Dưới đây là phiên bản mở rộng – viết lại hoàn chỉnh, giữ nguyên tên nhân vật, bối cảnh Ấn Độ, thêm mở đầu – cao trào – cú twist trọn vẹn – kết cục mạnh, văn phong giống các bài viral drama bạn đang làm.
He Beat His Pregnant Wife to Impress His Mistress — He Never Knew Her Three CEO Brothers Were the Ones Who Built His Empire
In Delhi’s elite Vasant Vihar, the Khanna residence was known for two things: luxury and silence.
Too much silence.
On the night everything changed, the marble floors gleamed, the chandeliers sparkled, and the scent of imported wine filled the air. The house looked perfect—curated, staged, and lifeless.
At seven months pregnant, Mira Khanna had mastered one skill above all else.
Breathing quietly.
Silent breathing—Vikram Khanna didn’t snap at that.
Silent breathing—it didn’t irritate him.
Silent breathing—it kept her alive.
She had learned that the hard way.
Tonight, she knew he was entertaining someone important. The crystal wine glasses aligned with military precision told her everything.
On the leather sofa sat Rhea Malhotra—polished, expensive, bored. She scrolled through her phone as if she owned the house, as if Mira were nothing more than part of the décor.
Vikram stood near the kitchen island, rolling a metal gardening rod between his fingers.
It was never meant for plants.
“You embarrassed me today,” Vikram said calmly, his tone almost gentle. “You looked miserable when Rhea arrived.”
Mira’s hand moved instinctively to her belly.
The baby kicked.
“I’m tired,” she whispered. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
Rhea let out a soft laugh, eyes still on her screen.
“Pregnancy isn’t an illness,” she said lazily. “Women work till the ninth month.”
Vikram’s jaw clenched.
“You hear that?” he said, eyes dark. “Even she understands.”
Mira stepped back.
Vikram stepped forward.
The first strike landed on her arm—not hard, but precise.
A warning.
Mira cried out and grabbed the table to stay upright.
“Apologize,” Vikram said.
“For what?” she whispered.
The second strike slammed into her shoulder.
Harder.
This time, Rhea finally looked up.
“Oh please,” she said coolly. “Don’t act like a victim. You’re still standing.”
Something inside Mira cracked.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But completely.
Her mind drifted—not to pain, not to fear—but to three faces she hadn’t seen in years.
Her brothers.
Arjun Khanna, the eldest—chairman of Khanna Global Infrastructure.
Karan Khanna, ruthless CEO of Khanna FinTech.
Neel Khanna, the quiet one—head of a multinational pharmaceutical empire.
Men whose names moved markets.
Men she had cut off the day she married Vikram.
Because Vikram had said, “I don’t want your brothers controlling our life.”
She had believed love required sacrifice.
Vikram raised the rod again.
“Apologize,” he repeated.
Mira didn’t.
The third strike knocked her to the floor.
She curled around her belly, sobbing, her vision swimming.
Rhea stood up, annoyed.
“This is getting uncomfortable,” she muttered. “Control your wife.”
And that was the moment Mira stopped surviving.
With shaking fingers, she reached for her phone.
Emergency contact.
The name that lit up the screen wasn’t Vikram’s.
It was Arjun.
The call connected instantly.
Arjun didn’t say a word.
He heard the rod hit flesh.
He heard his sister’s sob.
He heard a man shouting orders.
Then—silence.
The call ended.
Vikram froze.
“What did you just do?” he asked slowly.
Mira lifted her head. Tears streaked her face—but her eyes were clear.
“I stopped protecting you.”
Vikram laughed nervously.
“You think your brothers can scare me?” he scoffed. “Everything I have—I built myself.”
He was wrong.
THE TWIST
Within 48 hours, Vikram’s life began to collapse.
His biggest investor pulled out—no explanation.
His bank accounts were frozen pending investigation.
A government audit flagged his company for fraud he didn’t even know existed.
Rhea stopped answering his calls.
By day three, news channels were running headlines:
“KHANNA INDUSTRIES UNDER INVESTIGATION — CEO QUESTIONED FOR FINANCIAL MISCONDUCT”
Vikram stormed into his office—only to find his name removed from the board directory.
Waiting inside the conference room were three men.
Arjun.
Karan.
Neel.
Calm.
Immaculate.
Unsmiling.
Arjun finally spoke.
“You hit our sister.”
Vikram stammered. “This—this is a misunderstanding—”
Karan slid a file across the table.
“Your loans?” he said coldly. “Underwritten by our companies.”
Neel added quietly, “Your suppliers? Ours.”
Arjun leaned forward.
“You didn’t build your empire, Vikram,” he said softly.
“We let you borrow it.”
Security escorted Vikram out.
In handcuffs.
THE END
Mira woke up in a private hospital room.
Arjun sat beside her bed.
“You should have called sooner,” he said gently.
She smiled weakly. “I thought I was strong enough.”
He shook his head.
“You never had to be.”
Weeks later, Mira filed for divorce.
Vikram went to prison—for domestic violence, financial fraud, and corporate crimes that had always existed, waiting to be uncovered.
Rhea vanished the moment the money did.
Mira moved into a quiet seaside home in Goa, surrounded by family.
One evening, as she held her newborn son, Arjun asked softly,
“What should we name him?”
Mira smiled.
“Survivor,” she said.
“Because he lived.”
And somewhere behind prison walls, Vikram finally understood:
Hurting Mira wasn’t a mistake.
It was the end of everything.