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The late afternoon sun hung heavy and golden over the Rathore-Chauhan estate, turning the sprawling garden into a canvas of dappled light and long shadows. Inside the cool, marble-floored study room of Chauhan Haveli, Ranvijay stood by the French windows, a cup of untouched black coffee in his hand. His posture was, as always, one of impeccable control, shoulders straight, expression an unreadable mask of polite detachment. He was listening to his father discuss the new project, but his mind, for once, was not on logistics or profit margins.