🌹 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊 🌹

Hriday's POV

We sat in silence, the kind that stretches-not awkward, but loaded. The kind that feels like it's holding its breath.

Across the table, she pushed pieces of aloo paratha around her plate with a fork like they'd offended her. She hadn't taken more than two bites.

I finally set my cup down.

"Yakshita."

Her name hung between us for a moment.

She looked up, wariness still tucked into the corners of her eyes.

I kept my voice even. "Can I ask you something?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't shut down either. So I took that as permission.

"Who drugged you?"

Her fingers stilled. The fork dropped against the plate with a muted clink.

I waited. Let the silence fill in the spaces.

"And if you didn't want to get married," I continued, "why say yes?"

Her jaw clenched, but not in anger. More like restraint. As if she was measuring how much she still owed the truth. Even to herself.

"If it's too much," I said softly, "we don't have to talk about it. Not now."

She shook her head slowly. "No. There's nothing left to hide anymore."

And then, like the rain returning after a long hush-she spoke.

Yakshita's POV - Flashback

I wasn't marrying willingly.

I was marrying for my papa.

He had asked me to. Told me it was important for the business. That this alliance-with Hriday Khurrana-would seal everything we'd worked for.

Yes, that Hriday Khurrana. The name that stirred shadows.

His face wasn't even public. Just a name in headlines and whispers. A reputation so sharp, it left paper cuts.

But I agreed.

Because my papa had asked.

Because after Ma, he was everything.

So I said yes. Knowing full well that fairytales weren't written for girls like me. That I was walking into a storm, not a home.

Still, I said yes.

I even had my journalist friend dig around. Just in case.

And the stories she came back with... let's just say, they weren't bedtime reading. But I had already made my peace. I would survive it. Endure it. For him.

A few hours before the wedding, I slipped away from the noise. I wanted to show Papa how I looked. That's what daughters do, right?

I felt like I was playing dress up but only this time, it was real.

I headed toward his study, lehenga rustling with every step.

But I didn't knock.

I heard voices-Malini's sharp, saccharine drawl first.

And then: "By the time he's done with her, she'll be dust. Poor thing won't last a month considering his reputation and how his previous finance ran away.But we'll have the company. The shares. Everything."

Laughter. My stepsister's. Then Malini again.

"And you, darling, won't have to tolerate your charity-case half-sister breathing your air anymore."

I stood frozen. The words punching holes in me one by one.

These were the people I once called family, even after knowing the truth behind their fake smiles.

What hurt more than the venom?

My father's silence.

He didn't argue. Didn't defend me. He just said, "Make sure it's done cleanly. I don't want a scene."

The vase slipped from my hand. Shattered.

They turned.

Malini blinked, then smiled sweetly. "You've misunderstood, beta."

"Don't step closer," I told her, voice trembling.

I turned to Papa. "Tell me it's not true."

He didn't look at me.

That told me everything.

I ran. Tried to.

But Malini snapped her fingers. Two servants blocked the door. One maid brought a glass of juice.

"She's upset. Give her something to calm her down," she said too sweetly. "Drink it, beta. It'll help."

I wasn't that naive.

I refused.

So she forced it. Her nails dug into my jaw as she made me drink it. I remember her words exactly:

"When you wake up, you'll be his wife. That's all that matters."

They dragged me toward my room.

I fought. Even drugged-I fought.

Everything after that was a blur. I remember headlights. Rain. The road. A heartbeat louder than thunder.

And then-you.

Hriday's POV

When she finished, the silence wasn't hollow anymore.

It was dense. Bruised.

She sat across from me, her expression empty and full all at once.

She didn't cry. Didn't flinch.

But her fork stabbed through the paratha like it was a throat she couldn't quite reach.

I watched her in quiet fury.

Not at her.

At them.

At the man who had the audacity to call himself a father.

At the woman who played poison like piano keys.

At the version of me they were ready to throw her to without ever knowing who I was.

If they had succeeded... If I had truly been the monster they believed me to be...

My fingers curled around the teacup.

She noticed. "Sorry," she muttered. "Guess I've ruined breakfast."

"You didn't," I said. My voice came out lower than I meant it to. "They did."

She looked up at me. And this time, there was no suspicion in her gaze.

Only exhaustion. And something dangerously close to trust.

I took a slow breath.

I kept my gaze steady but didn't reach out. Didn't say the things a storybook hero might.

Because honestly? I wasn't that guy.

I didn't care enough to be a savior. Didn't have the luxury of playing knight in shining armor.

Not for her. Not yet.

But beneath the calm, something twisted.

I wanted to tell her it'd be okay. To promise her protection. To tell her she wasn't alone.

I wanted to be that anchor she never asked for but desperately needed.

Yet, she didn't trust me-not really. Her eyes flicked to the door as often as to me, always calculating exits.

And maybe that was right.

And the truth was... maybe she was better off without me.

The rumors weren't entirely wrong. My reputation wasn't a fairy tale; it was a warning.

She'd already been through enough betrayal to last a lifetime. She didn't need another.

I swallowed the tightness in my chest and flicked my eyes to the door, then back to her.

"You're not going back," I said flatly. "Because if you do, you'll end up exactly where you were before-and no one here wants that."

She looked at me, searching, maybe for a sign of softness.

There wasn't much.

"I'm not your rescue," I added, voice low and clipped. "You've got to figure out your next move yourself. But you're here now. That's all that matters."

She nodded slowly, still stabbing at the paratha, the weight of everything settling in.

I drained my cup, stood, and threw the napkin on the table.

"Eat your breakfast. Then decide what you want to do next. Whatever it is-I won't stop you."

No promises.

No guarantees.

Just cold reality.

Because sometimes, caring enough to let go is the hardest thing you can do.