CHAPTER THREE: INSIDE THE WALLS

The mansion was quiet, but never silent.

Amrita walked through the sandstone halls escorted by a guard who neither spoke nor looked at her. The air smelled of rose water and something older—earth, stone, control. Paintings of forgotten kings lined the walls, their eyes following her, their swords raised in frozen approval of whoever ruled this fortress now.

She didn't know why Thakur had allowed her to stay. Curiosity, maybe. Or arrogance. But since that public exchange in the square, he had offered her a guest room and unrestricted access to the haveli—"See everything," he'd said. "Judge for yourself."

So she did.

And that's how she found herself in the eastern wing, face-to-face with one of the women.

The woman was in her late twenties. Graceful, alert. Dressed in a soft blue saree, anklets silent against the marble. She was painting on silk, a miniature of a scene from the Mahabharata. Amrita had expected broken eyes, bruises, bitterness. What she saw instead was… peace. Maybe even contentment.

"You're not from here," Amrita said, breaking the silence.

The woman smiled faintly. "Neither are you."

"May I sit?"

The woman nodded. "Of course. I'm Leela."

They sat facing each other. A soft breeze rustled the curtains. No guards hovered. No eyes intruded. For now, it was just them.

"Do you want to be here?" Amrita asked.

Leela dipped her brush in saffron pigment. "You think we're prisoners."

"I think it's complicated."

Leela laughed softly. "That's the first honest answer I've heard from an outsider."

"So? Are you?"

Leela paused. "No. We're not forced. Not in the way people imagine. Thakur doesn't touch anyone unless she chooses him first. He waits."

Amrita frowned. "You mean… every woman here initiated it?"

"Yes," Leela said simply. "He believes women choose their chaos. He doesn't chase. He offers. And many of us… we took it."

"Why?"

"Because he sees you completely. Your talent, your potential, your pain. He listens. Then he decides where you belong. Some of us needed escape. Some needed purpose. Some… just needed to feel important."

Amrita leaned forward. "Do you love him?"

Leela smiled. "You're asking the wrong question. The right question is: does he love any of us?"

"And does he?"

Leela looked out the window. "He says love is too soft for the times we live in. That the empire must come first."

Amrita let that sit. "Has he ever fathered children?"

"No," Leela said. "He's careful. He says it's not time."

"Not time?"

"He believes conflict is coming. That his rule, this peace—it won't last unless he evolves. He talks about war, pandemics, systems collapsing. He says children would be a weakness. For now."

"And you're all okay with that?"

"We didn't come here to be mothers," Leela said, eyes sharp. "We came here to matter."

Amrita felt a strange chill at those words. We came here to matter. What does that say about the world they left behind?

Later that night, Thakur called for her.

He was in the courtyard, feeding his hawk raw meat from a silver tray. He looked up as she approached.

"So," he said. "Spoken to Leela?"

"She admires you."

"She's smarter than most bureaucrats I've met."

"You don't force women," Amrita said, watching him closely.

He raised an eyebrow. "You sound disappointed."

"No," she said slowly. "But it makes everything… more dangerous."

"Because it's chosen?"

"Because it's seductive."

He smiled, a little too knowingly. "Chaos always is."

She folded her arms. "You've created a strange ecosystem here. Power balanced by obedience. Fear balanced by loyalty. And now I hear you're planning… what? Immortality?"

He paused. Then gestured for her to follow.

They walked through the courtyard, past the training grounds, and into an old servant's quarters now guarded by a biometric lock. The door slid open.

Inside was nothing like the rest of the haveli.

Clean lines. Steel. LED panels. A sterile lab with humming machines, chemical shelves, and young scientists in white coats. At the far end, a large digital display tracked biomarkers and genome edits.

Amrita blinked. "This is…"

"My quiet project," he said. "Longevity. Regenerative medicine. Neural backups. The works."

"And no government oversight?"

He laughed. "They wouldn't understand it, even if they tried. And I've already paid for their blindness."

"These people—"

"Graduates of IIT, AIIMS, global programs. I found them, backed them, protected them. They work here free from fear of funding cuts, bureaucratic delays, or ideology."

"And what happens if they say no to you?"

"They won't," he said calmly. "They believe in this. Or at least in me."

Amrita stood silent, watching the glowing interface of cell replication progress on the screen.

"Do you really think you'll live forever?" she asked.

"I think I'll live long enough," he said, "to outlast the storm that's coming. And to shape what comes after."

"And what about the rest of us?"

He turned to her, eyes steady.

"You have a choice," he said. "You can try to bring me down. Or you can study me."

She didn't answer.

Because part of her, deep and quiet, didn't want to bring him down. Not yet.

Something about him pulled at her. Not in love. Not even trust. But in fascination. In the raw, terrifying gravity of a man who didn't beg for power—he built it, brick by brick, mind by mind.

She told herself it was research.

She told herself it was strategy.

But part of her, the part that no degree could silence, was drawn to him. To the danger. To the discipline. To the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was right about some things.

And that scared her more than anything.

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