---

The palace had Wi-Fi in every wing, but that didn’t mean connection was easy.

Aarohi scrolled through her phone, her screen lighting up with notifications—press mentions, charity proposals, event invites. Still nothing from Aviraj.

She sighed, setting the phone down beside the untouched coffee.

He hadn’t replied to even one of her five messages since morning.

Downstairs, the sound of an engine revving echoed through the courtyard. A sleek black SUV with tinted windows pulled in—Aviraj, stepping out in a crisp black kurta, phone pressed to his ear, voice clipped.

“Don’t let that consignment cross Jaipur bypass. Samjhe? Agar police ne haath lagaya, toh sab khatam.”

Aarohi watched him from the first-floor corridor. He hadn’t seen her. Or maybe he had and just didn’t stop.

---

Later, she walked into the royal meeting hall where the ministers waited. She was fifteen minutes early. He was twenty minutes late.

When he finally arrived, his eyes were bloodshot—whether from lack of sleep or too much rage, she couldn’t tell.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to the room.

To her? Nothing.

---

That night, Aarohi sat on the sofa in their private lounge. A candle flickered between them. The silence grew heavy, almost sacred.

“Aaj bhi late kyun aaye?” she asked softly, not accusing—just aching.

Aviraj didn’t look up from his phone. “Kaam tha.”

“Kaam ya… kuch aur?” Her voice cracked slightly.

He didn’t answer. Just stood and walked toward the balcony, taking a call before whispering into it.

“Naye banda kaun hai? Check karo uske record. Mujhe nahi chahiye koi gadbad ab.”

Aarohi felt it—that slow descent of distance. The kind that didn’t begin with a fight, but with neglect.

---

Elsewhere, in a downtown warehouse cloaked in shadows, Aviraj’s other life stirred. Gunmetal cases. Maps. Men with names that didn’t exist on any record.

A laptop screen blinked to life, showing a face.

The enemy.

A rival who knew Aarohi’s past. And who had sent that letter.

Aviraj leaned in. Jaw clenched.

“Woh meri zindagi ka hissa chhoo bhi nahi sakta.”

But he didn’t know.

The enemy already had.

---

Back in her room, Aarohi opened her messages again.

Nothing.

And in the notes app of her phone, she wrote a line she would never send:

“Aapke saath toh hoon… par aapke paas nahi.”

The palace clock struck 11.

Aarohi sat curled on the sofa, a soft shawl draped over her shoulders, eyes fixed on the empty doorway. Again, he was late.

No call. No message.

Her phone buzzed once. She grabbed it—but it was only a news alert. Another raid in the city outskirts. Unregistered arms. No suspects caught.

She didn’t need names to know who was involved.

The door finally creaked open.

Aviraj entered, hair tousled, jacket slung lazily over his shoulder. His eyes flicked to her for barely a second before he walked straight to the bathroom.

“Dinner thanda ho gaya,” she said softly.

“Main kha chuka hoon,” came the muffled reply.

Silence. Heavy, persistent silence.

He stepped out, drying his face with a towel. “Tum kyun jaag rahi ho?”

Aarohi turned her eyes away. “Shayad… kisi ka intezaar kar rahi thi.”

That made him pause. But only for a second.

“Tumhe yeh sab cheezein samajhni chahiye, Aarohi. Yeh kaam simple nahi hai.”

His voice was firm, final.

“Simple?” Her voice trembled now. “Main simple nahi chahti thi… par yeh zindagi kya hai, Aviraj? Humsafar ho ya sirf ek aur rishta jisme main akeli hoon?”

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Main yeh sab tumhare liye hi kar raha hoon.”

“Main paisa nahi chahti, na taqat. Mujhe sirf tumhara waqt chahiye.” Her eyes welled up. “Main sirf tumhe chaahti hoon.”

Aviraj’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

He picked up his phone, walked to the balcony, and made another call—just like he always did.

Aarohi sat there, feeling like a ghost in her own marriage.

---

Two Hours Earlier

Rajmata Ranjana Devi stood on the palace terrace, the wind teasing her silver strands. Her sharp eyes watched Aviraj’s car speed through the royal gates.

A maid approached quietly. “Rajmata ji, thand lag jaayegi.”

She shook her head. “Zyada thand andar hai, beta… dil mein.”

She looked down at the gardens where Aarohi used to sit with a sketchbook and smile. Now those benches gathered only fallen leaves.

“This girl is slipping away from us,” Rajmata murmured. “Like her mother once did.”

The maid hesitated. “Aarohi rani toh sab samajh rahi hain.”

“Samajh rahe hain sab,” Rajmata said, voice heavy with memory. “Lekin chup rehna bhi ek azaar hota hai. Ek din, woh chup cheezein cheekhne lagenge.”

She looked at the moon and sighed.

“Rishton ka sach wahi hota hai jo unke beech bola jata hai. Aur yahan toh dono chup hain…”

---

Later That Night

Aarohi slipped into Aviraj’s private office while he slept. She didn’t mean to spy—but something felt… wrong.

A drawer was slightly open. A folder inside bore an unfamiliar crest.

Inside: land documents, photos… and a list of names.

One name stood out.

Her father’s.

Still alive.

Linked to a 15-year-old betrayal.

She shut the folder quickly, heart pounding. She had only found a half-truth.

But suddenly, she didn’t know if she could trust her husband with even that.

---

The Next Morning

As the sun rose, Aarohi walked quietly out of their room. Aviraj stirred but didn’t stop her.

She stood near the garden steps and whispered to herself:

“Mujhe bas ek saadi si zindagi chahiye thi… jahan tum sirf mere hote, aur main sirf tumhari.”

Behind her, Rajmata watched silently from her chamber window.

And this time, she wept—not just for the granddaughter-in-law—but for history she had hoped wouldn’t repeat.

Here’s Chapter 16 of Shadows of the Crown, continuing the tension and emotional unraveling, with Aarohi stepping toward uncovering the truth and Aviraj confronting his dark side while sensing the widening gap between them.

---

The first light of dawn spilled softly through the palace windows, but Aarohi’s mind was far from the peaceful morning.

She sat at her vanity, her fingers trembling slightly as she reread the papers she had glimpsed the night before. Her father’s name, the betrayal, the secrets hidden beneath layers of royal blood and mafia ties. How much was true? How much was kept from her?

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Aviraj:

“Meeting moved to 3 PM. Don’t wait for me at lunch.”

She stared at the screen, the coldness of the words settling like a stone in her chest.

---

Later, Aarohi found herself in the palace’s hidden archives, the place where old records slept. She needed answers—and maybe, a way to save the man she loved from the darkness swallowing him whole.

The door creaked. Startled, she turned to see Rajmata Ranjana Devi.

“You’re digging where you shouldn’t, beta,” the elder said softly but firmly. “Some stones are better left unturned.”

“I have to know, Rajmata ji,” Aarohi replied, voice steady. “For myself. For him.”

The Rajmata sighed, her eyes filled with ancient pain. “The past is a shadow, Aarohi. It can protect you, or it can drown you.”

---

Meanwhile, in a sleek glass-walled conference room downtown, Aviraj sat surrounded by his men—his dark world pressing in on every side.

“Time is running out,” he snapped, slamming his fist on the table. “If we lose the north route, we lose everything.”

One of the lieutenants spoke cautiously, “Sir, the police are tightening the net. The rival families are getting bolder.”

Aviraj’s jaw clenched. “Then it’s time to remind them who rules this city.”

His phone vibrated again—a message from Aarohi: “Please come home early.”

He looked up, the hardness in his eyes softening for a moment.

But the call of the underworld was relentless.

---

That evening, at the palace, Aarohi waited in the dimly lit hall. When Aviraj finally appeared, exhaustion shadowed his face.

She stepped forward, voice low but firm.

“Tum mujhe door kyun kar rahe ho? Agar tum chaahte ho ki main tumhare saath rahoon, toh mujhe apni zindagi mein bulao, Aviraj.”

He looked at her, torn. “Mujhe maaf karo, Aarohi. Main tumhe nahi khona chahta.”

“But you’re losing me already,” she whispered.

The distance between them was no longer just physical—it was a chasm of secrets and silence.

---

Later that night, Aarohi sat alone in the garden, the moonlight casting silver patterns on the marble floor.

She pulled out her phone and typed a single sentence:

“I will find the truth, with or without you.”

And somewhere, in the shadows, Aviraj’s enemies smiled.

---