If anyone had told Rudraj Khurana that he'd be yanked from his midnight miseries by his brother for a "family emergency", only to end up standing in the middle of the opulent family hall under fairy lights and Netflix-grade candles--he would've slapped them awake.

But here he was, standing stiffly near a plush leather sofa, eyes narrowing in absolute confusion at the two figures arm-in-arm standing before him in the dead center of the room.

"WE'RE MARRIED!" Sarang and Niharika blurted, grinning like lunatics who had just robbed a temple and gotten away with it.

The words shattered the midnight quiet like a firecracker lobbed into a prayer room.

Rudraj blinked once, then again and then dropped into the plush sofa like it was quicksand. The chandelier above seemed to swing slightly in sync with the chaos now unfurling around him.

Rudraj's jaw went slack. "This was the 'emergency'? A pop-up wedding?"

Sarang looked painfully relaxed, while Niharika had a shy-but-smug smile, and that's when he noticed how she was now accessorized with the unmistakable glint of mangalsutra and the hairline filled with sindoor.

From the side, a distinct choking noise echoed--Neerav, mid-sip of his cold coffee--nearly spat the contents across the room. He coughed violently, slapping his chest.

"What the hell?" he spluttered. "Did I just hear that right?"

Niharika raised a brow, feigning insult. "Neerav, is that how you greet newlyweds? Where's the confetti and fake crying?"

"Where's the invitation, woman?" Neerav snapped, then jabbed a finger at Sarang. "You. You mean to tell me I missed a royal wedding and a royal buffet? For what? A WhatsApp message saying 'Come to the villa. It's urgent.'" He swiped an imaginary tear down his cheek. "I had sherwanis ironed for months!"

The room chuckled, but Rudraj who was still digesting the situation like a man who'd just witnessed a public proposal at a funeral, leaned forward. The emotional strain of the earlier moment with Lashika was momentarily pushed aside by the sheer absurdity in front of him. His eyebrows twitched.

"You summoned me here, in the middle of the night, for this?" he muttered. "Raag. My only brother. You skipped the entire wedding. Why? Why the secrecy? Was someone--" he leaned in, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Who's after Nihari now? A secret enemy? A long-lost fiancé?"

Neerav gaped. "No way, Rudr! You think anyone would willingly throw themselves in front of a speeding Metro unless they were as lovesick as puppy Sarang Khurana?"

The newlyweds stood serious. Neerav's eyes widened as he leaned forward. "Oh my God. Is this truly a mafia marriage? Witness protection? Blink twice if there's a crime syndicate involved."

Niharika rolled her eyes and swung a lazy punch at him, but Sarang intercepted it and gave Neerav a tight smack on the back of his head.

"Ow. Moron is moroning again," Neerav mumbled, rubbing the spot.

Neerav wasn't done, he looked between them. "No, but seriously, Raag. You eloped? In white pajamas? From whom? Us?"

Rudraj still wasn't laughing. "Be honest. Everyone knew you two were a couple. So why this cloak and dagger act?" He nudged Sarang with his foot. "What changed?"

Sarang and Niharika exchanged one of those looks--eyes gleaming with mischief and a hint of something unspoken. The kind that hinted there was more unsaid.

"We wanted a change," they said in eerie unison and casualty. "A fresh start."

Neerav scoffed. "You woke me up at 12:03 A.M. for a change? Couldn't you have just dyed your hair or adopted a dog like normal people?"

Rudraj threw up his hands. "Bro, I'm your only brother! Don't I get a dhoti-clad picture opportunity?" he groaned. "Fine. Let it go. At least pretend my blessing matters!"

"Who's the elder here?" Sarang asked smugly.

"You sure don't act like one," Rudraj shot back.

"Exactly." Sarang stretched, wrapping an arm around Niharika. "I live life. You overthink it, Your Majesty, " he shot back with a wink. "Now be a good little brother and handle the shock. Let your big bro enjoy his married life."

Rudraj groaned and sank deeper into the cushions. "Unbelievable. Married in sneakers?! You two really broke every rule."

"Modern problems require comfy solutions," Niharika said sweetly.

Neerav folded his arms, squinting like a judge. "So, you two eloped... for fun?"

Sarang nodded, grinning. "Yep. Love got boring. Now we need a new script. 'Married couple life'. Next chapter."

"A change keeps life fresh, Bro." Niharika added cheekily, throwing a wink Neerav's way. "You wouldn't understand, King's Justice."

Neerav, momentarily reminded of his title, straightened up and quickly adopted his regal tone. "In the name of the King, I must inquire: what now, dear newlyweds? A baby? Or perhaps... an unexpected ex returning from the shadows?"

Rudraj perked up, that suggestion was a bit too on the nose.

At that, Niharika--in a heartwarming twist--dropped her gaze, fingers toying with the drawstrings of her hoodie. She swirled a toe against the marble floor, shy and mischievous in equal measure. "Pati Parameshwar," she whispered theatrically before collapsing into his arms.

Sarang laughed, lifting her slightly off the ground. "Shall we begin production for the next Khurana heir?"

Neerav was frozen. Rudraj lifted both his hands in mock surrender. "Slow down, Bhabhi! We're still recovering from the wedding reveal."

Niharika grinned as if she'd just won a reality show.

"You thought their dating phase was loud?" Rudraj sighed. "Now it's 24x7 PDA." He pointed at Neerav. "You good? Or do you need CPR?"

"You brought your apartment keys this time, or are we sleeping on the balcony again?" Rudraj asked again, getting up by grabbing his car keys and moving toward the main door.

He glanced back at the non-responsive Neerav, "What? Are you planning to melt watching their honeymoon antics?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Neerav blinked rapidly, shaking himself awake from his dreamland.

"Oh hell no! I don't need it," Neerav declared proudly, leaping over a beanbag like an Olympic gymnast. "Kaka loves me more than he loves you. After the balcony incident, I'm always welcome." Then, throwing an arm over Rudraj's shoulder, he announced, "Since they got married without us, let's get married.."

He paused, catching the trio's narrowed eyes.

"I mean... let's party without them!" he corrected hastily.

Rudraj shook his head in mock disappointment. "Too late. The image is burned in my brain!" 

"Bye, lovebirds! May your bed not squeak too loudly!" Neerav called over his shoulder as they headed to the door.

"Get lost!" Niharika laughed out, "Let us sleep in peace, husband and wife style!" She winked and to test their patience, she gave her husband a loud kiss.

"Lunch tomorrow?" Sarang added, pulling her into a tight loving side-hug.

"Sure, if you don't spring a baby announcement on us next," Rudraj muttered.

Neerav gave Niharika a mock bow. " Since Bhabhi is staying here, we should be there!" he exclaimed, pointing at the exit like a man possessed. "For the sake of our sanity."

He turned, only to get a flying cushion to the back of his head. "Ow!"

"Goodbye traitors!" Rudraj hissed as they exited into the hallway.

The laughter didn't stop echoing behind them. For all the chaos, betrayal, and a missing wedding cake--it was still home. Still family.

As Rudraj stepped out of the villa, the night air met him like a silent witness to everything left unsaid. A content, almost wistful smile curved at the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. Once, not so long ago, he'd dreamt of being like his brother--carefree, untouched by tragedy, gliding through life with laughter on tongue and no scars weighing down his soul. That version of himself now felt like a myth. A cruel illusion.

And the only woman he'd ever imagined building that forgotten dream with--his Lash--was now a ghost haunting the spaces between his ribs. Her silence, her secrets, the sharp edge of her betrayal... all of it left him hollowed out in places no one could see. Would things have been different if he'd confessed sooner, before everything fell apart?

Would they ever be whole again? Could they?

The question wasn't new, but tonight it gripped tighter than before, coiling around his chest like a noose. It was the kind of question that didn't need answering, because hope--what little was left of it--was suffocated the moment he'd walked away from her. He hadn't even looked back. Not once. She'd had more to say--he could feel it in the tremor of her silence, the crack in her breath--but he was afraid.

Afraid of what her truth might do to him. What if he heard it and shattered beyond repair? What if he hated her? What if the pain she carried--the one tied to the night his world collapsed--was something unforgivable?

The thought of drowning in that ocean of regret was unbearable.

He made his way toward the car, the weight of those pressing down like a second skin. The scene of him storming out of his apartment looped relentlessly in his mind. He hadn't slammed the door. He hadn't yelled. But his denial had been final--louder than any goodbye. A choice sealed in fear.

"Rudr, you're heading to my place, right?" Neerav's voice cut through the fog, grounding him for a moment. 

Rudraj nodded, but his gaze stayed distant, caught somewhere between and consequence. 

"Then save your fuel, Your Majesty," Neerav declared, already swinging open the passenger door with a theatrical flourish and bow. "You can collect your beloved Jaan tomorrow. Let me be your chauffeur tonight, Your Highness."

The words landed differently--deeper--pulling Rudraj to a halt. For a fraction of second, he stood there, frozen. The familiar ease in Neerav's voice, the teasing tone... it yanked him back into their old rhythm--into a world before secrets and scars. 

Noticing the flicker in Rudraj's expression, Neerav leaned casually against the car, his smirk quick and unruly. "Relax. I know I'm too handsome to be ignored, but you're making it really hard for me to protect your very, very straight image, Your Majesty."

The tension cracked, and Rudraj gave him a firm whack on the back of the head. "Crazy family," he muttered--but the words were laced with affection.

It was these moments, fleeting and unassuming, that tethered him to sanity. Neerav's presence was like a lifeline thrown into a storm. And yet even now, the storm brewed inside him--one that Neerav didn't even know existed.

Because back in his apartment, behind the locked bedroom door, Lashika was alone. And though he told himself she deserved it--for the secrets, for the pain--he couldn't stop the gnawing guilt. Had he left her vulnerable? Had he crossed a line?

And then the weight of it hit him all over again--his parents' brutal deaths, the vengeance buried deep beneath his skin, the truths he'd never dared to speak aloud. If he peeled back the layers, if he truly faced it... would there be anything left of him?

"Rudr, you're zoning out again," Neerav said, voice softened now. A steadying hand found Rudraj's shoulder. "What's going on?"

Rudraj swallowed the lump rising in his throat and forced the mask back into place. The same mask he'd worn for years--smiling, functioning, surviving.

"Lucky's upset," he said, voice light. "I haven't spent much time with him lately."

Neerav chuckled, falling back into their rhythm. "That little beast demands your attention like he owns you. Let Richard handle him tonight. It's way past midnight, and frankly, you look like hell. I'd rather not wake up to news of you driving into a tree or running over a squirrel."

Rudraj rolled his eyes but relented, slipping into the passenger seat with a weary sigh. He texted Richard: Check on Lucky. I won't be returning tonight.

He sighed again, watching Neerav dash around the car with exaggerated enthusiasm, playing the chauffeur.

Moments later, Richard replied with his usual sarcasm: Hike my payment for all the extra chores during my leave, Your Majesty. Lucky's fine. He's done his routine. But he's not happy about being locked out. Did you seriously restrict him?

A smirk tugged at Rudraj's lips: It's past midnight, Royal Chief. Your leave is officially over.

He opened the surveillance app on his phone--only the trusted few had access to his apartment feed. Since Lashika had come into his orbit, he'd tightened every layer of security. Still, curiosity tugged at him, even as he avoided checking the camera inside his room. Her privacy was the only thing he could offer now.

 The feed flickered to life. Richard sat cross-legged in the halfway, scrolling through his phone. Lucky, the stubborn little guardian, was stationed by the bedroom door, pawing at it with soft whines. Eventually, the pup gave up and slumped down, resting his head on the floor. Richard reached out and rubbed his fur in comfort, both of them visibly defeated.

Rdraj's chest ached with feeling unnameable.

Maybe Lucky wasn't ready to hate her. Maybe... neither was he.

"Is the little beast protesting again?" Neerav asked, catching the faint smile.

"As usual." Rudraj replied, but the words hung heavier this time.

Neerav laughed, "He's more possessive than his size can justify. The damn creature hates me just for standing too close to you."

And yet, in that car filled with easy banter, Rudraj couldn't shake the shadows pooling in his chest. He couldn't afford to be selfish, not when he was tangled up in this mess of revenge. Neerav--his best friend, his constant, the King's Justice--was the only one who truly understood him. And yet, even Neerav didn't know everything.

Especially not about Lashika.

The chapter of Rudraj's life was closed to everyone except Lucky. The dog had become more than a companion--he was the silent keeper of Rudraj's truths. In many ways, Rudraj leaned more on Neerav than he ever had on his own brother. Maybe it's because he didn't want to strip his brother of that childlike cheerfulness, the part that reminded him of who he used to be. 

Maybe because Neerav never tried to fix him. He simply stayed. Listened. Distracted him. Anchored him.

He never judged.

But the fear was real--if he revealed what he was caught in, would he lose even Neerav? The last thread holding him together?

Neerav questioned Rudraj's silence. "Hey, you need to talk?"

"I'm good," Rudraj said quietly. "Just tired. My brother... he isn't just mine anymore."

Neerav didn't respond immediately. He glanced sideways, suspicion in his gaze, but didn't press. "You're fooling no one, Rudr. But I'll wait. Just don't make me drag it out of you."

The silence stretched. Not cold. Not accusing. Just... patient.

Rudraj reached out and turned on the radio, leaning his head back against the seat, feigning indifference. But inside, he was fraying.

Neerav let it go--for now. Because he knew Rudraj. Eventually, the silence would break. But if he only knew the truth clawing beneath his friend's calm, he'd understand: Rudraj wasn't just keeping secrets.

He was becoming one.

The city lights stretched like blurred ribbons across the windshield as Neerav drove in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Rudraj leaned back in his seat, the weight of fatigue pulling at him, but his mind stayed restless, shifting between memories and regrets. The quiet wasn't awkward--it was familiar. Comfortable, even. But something in the air tonight felt different. Fragile.

 And then, without warning, Rudraj broke the silence. His voice was low, almost hesitant, like he was asking something he wasn't sure he had the right to.

"Don't you remember your Ashi?"

The words dropped like a stone in still water.

Neerav's hands instinctively tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles paling. For a moment, his focus faltered, eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to clear a vision that wasn't on the road but in his mind--something distant, buried, locked away for too long.

"My Ashi?"he repeated, voice distant, hollow. It came out more like a question to himself than to Rudraj, as if the name had awakened something he wasn't ready to face. His breathing shifted, chest rising with the kind of weight that didn't belong to the present moment.

Regret struck Rudraj instantly. He hadn't meant to stir what was clearly sealed shut with too much effort, with countless hospital visits. He turned slightly in his seat, eyes on Neerav now--not as the Justice of the King, not as man who could joke through war, but as the friend he had always known was hiding a fracture just beneath his effortless grin.

"I shouldn't have--" Rudraj began, his voice soft, guilt rising. 

But Neerav didn't respond immediately. He was still caught somewhere else. Somewhere darker. His lips parted slightly, but no words followed. Just the sound of his breath--uneven, strained. His usual composure had slipped.

A subtle gasp left him. He didn't realize it until it passed.

Trying to salvage the moment, Rudraj forced levity into his voice. "Let's treat the newlyweds tomorrow," he offered, trying to drag them both back to safer shores.

It worked--barely. Neerav blinked hard, like he was shaking off a dream. Or a nightmare. He swallowed, jaw tightening, trying to force the creeping ache back down where it had always lived.

Rudraj noticed. He noticed everything. But he didn't press. He couldn't.

"How about we buy them some common sense?" Rudraj added quickly, injecting his words with a wry smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Neerav let out a breath--part relief, part ache--and managed a laugh. Not a real one, not the kind that reached down to his ribs, but it was enough to hold the moment together.

"Why waste common sense," he said, voice still rough around the edges, "on people who marry for 'a change'?"

Their laughter, hollow at first, slowly gained rhythm. The banter came back like muscle memory, an old tune they both knew how to hum even with broken voices. And in that borrowed levity, the tension began to thin--but not disappear.

Because behind Neerav's smile still lingered a trace of something he never talked about. And Rudraj knew better than to push further. He'd seen it--the flicker in Neerav's eyes, the brief unraveling. That single name--Ashi--had cracked something that wasn't meant to be touched.

But the damage was done.

And as the cityscape shifted around them, and their laughter faded into quiet hums and half-meant jokes, both men sat with truths they hadn't yet dared to say aloud. 

Some names were tombstones.

Some silences, graves.

And in that car, they carried too many ghosts. 

Neerav hummed to fill the silence; Rudraj stared at the moon--once his sun, now a reminder of how light can turn cold.

He still didn't know if she had any truth to tell. But betrayal had already changed the way he looked at her.

Hadn't it?

Lashika hadn't moved from where he'd left her.

The silence in the room was crushing, the kind that presses against your chest until even breathing feels like trespassing. Rudraj's words still echoed like shards of glass against her ribs, cutting deeper with every repetition.

He hadn't listened. Again.

Her side of the story remained unspoken, swallowed by his anger and the storm of grief neither of them knew how to navigate. She hadn't expected forgiveness, but she had hoped--just once--that he'd ask why. That he'd give her chance.

But he walked out, his denial evident in shutting the door behind him, leaving her sealed in a room that somehow felt both like a sanctuary and a prison.

Seeking distraction to ground her turbulent thoughts, her gaze flicked toward the floor-to-ceiling glass door cloaked in heavy curtains. The space behind it promised something--maybe a breath of air, a silver of stillness. Maybe even an escape. She rose slowly, her limbs heavy, her movements automatic, and pulled the curtain aside.

The balcony door slid open with a soft click. 

Outside, the night met her with unexpected gentleness. A quiet wind swept past, cool against her flushed skin. From this height, the city below shimmered like a spilled constellation--alive, but so far away. Above, the moon hung low, cradled by clouds that drifted like whispers across the sky. It was beautiful--achingly so. The kind of beauty that hurt to look at when your world was falling apart.

She stepped out, barefoot against the cold marble, and let the door fall shut behind her. The chill seeped into her bones, but she didn't care. Her eyes remained on the moon, a solitary witness in the vast dark. It glowed, steady and serene, despite its isolation. Just like him, she thought bitterly. Untouchable. Distant.

Her knees gave away slowly as she sank to the floor, curling in on herself. Her arms wrapped around her legs, not for warmth, but to hold together the pieces that kept threatening to fall apart. Her back pressed against the glass, as though tying to tether herself to something--anything--that still felt real.

She wasn't just cold. She was empty.

The sweatshirt she wore was too large--yet it felt like a tender caress against her skin, a sense of comfort and protection--its sleeves trailing over her wrists. She tugged at them absently, fingers curling into the fabric. It smelled like him--warm earth and smoke, that faint trace of rain she wished to bury her face into when sleep wouldn't come. She pulled the collar closer to her nose and inhaled deeply, as if she could breath him back to life.

His words replayed in her mind--sharp and clear, more cruel than kind.

If you're ever going to be someone to me, then it will be as my wife.

The words that could had once lit up her world like wildfire. Now, they burned in a different way. Her throat clenched, and a tear slipped down, absorbed by the soft fabric of his sweatshirt. That wasn't the line that haunted her most, though.

You had to choose your stepfather that day, didn't you?

The pain behind those words had broken something in him--and in her.

Her lips trembled. "I didn't, Rud," she whispered, voice splintering mid-sentence. "I never did..."

But he hadn't stayed long enough to hear it.

Another sob clawed its way out of her, muffled against her sleeve. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the world away. But it didn't stop--the memory of his back turned, the door closing, the echo of everything they could have been if fate hadn't been so cruel.

After seven years, she feared the darkness now. 

Not because of what lurked in it--but because it was familiar. Because it had once been her refuge. Now, it felt like a void waiting to swallow the last flicker of memory she had left of him. His voice. His hand brushing her cheek. The way he used to say her name like it meant something sacred.

She couldn't afford to forget any of it. Not even the pain.

So she clung to the moments--the quiet ones, the soft smiles, the nights when silence between them had been comforting instead of cruel. She clung to the way he once looked at her, not with suspicion or betrayal, but with an aching kind of love she hadn't known how to hold on to. Even if it's all just in my mind, I need to feel him close, to pretend I'm safe in his arms.

She replayed only the tender moments they shared, hugging herself tighter, feeling his lingering presence in the scent of his sweatshirt as she watched the moon. The same moon he might be watching too, somewhere across the city, maybe thinking of her. Or maybe trying not to.

It didn't matter.

Because right now, wrapped in his sweatshirt, pressed against the cold glass of a locked world, she let herself feel him one last time.

As if she could pretend just long enough that he hadn't left.

As if hope--thin and flickering--was still enough to keep her warm.

Richard pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner of the guards' private lift, wincing at the familiar beep as the glass panel slid open. He muttered under his breath, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. "Of course. A classified mission at dawn. Who needs sleep when you're serving the crowned cryptic?"

Rudraj's message had arrived hours earlier--just a few words, typed at an ungodly hour, offering neither explanation nor context. Not even a dramatic pause. Just a command. A king's command.

Richard stepped out into the penthouse floor, the silent opulence of Rudraj's private wing wrapping around him like a veil of secrets. Another glass door slid open, and Lucky padded beside him, tail twitching, ears high. The dog's silent companionship matched the tension in the air.

"Alright, Lucky," Richard sighed, "brace yourself. Either our stoic king is housing a hostage, or... he's finally caved and charmed someone to be his woman. After all, the charm is dazzling to reject."

Still the idea of Rudraj with a secret girlfriend made Richard snort. "Not likely. We'll tried. Raag Bhai even bribed him with court-level blackmail to go on that blind date. Neerav practically dragged him into a cafe like it was an ambush. Nothing. Not even a conversation. Straight to," imitated Rudraj, "'I don't entertain distractions.' Stone wall."

Niharika had called them all off eventually. "Respect his walls," she'd said. "He'll open them when he finds the one who makes him want to."

Richard hadn't believed her then. He wasn't sure he believed her now.

So, if Rudraj wasn't entertaining a romance, then this? This had to be something else. Something serious. Something he didn't trust anyone else with. 

He squared his shoulders and marched into the kitchen, Lucky trotting at his side. His hands moved on autopilot, prepping the tray he'd ordered--vegetable soup, flatbread, black coffee and water. No questions asked, because when Rudraj asked something of you, you didn't question. Not if you trusted him. And Richard did.

More than anyone.

With deep breath, he rolled the trolley forward, every step down the hallway feeling like it echoed a little louder, even Lucky trailed behind, just as restless. Approaching the door, he scribbled a note quickly--Rudraj's words, verbatim--then knocked three times and slide the note beneath the door, just as instructed. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he stepped back.

Not in. Never in.

Not unless invited.

"Alright, O Shadow King," he whispered under his breath, "whatever mess you're orchestrating, may it at least come with some decent drama."

And with that, Richard turned, his heart racing with both anticipation and uncertainty--trusting in Rudraj's wisdom--he walked away, leaving behind more than just a food cart. He left behind the beginning of something that, deep down, he sensed would change everything.

Inside, Lashika stirred with a jolt.

Her body tensed instinctively, heart thudding in her chest like it had been trained to fear every sound. The knock--it hadn't been violent. Not like the ones from before. But still, it pulled her from the abyss of dreamless sleep with a force that made her gasp. Her mind spun, trying to piece together fragments of the chaotic events from the night before.

"It's not whips or doses," she whispered to herself, rubbing the sting from her eyes. The mantra was becoming too familiar. 

She glanced at the clock--three hours--she'd actually slept. A miracle, given the last few years.

She pushed herself up slowly, every movement cautious. The silence that followed knock was more chilling than the sound itself. When the soft creak of the door came, she stopped breathing for a moment. He fingers curled into fists at her sides. But nothing followed. No figure. No threat.

Just a small piece of paper sliding beneath the door like a whisper.

She didn't move--not immediately. She waited, listening footsteps, for the brush of breath, for any sign that someone lurked on the other side. When al she heard was a quiet bark, her shoulders loosened slightly.

A dog?

A small, surprised smile tugged at her lips. He got the dog. He'd always wanted one. Something about their loyalty, their silence always tugged his heart. She remembered how he used to watch strays with a softness he never allowed anyone to see. Her chest tightened at the thought.

Carefully, she opened the door just enough to see the trolley parked outside. Her gaze flicked toward the hallway. Empty.

No dog.

No Rudraj.

Just silence.

Grateful that her captivity was at least somewhat comfortable, she pulled the trolley in, heart heavier than when she'd woken. Maybe even the dog was too disappointed in her to say hello. Animals could sense it--when you weren't worthy of ones they loved. 

She unfolded the note with trembling fingers. 

"Remember the deal. No sick betrayer. Collect supplies from the wardrobe."

Her breath caught at the tone--clinical, sharp, devoid of feeling. Like he'd built a wall between them with every word. She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to stop shaking. She didn't have the luxury to break down. Not now. Not when every mistake cost her more than pain.

She moved to the wardrobe. Her fingers hovered on the handle before she opened it slowly.

Inside were few packets and neatly folded clothes--sweatshirts mostly. His, of course. Even captivity couldn't erase who he was. Orderly. Precise. Intentional. She touched the fabric gently, her fingertips brushing the same ones he'd rummaged through in frustration to find her something to wear. It smelled like him.

Despite his cold demeanor, the thoughtfulness touched her, and for a moment, she wondered if he truly hated her as he'd claimed.

"Still a neat freak," she mumbled, pulling out a sweatshirt. 

She held it against her chest, but the warmth of the gesture didn't last long. Her eyes landed on another note tucked beneath the folded clothes.

Her stomach dropped as she read:

"Consider the note only if I'm not at place. Leave the trolley outside and always keep the door closed. Dare to escape; I watch you."

Her heart seized. He's watching?

Her eyes scanned around to spot CCTVs, the note trembling in her grasp. The words were ice in her veins. Not because she feared him. But because some part of her still wished he wasn't doing this.

Still hoped there was another reason. A hidden truth. A wound beneath his anger that hadn't scarred over yet.

But hope was dangerous. It made you hesitate. It made you weak.

And Lashika couldn't afford weakness. Not anymore. Especially not when her days were already on counting.

She exhaled, slow and steady, folding the note and pressing it against her chest before slipping it under the pillow.

He might be watching. He might see everything. But he wouldn't see her fall apart.

Whatever secrets she held must remain hidden, no matter the cost.

She would survive this.

She would outlast this.

Even if it meant wearing the scent of the man who'd become here warden--just to remember that once, he'd been her world.

Two days.

It had been two days since Rudraj took her here--no explanation, no contact, not even a shadow crossing her threshold since he'd disappeared behind his pain. And Lashika, held captive in a gilded cage, had begun to feel the weight of it pressing down like the ceiling might collapse.

She knew why he kept her here. It wasn't for comfort. It wasn't for mercy. He didn't trust her. And that part hurt more than it should? He didn't believe her offer to help. Not even a flicker of hesitation--just cold suspicion, like every word she'd uttered was a carefully constructed lie.

She was not surprised. After all, she hadn't expected forgiveness. But the silence? That was unbearable.

The coronation loomed, a sword over all their heads. Every second mattered. And here she was--trapped by the very man she couldn't even properly mourn for seven long years. The man she had once loved in secret or still do. Her unrequited, unreachable Rudraj. A ghost who returned not as the boy she remembered, but a king hardened by shadows.

Gone was the girl her brother had raised--carefree, naive, blind to the blood-soaked cracks in the world he'd tried to protect her from. Life had taught her differently. There were no rainbows. No clear lines. Just grey. And in her case, a deep, consuming black.

 The mission still pulsed inside her--a dying heartbeat, gasping for time. It had to be completed. Exposed. Before the coronation. Before her stepfather made his final move. Before everything burned.

Her life was swaying on the edge of ruin. 

Frustration simmered under her skin like poison. She clenched her jaw, the memory of her abduction crashing back--one step away. Just one more step, and she would've uncovered the final piece in that abandoned factory. But he'd stolen it from her. Not her stepfather. Rudraj.

Though she felt the initial cracks in her closed-off emotions, she couldn't let those feelings derail her motives.

She had offered him her help, her knowledge, her truth. In return, he gave her a locked door and a silence that screamed betrayal. But she didn't expect less. Her stepfather hadn't reacted to her disappearance--and why would he? She knew what that meant. He was already settling the next part of his plan in motion.

She couldn't afford to wait. Time was ticking, and much was at stake.

By now, she had mapped the patterns of her invisible jailers. She knew the times they dropped her meals. Knew how the penthouse remained still during those windows. So she left the room, moving like a shadow with purpose but no hope.

The apartment was elegant--palatial even--but luxury meant little to a caged bird. The hall yawned before her, polished and hollow, but she had no interest in exploring Rudraj's world. Her mind was consumed by one thing: the impending disaster that could topple the dreams and lives of many. 

She found herself near the exclusive balcony, where a private swimming pool reflected the dying sunlight. A spike of pain lanced through her skull--withdrawal. Her body had begun to scream for the dose. She fought it the only way she could.

Pain.

She leaned her forehead against the cold glass, gently tapping it with her knuckles. Just enough to sting. Just enough to remind herself she was still alive. Her fingers dug into her arm, scratching furiously at the skin until it burned. A sick method, but hers.

"I need to get out of here before he finds out," she gritted teeth, the pain in her voice as raw as the marks on her skin. Her shame clung to her like sweat. She loathed what she had become. Dependent. Desperate. But still, she clung to life--for one reason. One promise.

Her mother.

In her spiral, she didn't hear the soft paws approaching. The sudden whimper startled her. She blinked, eyes adjusting to the little shape at a distance from her feet.

Cute lil furry ball.

The pup had always avoided her--smart creature. He probably sensed her instability, her tainted soul. But now, he stood there, head tilted, as though studying her.

She stared at him, unmoving, and he let out another small huff of protest. It almost sounded like a complaint.

"You too?" she murmured. "Don't worry. I don't like me either."

Woman, you've stolen my place of relaxation!  He stomped a tiny paw, annoyed. She had taken his usual spot, she realized. His sanctuary.

With a tired sigh, she shifted, settling farther away from the glass doors. Lucky reclaimed his place, but his eyes never left her. He didn't lie down. He sniffed around and then watched.

It unsettled her.

Not because he was judging her. But because he wasn't.

He looked... curious. Confused. Like he couldn't understand why she hadn't tried to touch him, to pet him like everyone else did. Like he was trying to solve her.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the pillar, her head pounding, her breath shallow. Lucky turned toward the sunset, his usual ritual. But he kept glancing back at her, his peace disrupted.

There was something about her that unnerved even him. Or maybe, just maybe, it made him relate.

Then he saw her flinch.

A deep crease formed on her brow, and Lucky, driven by something he didn't quite understand, padded forward. He sniffed around, then tapped her palm with his paw--gentle, questioning.

Her eyes flew open.

He stared up at her, silent and steady.

He felt oddly comfortable around her.

Something shattered quietly inside her. That look--it was Ace. Her dog. Her only companion. Her mood reader. Her piece of comfort. 

She smiled, a real one, for the first time in days. "You little traitor," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.

Carefully, as if the moment might vanish, she reached out. Fingers trembling, she ran them through his soft fur. Lucky leaned into her touch. Her heart ached. He wasn't Ace, but he understood.

She spotted the tag hanging from his collar.

Mr. Lucky Khurana.
Return to my master--or else you'll regret it.

Her smile wavered at the cursive words, but she let out a small chuckle. It was ridiculous. Petty. So very Rudraj.

Lucky wagged his tail at the sound. The melodic lift in her voice tugged at something in him. Stillness settled. Until it didn't.

Her fingers slowed. Guilt seeped in. Ace. He must be waiting. Alone. Concerned. She'd failed him again. Failed to return. To explain. To let go. She'd thought of finding him a new home, somewhere he'd be cared for better. But every time she tried, her hands froze.

He wouldn't leave her. She knew that. And she didn't want him to feel like she did now--forgotten. Trapped.

Her breath hitched. The weight on her chest pressed harder. 

Sensing her pain, Lucky tilted his head, then, uncharacteristically, leapt into her lap. She gasped in shock, her body tense.

He squirmed. Insistent.

And then--she laughed. A broken, beautiful sound that startled them both.

Lucky nestled against her, satisfied. She held him, hands tightening, grounding herself in his warmth. He gave her something Rudraj never had--comfort.

For the first time in days, she felt human again.

Not healed. Not whole.

But human.

And it was enough.

For now.

The hall lay cloaked in shadow, its vast silence thick with fear. The only light came from a single overhead fixture, flickering faintly and casting distorted shapes on the polished chessboard floor.  A dozen men knelt in neat rows, one knee to the ground, heads bowed low, arms crossed tightly over their chests in submission. Their breath barely dared escape them.

Others stood along the periphery--armed, tensed, unmoving.

At the far end of the hall stood a man shrouded in darkness, his back turned to the room. He was still. Too still. Not a soul in the room missed the weight of that silence. The tension crackled like an unsprung trap. 

Then came a voice--shaky--loud in the stillness.

"My lord... we did everything in our power to trace Crane," the man kneeling closest to the dais whispered, his forehead nearly grazing the ground. "Yet--there's no sign of him."

Another voice followed--cautious, each word placed like landmine. "The captor is clever, my Lord. We swept the warehouse, but--no evidences. Nothing at all."

Still facing away, the figure muttered under his breath, "Crowned Clerk."

A third man stepped forward from the line of guards, holding a file with both hands, head bowed. He extended it with reverence. The shadowed figure reached out, taking the report without a glance toward the messenger.

Paper rustled.

"The report confirms..." The man's voice faltered. "Crane completed the mission. As anticipated, the future queen was moved to the remains of the Khurana estate. No... no permanent damage recorded."

BANG.

The gunshot split the silence like a lightning strike.

A scream followed, raw and ragged, as the man who had just spoken crumpled to the floor, clutching his thigh, blood gushing between his fingers and painting the white square red.

The hall froze in horror.

The dark figure turned slowly, with almost mechanical precision, revealing his eyes--intimidating, pale, composed, unflinching--with a scar stretching from his eyebrow to the side of his eye, caught in slivers of dim light. The gun in his hand still smoked.

Cold. Controlled.

He looked at the man writhing on the floor like he was watching a rodent squirm under a glass. Then he raised the gun again--deliberately--and pointed it once more at the wounded man, whose sobs twisted into whimpers of desperation.

"No--please! My Lord--no--"

The gun hovered.

And then, the man in black finally spoke--voice low, unhurried, laced with a kind of venom that didn't require volume to be terrifying.

"Failures bore me."

He stepped forward slowly, the heel of his polished boot clicking on the black-and-white checkered tiles, carefully avoiding the blood--like the second hand of death clock.

"And when I'm bored--" he tilted his head, watching the man twitch like prey caught in a vice, "--I improvise."

The pistol danced lazily in his grip, then lowered without warning. The wounded man confused yet relieved, exhaled in a sob, his forehead hitting the cold floor again and again. "Thank you, my Lord, thank you--"

But the figure wasn't listening. He was already turning away.

"I want results," he said. "Not apologies. Not reports. Certainly not bleeding, squealing animals at my feet."

He raised the gun, not toward a man this time, but above--to the glass balcony arching over them.

CRASH.

The shot shattered it.

Glass rained down like jagged snowflakes, clinking off the marble, drawing blood from the unlucky. No one dared to move. No one breathed.

The wounded man whimpered softly. A warning glance from one of the standing guards shut him up instantly. Any sound might draw death.

One of the figure's lieutenants--a man older, perhaps wiser--stepped forward, voice controlled and even.

"My lord, she's been moved as we planned," he said calmly, clearly. "Let it rest. She poses no immediate threat. Not in her condition."

A slow nod.

Then the gun, now lowered, tapped softly against the man's temple.

He was thinking.

Or planning.

Or unraveling someone's fate.

"I want her gone," the dark figure muttered--not to anyone, not for confirmation. Just to the air, to himself. A promise more than a command.

He turned again, walking back into the dark as if the scene behind him meant nothing. Like the blood. The shattered glass. The pain. None of it mattered. His voice, when it came again, was almost a whisper.

But it cut the silence like a blade.

"Let her burn alive in the ruins of Khurana mansion."

Then he vanished into the dark.

And hell quietly began to unfold.

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