[12th February 2025 – Late Evening | Vidya's Hotel]
The dim hotel lamp above the bed flickered—casting twitchy shadows on the cream-colored walls, watching her like a predator stalking in tall grass, waiting for its prey to stir.
Vidya sat cross-legged at the edge of the neatly tucked bed, her thumbnail pressed between her teeth, gnawing until skin tore. Her eyes stayed fixed on the phone beside her, as if it might suddenly scream.
The phone was new. Unfamiliar.
Vijay had bought it for her—just like the simple black jacket on the chair, the credit card in her wallet, and the name she now carried. A surname—she'd never had it before. One of many things he'd handed her without asking.
She'd tried to refuse them. But Vijay had insisted—it was his duty as her brother.
The new identity meant a gift for Vidya.
But a cage for the beast inside her.
Seconds dragged. Minutes curled around her like cold vines.
She had been waiting for Aria's message all evening.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears—too loud, too fast.
It wasn't fear. Not exactly.
It was that slow, choking kind of dread—the kind that already knows what's coming.
'Why hasn't she messaged yet?'
'She must have shown him the twins by now.'
'He must have denied them. Or laughed. Or walked away.
Right?'
An itch crawled beneath her skin.
Not grief. Not fear.
Something sharper. Older. Meaner.
The kind of feeling that used to end with someone bleeding.
Her body remembered violence like a first language.
Her fingers twitched unconsciously, hungry for movement—an echo of muscle memory shaped by another life.
She clenched her fist—nails biting deep into her palm— trying to anchor herself to the present with pain. Then slid her hand beneath her thigh, forcing it still.
The air felt thick. Too heavy.
The walls felt closer, as if the room itself was shrinking, inch by inch—watching her. Judging her.
She hated this.
This silent waiting.
This helplessness.
It was never waiting, back then.
"You moved, or you died."
But now?
Now, she just sat. She prayed. Desperately.
Please, Aria di. Please... just tell me...
Tell me you got the wrong man.
Tell me he's not the father of the twins.
Tell me that man isn't Rudra sir.
And she hated herself for it.
Her fingers twitched again. Old instincts stirred—low, feral, hungry— urging her tofight. Torun. To do something.
But there was nothing to fight.
Only a memory.
One she would give anything to rip out of her skull.
But her mind wouldn't let her rest. It dragged her back to the night when her hope began to rot.
○●○
[FLASHBACK – 2nd February 2025 | HIMACHAL PRADESH]
It had been late. The flower shop long closed, the silence so thick even the wooden floorboards didn't creak.
Vijay had brought something for Aria—something urgent. Confidential.
Vidya had felt the tension in the air before a single word can be spoken.
Later—when Aria stepped out to take a call and Vijay followed—leaving the study door ajar—it felt like fate cracked open a window.
She should have walked away.
But that old part of her—the trained one, the wild kitten raised in cages—knew how to find secrets.
How to slip into silence.
How to vanish in plain sight.
She slid inside. Quiet. Fluid.
Like she promised she'd never do again.
The folder Vijay had brought lay open on the desk. A freshly printed photo sat on top.
She didn't mean to touch it.
Didn't even realize her fingers had moved—until they found the edge—cool, sharp, real.
Her breath hitched. Her pulse faltered.
And before she could stop it—her eyes saw too much .
No—No, it's not him. It can't be him.
The photo was grainy—but cruelly clear.
A man stood in the center of the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, with a sculpted jaw and eyes like sealed vaults.
His entire face looked carefully constructed—perfectly arranged, perfectly false.
A mask pretending to be a man.
The name printed beneath:
「 Ahaan Rajvanshi — The only heir of the Rajvanshi Empire. 」
Her breath caught in her throat.
He looked like Rudra sir.
Exactly like him.
Same face. Same gaze.
Same dangerous stillness.
But something was missing.
This man's eyes held no softness, no warmth.
Not even the shadow of it.
There was no sign of the man who taught her how to wield a knife without losing her humanity.
No trace of the one who tossed her a towel after training, and pat her head without a word, just to remind her she wasn't a machine.
No glimpse of the man who looked at Ruhani di, like she was both the war and the peace after it.
Or the one who would've burned the world to keep Ruhani di safe.
But this man?
This Ahaan Rajvanshi?
He looked like he'd never held anyone gently in his life.
Like love was a language he'd never learned.
Like he was carved out of ice.
It had to be a mistake.
A trick of memory.
A cruel coincidence.
Because Rudra sir had fought for them. Protected them.
He couldn't be the man who now sat as the heir of an empire.
He wouldn't stay hidden.
Not when they needed him the most.
He could never—ever—abandon them.
Right?
Her hands trembled. Her legs went numb. She stumbled back from the desk. Her heart hammered like a prisoner trying to claw it's way out of her chest.
And for one terrifying second—
She didn't know if she was still the girl who trusted him.
Or the one trained to survive betrayal.
○●○
[PRESENT DAY]
Now here she was—miles away.
Curled up in a sterile hotel room that reeked of loneliness and dread.
The clock above her ticked like a dying heartbeat.
Her phone hadn't buzzed once.
Every second that passed fed the monster inside her—growing claws and sharpening teeth.
She thought she'd buried that girl.
The one who used to kill without asking why.
But that kitten still had claws.
And tonight, she could feel her pacing beneath the surface.
Her chest ached. Her head throbbed. The pressure was too loud inside her.
Please. Please... tell me it's not true.
She rubbed the heel of her palm into her eye. Exhausted. Strung so tight she could snap.
Just one word from Aria. That's all she needed.
Then—
The phone vibrated.
She jumped.
Then came the sound of a message received.
She lunged, nearly dropping it in her haste.
The screen lit up.
< Aria di: One new message >
She stared at it.
Her hands hovered above the screen.
This was it.