workspace-a cup of black coffee sat, untouched, a still, dark pool of liquid reflecting the ceiling.

Seated in a high-backed, throne-like armchair was Anshrik Singh Shekhawat, the King of Udaipur. His presence was a palpable force. His dark, thick hair was neatly combed, framing a face defined by stark, powerful lines. His jaw was a chiseled masterpiece of sharp angles, and his dark brown eyes held a quality of intense, focused severity that could make even the most seasoned courtier flinch under their scrutiny.

He held a file in his hand, its pages rustling faintly as he turned them. His attention was absolute, his gaze tracking every line, every word, absorbing the information with a frightening thoroughness.

The heavy door to the study burst open, shattering the room's serene silence.

Anshrik did not move, but his focus snapped instantly from the file to the doorway.

Standing there, panting heavily as if he'd just run the final leg of an Olympic marathon, was his personal assistant, Anupam. The man's eyes were wide, alight with undisguised horror, the look of someone who had just encountered a ghost.

Anshrik slowly raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, a silent question that was more a demand.

Anupam struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving. "Rawal... Your Highness..." he gasped, his voice a choked whisper. "Princess..."

The single word, 'Princess' was enough. The name acted like an electrical jolt. Anshrik's composure evaporated; the file dropped from his suddenly slackened grip and hit the floor with a soft thud. He stood up abruptly, rising from the chair with a swift, predatory movement that radiated sheer power.

"What has happened to her?" Anshrik's voice was low, devoid of its usual calm, and thick with rising dread.

Anupam was still gasping, struggling desperately for air and coherence.

"Speak! Now!" Anshrik's voice became a roar, a command that echoed off the high walls.

Anupam visibly flinched, straightening himself with a desperate effort. "Rawal," he stammered, "Princess is not in her room! We've searched every corner of the wing. We've called all her known contacts, but she's nowhere. The security guards confirm they haven't seen her since late last night."

Anshrik's eyes narrowed, his mind racing through protocols and contingencies. "Initiate the trace protocol! I want her location pinpointed immediately!"

"Rawal... there's a development," Anupam said, pulling an envelope from his jacket. "We found this note on her bedside table. It's addressed to you."

Anupam placed the folded paper into the King's waiting hand. Anshrik unfolded it, his eyes scanning the familiar, elegant script:

"Bhaiya,

I am deeply sorry for causing you this worry. I know you will be angry and anxious, but this is something I must do. It's incredibly important to me. Please, do not worry for my safety. I promise you, I will be fine "

Anshrik's sharp features tightened, his jaw clenching so hard it looked painful. His eyes widened slightly as the note's implication sank in: she had left willingly.

A thousand furious, panicked questions assailed him: Where has she gone? What is so important?

"Trace her phone! Now!" Anshrik commanded, his voice tight with controlled fury.

"Rawal, our team is already on it," Anupam replied quickly. "The last active signal is pinging near the city airport."

"Prepare the private jet immediately," Anshrik ordered, already striding toward the door. "And get the security team to pull all CCTV footage from the airport. Focus on her known time of departure."

Anupam nodded curtly, his task understood, and hurried out to execute the orders.

Anshrik inhaled a deep, steadying breath, his back to the quiet room. He muttered the words that were too gentle for the roar he'd just issued: "Where are you off to, my little one?"

Thirty minutes later, the silence of the palace was replaced by the low thrum of urgency.

Anupam re-entered the study, his face still pale but his tone more controlled. "Rawal, we have confirmed her destination. The Princess boarded a commercial flight. She has flown to Mumbai."

Without a word, Anshrik reached for the tailored coat draped over the back of his chair, pulling it on with a decisive, powerful motion. He then strode out of the study, the dark pool of coffee and the dropped file a testament to the sudden chaos that had gripped his world.

Anshrik and Anupam entered the elevator, ascending quickly.

Seconds later, they stepped out onto the terrace where the sleek, silver form of the private jet waited, its engines already whirring with the promise of speed.

As he moved toward the aircraft steps, Anshrik spoke one final, non-negotiable command to his assistant. "You will continue to trace her location the moment her phone connects to a network in Mumbai. Do not lose her signal for a second."

"Understood, Sir" Anupam confirmed with a sharp nod.

Anshrik Singh Shekhawat didn't look back. He climbed the steps and disappeared into the jet, a King leaving his kingdom behind for a high-stakes, desperate search for his vanished Princess.

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Oh, for the love of— I shot up in bed, my heart hammering a frantic beat against my ribs. Seriously, why am I built like a sloth? My flight is in forty minutes, and I just woke up!

I practically launched myself out of bed, slapped on my slippers, and bolted for the bathroom. Toothbrush loaded with paste, I shoved it in my mouth and headed straight for the toilet to... you know.

But just as I was about to sit down, a dreadful, shocking thought hit me like a splash of cold water. The phone! The camera!

No!

I spat out the toothpaste and scrambled out of the bathroom, soaking wet toothbrush still clutched in my hand. I dove for the power strip and frantically plugged in both devices. Phew. Crisis averted. I gave them a stern look, as if they were the ones who had overslept.

Ten minutes later—an Olympic record for me—I was a whirlwind of efficiency. Showered? Done. Dressed? Of course! I was already in my favorite lavender suit and misted with that perfect, subtle Rose perfume. A quick brush of my hair, a grab of my carry-on bag packed for the Mumbai program, and I was good to go.

I managed to set yesterday's vlog to upload on a timer for noon and then burst out of my room.

There he was. My rock. My everything. Papa.

He smiled, and all the stress just melted away.

He truly is my soul.

I rushed to him and squeezed him tight. "Good morning, Papa!"

He held me back at arm's length, his face serious. "First, you will eat something, baccha. You don't leave on an empty stomach."

I pouted, trying my best puppy eyes. "Papa, I'm seriously, seriously late! Please, I promise I'll grab something at the airport, okay?"

He was having none of it.

He just shook his head and thrust a warm, foil-wrapped square into my hands. A paratha. "No arguments, Kyra. Take it."

I leaned up, gave him a big kiss, clutched the paratha, and yelled, "Bye, Papa! Love you!"

I was practically flying out of the apartment door.

Thankfully, a cab appeared instantly—it was a sign! I had thirty minutes left.

Fifteen minutes of nail-biting, traffic-dodging later, we screeched to a halt at the airport. I paid the driver, barely pausing for change, and took off running.

Not late!

Thank the stars!

I checked in, grabbed my boarding pass, and finally allowed myself a two-minute rest before it was time to board the plane for the second program of my life. The first one was ages ago, when I was just starting out in the vlogging community.

As I settled into my window seat, I realized the paratha was still warm in my hand. A genuine smile touched my face. Only Papa would force-feed me on the way out the door. I unwrapped it and took a big, grateful bite.

Heaven.

While I was savoring the flaky, buttery goodness, a girl in a red suit with a black mask over her face came down the aisle. She took the seat right beside me.

Well, sharing a seat with a girl is definitely better than being next to some creepy uncle, I thought, quickly finishing the last bite of the paratha.

The air hostess was already announcing for everyone to buckle up. We both reached for the belts, and I noticed she was struggling to get the latch to click. Without thinking, I leaned over and did it for her.

"T-thank you," she mumbled, her voice surprisingly sweet and gentle.

"You're welcome," I replied, giving her a small nod.

And that was it.

We didn't exchange any more words. She immediately opened a book, completely absorbed, and I leaned my head against the cool window, happily getting lost in my own endless imagination as the plane began.

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A ragged breath of relief escaped me, a sound I barely recognized. We were about to touch down in Mumbai, and honestly, it couldn’t come fast enough.

Why do you always trouble us, Baccha?

I've spoiled her, I know I have.

Completely.

After our parents died—Mom and Dad—it fell to me to take care of her. Her studies, her dreams, every little thing, I put it all first. She was my only responsibility, my world.

But today... today she’s disappointed her brother.

Terribly.

I'm furious, simmering with a hard, sharp anger, but it's tangled up with a deep, heavy sadness. The worst of it is that she didn’t even tell me.

Not a word.

I was lost in the chaotic noise of my thoughts when Anupam appeared beside me, his voice cutting through the mental fog.

“Rawal, we’ve arrived.”

I turned my head slowly, offered no reply, and simply stood up.

We landed directly at the penthouse helipad, and from there, it was straight into the car to head to the airport. I’d already had my team check the college event chart—nothing.

Zero events listed. So why is she here? And to make matters worse, she came all by herself.

Anupam spoke again, his tone clipped and efficient. “Rawal, the Princess’s flight landed two minutes ago.”

I just nodded, my jaw tight.

All I want is to look her in the eye and ask why. Why did you come all this way, alone, without a single word to me, your brother?

The fury is a hot spike in my chest, but the worry is a cold knot in my stomach. She’s so little. No matter how old she gets, how much she grows, she will always be my baby sister.

We lost our parents when she was just one, and I was twelve. Since that day, she's been my sole focus.

I raised  her.

The car’s brakes squealed, pulling me out of the past. We had arrived.

I flung the door open abruptly and stepped out, my men immediately forming a tight, protective perimeter around me.

We moved fast, heading straight into the terminal. Everyone was staring, of course. Heads turned, people stopped talking. I didn't give a damn about them. My focus was locked on one person only.

We pushed forward, and that’s when I saw the crowd. A tight cluster of people gathering, murmuring in low, judgmental tones.

“Did you see the audacity of that girl?”

“These kinds of girls are all the same, no manners.”

“Honestly, such ill-mannered behavior.”

“She couldn't even manage a single 'sorry' to the man.”

I narrowed my eyes, the cold dread intensifying. What was happening here?

As I proceeded toward the commotion, someone crashed into me.

A girl.

She didn't stop. Didn't apologize. Didn't even look back. She just ran, muttering to herself, though loud enough for me to catch the words: “Bhaii, I got today’s content!”

What the Hell—

A crazy woman. Absolutely mad.