The air was heavy with unspoken truths and regret when Romy stepped through the doorway. Monty's cheek was still flushed from the sting of Prem's slap, and the tremble in his voice from a moment ago still hung in the silence like fog over still water.
Monty and Prem both turned sharply, startled by Romy's presence. Their eyes searched his face in panic, trying to read whether he had overheard their storm of truth, the one that could tear everything apart.
But Romy, composed and unreadable, offered nothing more than a polite nod and a gentle smile. "Uncle asked me to give you this," he said casually, holding out a slim file, its edges crisp and untouched, as if nothing had happened moments ago.
Prem narrowed his eyes, stepping forward. "When did you get here?"
Romy didn't blink. "Just now. The door was open."
Monty's heart was beating erratically in his chest. Every instinct told him Romy had heard everything, his secret, his sacrifice, the deception. But Romy's face remained neutral, unreadable as a locked chest.
"Thanks," Prem said stiffly, taking the file.
Romy nodded once more. "If you'll excuse me," he said, his voice smooth, calm, too calm. "I'll leave you to it."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Monty drowning in a tide of suspicion and dread.
Just as Romy turned to leave, the warm voice of Lalita echoed from the hallway, breaking the tension in the room like the sudden chime of temple bells.
"Oh ho! What kind of son-in-law visits the house and tries to leave without even being welcomed properly?" she chided lovingly, walking toward him with a soft smile and a glint of pride in her eyes. "Romy beta, come sit. You haven't eaten anything. That's not how we treat our son-in-law."
Monty looked down, suddenly tense again. Romy smiled, as if nothing had happened, and nodded with a respectful bow of his head.
"Of course, Maa," he said gently, using the word purposefully. It rolled off his tongue with smooth ease, yet held an undertone that made Monty's fingers curl slightly against the edge of the sofa.
Soon, the dining table was laid out, a traditional spread glistening with love and effort. Lalita busied herself fussing over the plates while Romy made his move, casual, precise, but deliberate.
He took the seat beside Monty.
There were empty chairs available… yet Romy chose that one.
Monty felt the tension crawl up his spine as Romy sat beside him, their knees brushing slightly. Monty shifted a little, but not away. Not really.
As Lalita turned her back to get more puris, Romy leaned slightly closer, reaching over to pick up the serving spoon. And as he did, his hand grazed Monty's fingers, slowly, deliberately.
It was a fleeting touch. Accidental on the surface.
But it wasn't.
Monty froze, his breath caught in his throat. His heart thudded louder than the clatter of cutlery. Something electric passed through him, something achingly familiar.
And at that exact moment, Romy's eyes met his.
There was no doubt now.
Monty's skin burned where Romy's fingers had touched him. The sensation lingered, spreading across his body like a secret spoken too close to the heart. He looked up, only to find Romy still watching him, intensely, knowingly.
The same warmth flickered in Romy's eyes.
His own heartbeat had betrayed him. Just one touch, and it all came back, the night he thought he was hiding under layers of cloth and lies. The night when his heart had raced at the scent, the nearness, the silent connection.
Romy knew.
He hadn't just guessed. He had felt it.
Monty's breath was shaky now. His stomach twisted, not with fear, but with something far more dangerous: longing.
And Romy? He smiled softly, the corner of his lips curling as he slowly took a bite of the food Monty had just touched, making sure their eyes remained locked.
"Delicious," Romy said softly, almost whispering. "Tastes like… home."
Monty looked away, but his heart had already spoken.
Just as Romy pushed his plate away, his phone buzzed sharply against the table. A call—Dad.
He excused himself politely, stepping away from the table. Monty's eyes followed him, tense and uncertain. Romy answered the call with a soft, "Yes, Papa?"
Mr. Roy's voice on the other end was serious, even a bit shaken."Romy, turn on the news right now. Something's going viral, something about Monty. You need to see it."
A chill ran down Romy's spine.
Without another word, he opened the news app. The screen lit up with bold headlines and blaring alerts. There it was, Monty's name, his face… everywhere.
"PREM CHOUDHARY'S SON ACCUSED OF PHYSICAL ABUSE AND FORCING MULTIPLE ABORTIONS ON HIS PARTNER"
A grainy, emotional video played on repeat. Monty was seen slapping Naina, who appeared bruised and broken, with perfectly timed tears running down her cheek. Below the video, Naina spoke softly to a crowd of reporters, showing her fabricated scars and fake hospital papers, her voice shaking with practiced innocence.
"He made me end so many pregnancies," she said tearfully. "He hit me when I cried. He promised marriage, but now he says I was just a mistake."
Romy stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. Every lie cut deeper than the last.
He knew Monty, confused, lost, emotional, yes, but violent? Never. This wasn't just drama. This was destruction. A calculated, merciless smear. And Naina… she had staged it all. Romy could see it in her eyes. It wasn't pain, it was vengeance.
Monty didn't even know yet.
Romy's eyes darkened with resolve. His voice, calm but full of thunder, whispered into the phone, "I've seen it, Papa. Don't worry. I'll handle this."
As he turned back toward the table, his entire demeanor had shifted. Gone was the playful smile. In its place stood a storm wrapped in silence.
Something had changed in Romy.