Todos os capítulos de The mute Bride of the mafia king : Capítulo 61 - Capítulo 70

🩷 ✨ The night was eerily still when Avyaan returned to the mansion. The air carried the faint scent of rain, and the moon hung low, casting pale shadows over the marble floors. It was close to midnight when he stepped inside, the heavy door clicking shut behind him. His jacket was damp from the mist outside, and his mind was still racing from the meeting he had just left. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his steps silent but purposeful. The house seemed asleep, wrapped in an unnatural quiet. As he pushed open the door to his room, the faint glow of the bedside lamp revealed a sight that made him pause mid-step. Aradhya lay on the bed, but something about her stillness wasn’t right. Her face was damp with sweat, her brows furrowed as though in pain. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. Her fingers clutched at the blanket, knuckles pale, as if she were fighting something unseen. Avyaan’s sharp eyes narrowed. He had seen fear before—on the faces of men he had broken

🩷 ✨ .The evening sun spilled gold across the marble floors as Avyaan pushed open the door to their bedroom. The weight of decisions clung to his shoulders, sharper than the steel of the cufflinks he loosened while stepping in. The scent of jasmine drifted through the air, mingling with the muted hum of the city outside.Aradhya was seated near the window, her back straight, her fingers tracing invisible patterns along the glass. The glow of the lamp behind her bathed her in a soft halo, making her look almost unreal—like a fragile painting come to life. She turned when she sensed him, her eyes calm yet questioning.Avyaan didn’t speak immediately. He stood there for a moment, simply watching her, feeling the quiet pull that always disarmed him. Then he moved closer, his footsteps silent against the plush carpet, until he stood directly in front of her.“I have to tell you something,” he said at last, his voice deep and steady.Her brows lifted slightly, but she didn’t move. Her sil

🩷 ✨ The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Dubai stood like a monument to forgotten dreams, its skeletal structure casting jagged shadows across the desert sand. The building had once been a thriving textile factory, but now it served as a different kind of marketplace—one where bullets were currency and blood sealed contracts.Inside, the air was thick with dust and tension. Shafts of harsh afternoon sunlight cut through broken windows, illuminating particles that danced like ghosts in the suffocating heat. The concrete floor was stained with years of questionable activities, and the walls bore scars from previous negotiations that had gone terribly wrong.At the center of this desolate arena, two groups faced each other across a makeshift table constructed from shipping crates. The atmosphere crackled with the kind of energy that came right before lightning struck—electric, dangerous, and absolutely lethal.Madviper—Avyaan Singh Rajvansh—sat with the casual confidence of a kin

🩷 ✨ It had been two days since Avyaan left for Dubai, and the house already felt emptier without him. The nights were the hardest. She would lie in bed, hugging the pillow he had last used, his scent lingering faintly on it. Every night, without fail, his call would come. Sometimes it was just for a few minutes, other times he would stay on the line until she drifted off to sleep. His voice was deep and tired from the day’s work, but there was always a softness when he said, “Sleep now, baccha. I’m right here.” Those calls were her anchor, but the moment the phone went silent, the loneliness crept in again. This morning was no different. She sat at the breakfast table, quietly stirring her tea without drinking it. Her thoughts wandered to when he might return. Would it be this week? Next? Maybe he’d surprise her and come early. The very idea made her lips curve in a faint smile. But peace was never guaranteed in this house, not when Abhishek and Riya were around. “Bhabhi…” R

🩷 ✨...The Rathore mansion, usually filled with a quiet, dignified stillness, seemed even more unsettling that afternoon. The marble floors reflected the dim light of the chandeliers, while the silence carried an almost sinister weight. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock echoed faintly across the vast halls. Mansi’s eyes, sharp and restless, flickered toward the curving staircase that led to the second floor. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the small brass container filled with oil. The plan had been growing in her mind like a poisonous seed—silent, deadly, and carefully nurtured. She had watched Aradhya for days, studying her every step, every small weakness, waiting for the perfect opportunity. And today, she had found it. Her lips curled in a cold smile as she poured the oil gently along the steps, her eyes darting toward the hallway where Aradhya’s faint shadow appeared. “Let’s see how perfect you still look after this,” Mansi muttered under her breath