Rain had a way of finding its way into Rudraksh Singh's memories.

It was raining the day he met Siara.

It was raining the day he lost her.

And it was raining the day he learned what betrayal felt like.

Once, Rudraksh had been a man who believed in warmth. His empire was smaller than - just a few construction projects in a city that still didn't know his name. But his dreams were colossal, and his heart was foolish enough to trust people. Siara had been his anchor in that storm of ambition. She had believed in him before the world did, holding his hand when deals failed, cooking for him in a cramped kitchen when he worked through the night, teasing him when he forgot to shave before meetings.

She was his love. His compass. His only softness.

Then, life shifted - cruelly, without warning. Siara pregnancy had been both a joy and a test. The birth of their son, Reyansh, was supposed to be the beginning of something beautiful. Instead, fate took Siara away within months. No disease, no time to prepare - just a sudden, merciless end. The warmth in Rudraksh's life extinguished in an instant.

And that wasn't the only blow.

In those fragile months after her death, when grief made his edges raw, the one person he had trusted most in business - his childhood friend and partner, Kabir Malhotra - betrayed him. Documents forged, funds siphoned, a hostile takeover attempt that almost cost Rudraksh everything. Kabir had stood beside him at his wedding. He had held Reyansh in his arms. And still, he sold him out for profit.

That was the day something inside Rudraksh broke - not loudly, but with the quiet finality of a snapped chain. He clawed his way back from the brink, fought off Kabir's schemes, rebuilt his empire from ashes, and in the process, stripped his life of anything unnecessary. Trust was a luxury. Love was a liability. Friendship was a fairy tale.

Now, years later, Rudraksh Singh was no longer a man - he was a fortress.

The morning sun filtered through the glass walls of his penthouse, but Rudraksh's routine didn't change with the seasons. At 4:30 a.m., he was already awake, his breath steady in meditation. Silence was the only place he allowed his mind to soften - and even then, it was controlled, calculated.

At 6:00, he was in the gym, muscles taut, eyes fixed on the mirror. He wasn't building strength for vanity; he was building it for endurance. Life had taught him that the strongest didn't survive - the most unbreakable did.

The rest of the household moved cautiously, as if the marble floors might crack under their steps. Every staff member respected the rules: no unnecessary chatter, no delays, no mistakes. In his world, efficiency was law.

Except for Reyansh

At 6:30 sharp, the sound of small feet shattered the stillness. Rudraksh’s son came charging into the room, a burst of colour in his dinosaur pyjamas, hair tousled from sleep.

“Papa!”

The transformation was instant. The hard lines of Rudraksh’s face softened. He crouched to catch the little boy, lifting him easily.

“What’s this?” Rudraksh asked as Reyansh proudly showed him a drawing — a messy tangle of crayon lines that, in the boy’s mind, was a spaceship.

“It’s for us,” Reyansh said, eyes wide. “We’re going to space together!”

Rudraksh chuckled — a rare, quiet laugh. “I’ll have to check my schedule, Commander,” he said, playing along.

In Reyansh's presence, the steel in Rudraksh melted into something else entirely. The boy didn’t know about betrayal. He didn’t understand why his father never spoke of love. To Reyansh, Rudraksh wasn’t a feared businessman or a guarded soul — he was simply Papa, the man who listened to dinosaur facts at breakfast and let him “help” choose his tie for the day.

At the Singh Global Enterprises headquarters, however, the mask returned. The moment Rudraksh entered, the air tightened. Employees sat straighter, and voices dropped.

In the boardroom, he listened more than he spoke — and when he spoke, people listened. His words carried the weight of someone who had fought wars both in the market and in life.

That day, a young executive tried to sugarcoat a failing project. Rudraksh’s gaze locked on him — not angry, just cold. “Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear,” he said evenly. “Tell me the truth, or I will find it myself.”

Meetings, deals, negotiations — he moved through them like a general on a battlefield. Every handshake was calculated. Every promise had terms. He gave nothing for free.

The world had learned long ago: Rudraksh Singh did not forget. And he never forgave twice.

By evening, when the city lights glittered against the skyline, Rudraksh returned home. The penthouse was quiet except for the sound of Reyansh's laughter. He was in the living room, building a tower out of toy blocks, his nanny watching from a distance.

“Papa, come see!” Reyansh called.

Rudraksh removed his jacket, setting it neatly on a chair before walking over. Reyansh Tower leaned precariously, but the boy’s face was lit with pride.

“Careful,” Rudraksh said, steadying the blocks with one large hand.

“See? Together it’s stronger!” Reyansh beamed.

For a heartbeat, Rudraksh froze. Together, it’s stronger.

The words echoed in his mind — the very thing he had once believed before life taught him otherwise.

That night, after was Reyansh was asleep, Rudraksh sat in his study. On the wall beside his desk hung a framed photograph of Siara, her smile as vivid as the day it was taken. Beside Reyansh's latest crayon masterpiece — two stick figures holding hands.

He stared at them both, the weight of years pressing against his chest.

He had been betrayed. He had lost love. He had become strong enough to never need anyone.

But as he looked at his son’s crooked drawing, he realized one truth he couldn’t escape:

Strength had kept him alive.

But love — the pure, uncorrupted kind — still lived in the shape of a little boy’s smile.

“Rudra,” she began softly, her voice breaking the quiet of his study. “Your son asked me something today.”

Rudraksh turned, his jaw tightening. “What did he ask?”

She hesitated, then said gently, “He asked me why he doesn’t have a mother. He said… he wants one. For his birthday.”

The words struck like a blade. Rudraksh closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, as if steadying himself against an old wound. “He has me,” he said finally, his voice heavy.

“Yes,” his mother agreed, stepping closer. “But a child needs more than a father’s strength. He needs a mother’s love, Rudra. You’ve given him everything — discipline, comfort, protection. But you can not give him what only a mother can.”

Rudraksh stared at the floor, silent. Memories of Meera flickered in his mind — her laughter, her touch, her warmth. No one could replace her. No one should.

“I will not let another woman step into her place,” he said firmly.

His mother’s voice softened, yet carried unshakable resolve. “This is not about replacing Siara. No one can. This is about Reyansh. He is growing, Rudra. He watches, he learns. He sees what other children have, and he feels what he doesn’t. Do not let your pain become his emptiness.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. Finally, Rudraksh’s gaze lifted to the wall — where Reyansh's crooked crayon drawing of two stick figures still hung. Papa and me. And today, for the first time, Reyansh had drawn a third figure beside them. A woman.

His chest tightened. Reyansh’s wish. His only wish.

Rudraksh’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “If this is what my son wants… then I will give it to him. As I always have.”

His mother’s eyes glistened with relief. She placed a hand on his arm, whispering, “This time, Rudra, don’t just give your son a gift. Give yourself a chance, too.”

But Rudraksh looked away, his face carved from stone. For him, this decision was not about love. Love had died with Siara. This was about Reyansh — and for Reyansh, he would move mountains, even if it meant walking back into the fire he had sworn to avoid.