The moment Priyal slid into the driver’s seat and shut the car door, the world outside ceased to exist.

The wedding lights still glowed behind her in the rear-view mirror—warm, golden, mocking. Laughter echoed faintly even as she pulled away, the sound dissolving into the night as the gates closed. Her hands trembled when she turned the ignition, anger and something far more dangerous coiling tightly in her chest.

She drove.

Too fast.

The engine responded instantly, smooth and powerful, just like her—but tonight there was no restraint. The tires screeched slightly as she took the first turn, the city streets stretching ahead of her like a challenge. Red lights blurred into amber and green. She didn’t slow down enough. She didn’t care.

Her jaw clenched as Neel’s face replayed in her mind. The pause before he answered her. The way he stood beside Ashiwarya. The announcement. The applause.

The silence.

“Idiot,” she muttered—to herself or to him, she didn’t know.

Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel until her knuckles burned. A sharp inhale. Another turn taken too aggressively. The city wind roared through the slightly open window, whipping her hair across her face, but she didn’t bother fixing it.

Second meeting.

That was the cruelest part.

She hadn’t even allowed herself hope. Not consciously. And yet something inside her had leaned forward, unguarded, the moment their eyes met again. Something stupid. Something human.

The car slowed abruptly at a signal this time. Her foot slammed on the brake harder than necessary. Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat—probably Kritika—but she didn’t look.

“Kritika will be home tomorrow,” she whispered, the thought grounding and aching all at once. “Tomorrow.”

She exhaled shakily, accelerating again.

By the time she reached the Khanna Penthouse, the rage had settled into something heavier. Denser. The kind of emotion that didn’t scream—it crushed.

The car rolled into the underground parking. She parked sharply, yanked the keys out, and stepped out, heels striking the floor with unforgiving precision. The echo of her footsteps followed her to the elevator like a reminder that she was alone.

The ride up was unbearable.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mirrored walls—perfect makeup, flawless outfit, eyes too sharp for someone who was supposed to be fine.

The doors opened.

The penthouse greeted her with darkness and silence.

That’s when she broke.

Priyal walked into her room and slammed the door shut behind her, the sound cracking through the stillness. Her dupatta was the first casualty—ripped from her shoulder and thrown violently across the room. It snagged on a lamp, pulling it down. The lamp hit the floor and shattered, glass scattering everywhere.

She didn’t flinch.

Her bangles followed—one by one, ripped off and hurled. One shattered. Another chipped the wall. The sound was sharp, final, satisfying in the ugliest way.

“Stupid,” she breathed, pacing the room. “So stupid.”

She grabbed a photo frame from the shelf—some meaningless corporate award picture—and flung it against the wall. It cracked down the middle, the glass splintering like her composure.

Her chest heaved now.

She reached the dressing table and swept her hand across it in one furious motion. Lipsticks, brushes, perfume bottles—everything crashed to the floor. One bottle burst open, filling the room with an overpowering scent that made her throat tighten.

She pressed her palms against the edge of the table, head bowed, breathing uneven.

“I don’t do this,” she said aloud, voice breaking. “I don’t lose control over someone else’s choices.”

But tonight, control had slipped through her fingers like shattered glass.

She slid down slowly onto the floor, knees pulled to her chest, back against the bed. Tears finally fell—not delicate, not cinematic—just raw, silent streaks she angrily wiped away.

“You didn’t even stop it,” she whispered, bitterness lacing every word. “You just… stood there.”

The anger dulled, leaving behind exhaustion.

Kritika’s face flickered into her thoughts—her sister’s easy laughter, her trust. Kritika would be back tomorrow, full of stories, unaware of how tonight had clawed at Priyal’s insides.

Priyal straightened suddenly, wiping her face hard.

“No,” she said firmly. “She doesn’t need to see this.”

She stood, forcing herself to breathe slower. One breath. Then another. The mess around her felt symbolic—and unnecessary.

She didn’t clean it. Not yet.

Instead, she changed mechanically into plain clothes, stripped of glamour, stripped of illusion. She sat on the bed in the dark, arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.

Tomorrow, she would be composed again. Tomorrow, she would be Priyal Khanna—the woman who owned rooms, not emotions.

But tonight…

Tonight she let the hurt exist.

Just for a little while longer.

📍 Shekhawat Residence

In a dimly lit corner of the Shekhawat Residence stood Neel.

Eyes red with guilt and a whisky in his hand.

The inbuilt bar glowed softly behind him—polished wood, crystal shelves, bottles arranged with obsessive precision. No one else in the house touched it. This was his space. His silence. His escape. Tonight, even the familiar comfort of it felt heavy.

He stared at the amber liquid in the glass, watching the light fracture through it as his fingers tightened around the rim. The house was asleep—or pretending to be. Somewhere down the corridor, doors were shut, expectations tucked neatly behind them like heirlooms no one questioned.

He took a slow sip.

It burned. He welcomed it.

Guilt sat behind his eyes, relentless, pulsing with every blink. Priyal’s face refused to leave him—her controlled stillness, the way her voice had softened right before she walked away, the look she gave him when he couldn’t answer her question.

Then what am I?

The question echoed like a bruise pressed too often.

He set the glass down harder than necessary, the sound sharp in the quiet room. His reflection stared back at him from the mirrored wall behind the bar—perfectly dressed, perfectly composed, and utterly fractured beneath it.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he muttered to no one.

He hadn’t planned the announcement. He hadn’t planned Ashiwarya stepping beside him, hadn’t planned the applause, the expectations, the weight of tradition closing in around his throat. He certainly hadn’t planned Priyal—walking in, looking like she belonged in the same spaces he had spent years trying to escape.

Second meeting.

And already, she had unsettled him in ways no one else had managed to.

He poured himself another drink, the sound of liquid filling glass too loud in his ears. His hand shook slightly this time. He noticed. He hated that he noticed.

Ashiwarya was kind. Intelligent. Appropriate.

That was the word everyone loved.

Appropriate.

She fit into his world the way his family expected—effortlessly, seamlessly. She asked the right questions, laughed at the right moments, never challenged the lines drawn around him since birth.

And yet—his chest tightened—when she spoke tonight, his attention had drifted. To a woman standing across the room, holding herself together with sheer willpower.

Priyal hadn’t demanded anything.

That was the cruel part.

She hadn’t asked him to choose. She hadn’t accused. She hadn’t cried. She had simply felt—and somehow, that honesty had cut deeper than anger ever could.

Neel dragged a hand down his face, exhaustion seeping into his bones. “I didn’t even stop it,” he whispered bitterly.

He could still hear his dadu’s proud voice. Still see the smiles. Still feel the invisible chain settling around his future.

This was his duty.

This was his responsibility.

Then why did it feel like betrayal?

He leaned back against the bar, staring up at the ceiling. The house felt suffocating tonight—every wall echoing with legacy, every silence filled with expectations he had never agreed to but had always carried.

For the first time in a long while, the path laid out for him didn’t feel secure.

It felt wrong.

He lifted the glass again but stopped midway, staring at it as if it had suddenly offended him. With a sharp exhale, he set it down untouched.

“What are you doing?” he asked himself quietly. “Getting drunk won’t change anything.”

But neither would pretending nothing had shifted.

He closed his eyes, and for a fleeting, dangerous moment, he imagined another version of the night—one where the announcement hadn’t happened, one where he had followed Priyal onto the terrace and said something braver, one where he hadn’t let silence do the damage for him.

His jaw clenched.

That version of him didn’t exist.

Not yet.

The weight of his family’s trust pressed down on him, familiar and unyielding. He had been raised to protect it. To uphold it. To never let personal weakness interfere with legacy.

And yet tonight, weakness had found him anyway.

He picked up the glass at last, not to drink, but to hold—grounding himself in its cold solidity. “Get it together,” he murmured. “This is who you are.”

But even as he said it, doubt flickered.

Because if this was truly who he was, then why did the thought of Priyal walking away hurt more than the idea of a future already decided for him?

He stood there for a long time, unmoving, the bar lights dim, the house quiet, the war inside him anything but.

Tomorrow, he would wake up and wear the role expected of him.

Tonight, he allowed himself one truth—

Something had shifted.

And no amount of whisky, silence, or duty was going to undo that.

Khanna Penthouse

Morning unfolded slowly at the Khanna Penthouse, hesitant and pale, as if the day itself was unsure whether it was welcome.

Sunlight slipped through the curtains in thin, reluctant streaks, touching the edges of a room that still carried the remnants of the night before.

Broken glass lay carefully pushed into a corner. A cracked photo frame rested on the dressing table, turned face down. The faint, cloying scent of spilled perfume lingered in the air—sweet, overwhelming, impossible to ignore.

Priyal had been awake for hours.

She lay still on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her eyes dry but burning.

Sleep had visited her only in fragments, each one torn apart by memories she hadn’t invited but couldn’t escape—the applause at the wedding, the murmurs, the way Neel had stood there, silent, while the world decided something for him.

And for her.

She finally sat up, slow and deliberate, feet touching the cold marble floor.

The silence of the penthouse pressed in around her, heavier than noise ever could be.

Normally, mornings meant discipline—emails before breakfast, calls lined up, decisions waiting.

Today, she reached for nothing.

Not her phone.

Not her schedule.

Not her armor.

“I need one day,” she whispered to herself, voice rough. “Just one.”

The decision felt fragile, like glass. But it also felt necessary.

She showered without urgency, letting the warm water run over her shoulders, down her back, grounding her.

When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, she felt lighter—not healed, but less suffocated.

She dressed slowly.

The dress she chose was soft and unlike her usual self—pastel pink, airy, layered with delicate ruffles that moved gently with every breath she took.

The puffed sleeves rested lightly on her shoulders, the skirt flowing freely instead of demanding structure. A subtle ribbon cinched her waist, not tight, not controlling—just enough.

She tied it carefully.

“This is for me,” she told her reflection. “No one else.”

Her hair fell loose around her face, soft waves untouched by effort.

Minimal makeup—no sharp edges, no precision meant to intimidate.

Just enough to look awake. Human.

She picked up a book from her bedside table—one she had been meaning to read for months but never had time for—and left the penthouse quietly.

The drive was calm.

No speeding. No reckless turns. Music played low in the background, something gentle, something she didn’t have to think about.

The city moved around her as usual, indifferent and alive.

Eventually, she parked near a café she had always noticed but never entered.

It was tucked between trees and old stone buildings, quiet and understated.

The kind of place meant for slow mornings and solitude.

She smiled faintly.

Inside, the café smelled of coffee and warmth.

She chose a table near the window, sunlight filtering through leaves outside, casting soft patterns on the wooden surface.

She placed her phone inside her bag and didn’t take it out again.

The book rested comfortably in her hands.

When her coffee arrived, she wrapped her fingers around the cup, letting the warmth seep into her palms.

She opened the book, eyes scanning the pages—not fully reading yet, but pretending was enough.

For a while, it worked.

She felt calm. Present. Almost normal.

Then the door opened.

The sound was subtle—a soft chime—but something inside her shifted immediately, instinctive and unexplainable.

She lifted her eyes from the page.

And saw him.

Neel stepped into the café.

Beside him walked Ashiwarya Raghuvanshi.

The world didn’t stop. No dramatic sound echoed. No warning came.

But something inside Priyal went completely still.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe properly.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the book, knuckles whitening.

They hadn’t seen her yet.

Aishwarya was speaking animatedly, her expression relaxed and comfortable.

She laughed softly at something Neel said, her body angled toward him with an ease that came from familiarity.

They walked closer to the counter, their presence filling the space without effort.

Neel looked… normal.

That was what hurt most.

Not conflicted.

Not tense.

Normal.

Then, as if drawn by something he didn’t understand, Neel looked up.

Their eyes met.

The change in him was immediate.

His steps slowed, then stopped entirely. Whatever expression he had been wearing vanished, replaced by raw surprise.

His shoulders stiffened, jaw tightening slightly, as though he hadn’t expected the past to find him so quietly.

Priyal didn’t look away.

She held his gaze steadily, her face unreadable.

The book remained open in her hands, though she no longer saw the words.

Aishwarya noticed the shift.

She followed Neel’s line of sight and saw Priyal.

Curiosity flickered across her face—not hostility, not insecurity.

Just interest. She glanced briefly at Neel, then back at Priyal, and smiled.

She stepped closer to Neel, her presence deliberate now.

“Oh,” Aishwarya said lightly, her voice carrying just enough. “Hi.”

She turned fully toward Priyal.

“I’m Aishwarya,” she said, then added smoothly, “Neel’s fiancée."

The word landed with precision.

Fiancée.

Priyal felt it hit somewhere deep in her chest, sharp and immediate.

Her breath caught for half a second—just enough to hurt—but she controlled it quickly.

She would not break here.

Not now.

Not in front of them.

Neel turned toward Aishwarya sharply, eyes widening a fraction. His mouth opened as if to speak.

No words came.

The silence was devastating.

Priyal closed the book slowly and placed it on the table. She stood, movements calm, controlled, her posture unyielding.

“Nice to meet you,” she said evenly, offering a polite nod.

Her voice did not tremble.

Aishwarya smiled, satisfied, and turned back toward the counter, murmuring something softly to Neel.

He nodded distractedly, but his eyes followed Priyal—guilt and confusion flickering openly now.

They took a table inside.

Together.

Priyal picked up her bag.

She didn’t rush. She didn’t look back again.

She walked out of the café with her head held high, the soft pink of her dress moving gently around her legs like quiet defiance.

Outside, the air felt colder.

Neel watched her leave through the glass, something heavy settling in his chest.

The word fiancée echoed in his mind, louder now, heavier than it had sounded moments ago.

His coffee arrived untouched.

And in that quiet café, between a book left unread and a word spoken too soon, something shifted irrevocably.

Their second meeting had ended without accusations or explanations.

But both of them knew—

Some encounters change nothing on the surface.

And everything underneath.

That's it for today.

Author ko kalesh karne main maza ata hai sach bataun to (adds two skeleton emoji). And yupp the wedding will be occurring maybe on the next chapter so till then please wait and keep rooted.

Words Count - 2500+

It takes time and lots of efforts to write a single chapter of the book so if you think that this chapter is capable of getting one vote please you are welcome. I would love to see you all supporting me. And I will be so so grateful to you all for doing it.

Thank you

Author