The vase shattered earlier that morning still sat on the console table, its jagged edges half-glued, like the fragile peace of this house. Sanya stood near it, dabbing glue along the edges in silence, as if trying to fix things she had no business fixing anymore.
The quiet was broken by the clicking of sharp heels.
Madam Kareena entered the corridor with her usual grace, elegance dripping from her like venom in disguise. She carried herself like royalty, chin up, scarf perfectly placed, but her eyes—those didn't smile.
Sanya straightened. She didn't speak.
"You've always had a temper," Kareena said suddenly, pausing just feet away. "It's written all over your face. Tch tch… like father, like daughter."
Sanya blinked, confused. "Excuse me?"
Kareena placed a hand dramatically over her chest. "Imagine raising your hand at your elder. In this very house."
"What—?" Sanya's breath hitched. "I didn't do that!"
Before she could say more, Aarush's voice cut through the tension, firm and clipped. "What's going on?"
He was at the stairwell, sleeves rolled up, phone still in hand from the meeting he'd just finished. His jaw looked clenched from the weight of stress, but his eyes narrowed the second he saw the two women.
Kareena turned, instantly softening. "Oh, darling. She just lost her temper, that's all. She yelled at me. Even raised her hand." She looked over her shoulder at Sanya, mouth twitching with false sadness. "It was frightening."
"That's not true!" Sanya said, her voice shaky. "I never—"
"Is that how low it's gotten now?" Aarush's words landed like ice. "Are you really trying to intimidate people who've shown you nothing but respect?"
Sanya's lips parted in disbelief. "You're believing her? Without even asking me?"
He stepped toward her, eyes filled with a sharp, cold edge. "Because I know you. I know what you're capable of. Don't play innocent, Sanya. You've shown your true face before."
The air froze between them.
Kareena stood behind him like a ghost in pearls, quiet, smug.
Sanya took a step back. "I didn't touch her. I didn't raise my hand. I didn't even say anything "
"Oh, now you're the victim?" Aarush scoffed. "You've always been good at that, haven't you?"
Sanya stared at him, stunned. "I can't do this anymore…"
"You don't get to walk away," he snapped. "Not yet."
Her breath caught in her throat. The words she wanted to scream stayed locked behind her teeth.
Kareena's heels clicked again as she turned away with a satisfied expression, leaving behind only the faint scent of expensive perfume… and devastation.
Sanya stood alone in the corridor, shoulders trembling, the sting in her eyes burning deep—but no tears fell.
She wouldn't give them that.
Not yet.
The moment the door shut, it echoed like a gavel in her mind.
Sanya stood frozen. Her fingertips still tingled from where Aarush had slapped away the edge of her dupatta that had brushed his arm by accident.
"Don't pretend to be innocent," he'd hissed, his voice laced with venom.
"You must enjoy this—clinging onto my money, staying in my house like a parasite."
Her lips parted, but the words never came. They never did. He never let them.
She stumbled to her room, the cold marble against her feet like knives. Her vision blurred, not from tears yet—but from holding them in too long. Like a dam about to crack.
She pressed her back against the door and slid down slowly, the breath leaving her lungs like smoke from a dying fire.
Why?
Why did it still hurt like this?
Why did it feel like every day he carved out a little more of her soul with those eyes that once looked at her with warmth? Or maybe… she had imagined that too.
Her shoulders trembled. She hadn't even realized she was crying until the tears hit her knees.
"You're the reason they died. You took everything from me."
The words had come like steel earlier that day. His aunt, Madam Kareena, had faked a fall—accused Sanya of shoving her in the corridor. Aarush hadn't even asked. He hadn't looked at Sanya once.
He simply turned, jaw clenched, and said—
"How long will you keep pretending to be the victim?"
"You're poison, Sanya. I should've thrown you out the day I brought you here."
And he had walked away.
Her breath came out in broken gasps now, her arms wrapped tight around her legs, as if she could hold herself together that way.
The pain wasn't just in his words.
It was in the lack of hesitation behind them.
He believed his aunt. Not even a flicker of doubt.
She hadn't raised her hand. She hadn't even spoken.
But that didn't matter to him. Nothing she said mattered.
She was a ghost in his house. A burden. A reminder of something he wouldn't forgive.
Her throat burned as a sob finally broke through her silence. She clutched at her sleeves, nails digging into the fabric.
She didn't want to cry like this. She didn't want to be this broken.
But how long could someone live as a shadow and still survive?
There was no one to hold her. No voice to say, I believe you. No hand to offer warmth.
Just her. Her pain. And the cruel silence left behind after he left.
She stayed like that for hours—no clock ticking, no footsteps at the door.
Just the echo of his voice in her mind:
"You're nothing but a mistake I can't undo."
And as the moonlight finally poured in through the windows, pale and cold, she lay down on the floor, curling up like a child, cheeks stained with tears no one would ever wipe away.