35
Someone drugged Shaurya.
Yug's voice still echoes in my mind—his words from the day he showed me the results of the medicine Shaurya had been taking. But for how long? Since when had he been on them? Was it after I left?
And how... how could Shaurya not have realized?
My mind drifts back to six years ago—to the way he started behaving, how distant and erratic he'd become. Was it then? Is that when it all began?
I can't believe it's been that long. That he's been under their control for so many years.
One thing I've realized since seeing Shaurya again: trusting him with Aarya... it won't be easy.
He won't hurt her, I know that. But I'm still scared.
Aarya is too young to understand any of this.
And I'm terrified of what it could mean for her.
"Papa!"
Someone flicked my forehead.
Of course—my little hurricane.
"Ow—Aarya?" I rubbed the spot and looked up. She stood there with her arms crossed, lips pouted.
"I've been calling you forever, and you didn't even listen!" she whined.
I sat up with a soft chuckle and pulled her into my arms, laying her on top of me as I sank back into the sofa.
"Sorry, baby. What is it, hmm? Couldn't sleep?" I asked, pinching her chubby cheek gently.
"I want to ask you something," she said, unusually quiet. That caught my attention. She rarely whispered when she had questions.
"Of course, what is it?"
She hesitated for a second, then placed her tiny hands on my face.
"He made you cry... didn't he?"
I blinked.
What...?
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry, Papa. You told me not to listen to other people's conversations, but... you were crying when you came home. I heard Yug uncle say Shaurya Shekhawat."
She looked at me, eyes big and glossy.
"Did he make you cry?"
I stared at her—at the worry in her tiny face, the weight in her words. She's only five... and yet she understands too much. More than I ever wanted her to.
I sighed and gently brushed her hair back.
"No, baby. He didn't make me cry. He's not even here."
Aarya stayed quiet for a while, just looking down.
"I don't want to meet him, Papa."
That hit me like a knife.
"What?" I whispered.
"But you always wanted to meet him. What's wrong? Is it because you think he made me cry?"
She nodded slowly.
"Yes. He couldn't keep you happy." Her voice was heartbreakingly soft.
"And I don't want to meet someone who makes my Papa cry."
My chest caved in.
How do I even explain this to her?
How do I explain that pain doesn't always mean hate... that sometimes, love does hurt—that it broke us both?
I pulled her close, hugging her tightly to my chest, her tiny head tucked under my chin. She lay quietly, resting against me like she always did as a baby.
"Aarya... I love you so, so much," I whispered, my throat tight.
"I love you too, Papa," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck.
I held her there, gently rocking her back and forth. I could feel the sting behind my eyes, the tears begging to fall.
But not now. Not tonight.
I still have her.
My angel.
I felt her soft breath against my neck, warm and even. Aarya had fallen asleep.
Carefully, I rose from the sofa, cradling her in my arms. She stirred slightly but didn't wake. Her tiny fingers clung gently to my shirt, and I held her closer.
I entered her room and tucked her beneath her favorite pastel blanket, placing her frog-shaped plush toy beside her. It was nearly falling apart from years of love. I leaned in and kissed the back of her hand.
"You have to meet him someday, baby," I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "He needs you... just as much as I do."
I paused at the doorway for one last glance. She looked peaceful. Innocent. The only thing in my world untouched by darkness. Unaware of the darkness of her parents.
I stepped out into the night.
Sleep had eluded me for days—haunted by old memories, fresh wounds, and everything in between. I decided to take a walk, maybe clear my head.
The wind had softened, and the scent of the lake drifted faintly through the air.
"Navin bhai," I called out to the night guard, "can you stay inside for a while? Aarya's asleep."
He straightened. "Yes, Aarav sir. Will do. Do you need the driver, though?"
"No," I said, forcing a tired smile. "Just walking nearby. Nothing more."
Eve used to help with Aarya at times like this. Her presence was quiet comfort, but she was away in Manali for a friend's wedding. I felt her absence now more than ever.
I passed the familiar buildings of the neighborhood and made my way toward the lake just down the road.
Aarya loved this place—the open water, the gentle ripples, the birds that flew just low enough to make her giggle.
Every corner of Udaipur held something beautiful, something untouched.
But I often wondered how she'd react to Amritnagar, to the palace she was born to belong in—a lineage she didn't yet understand.
I crouched to pick up a few stones, skimming them across the still surface of the water. They skipped and sank, breaking the silence.
Then... I heard footsteps.
I turned, fingers brushing the gun in my pocket on instinct.
It was Ravi.
I relaxed.
"I brought Vaani," he said, nodding toward the car parked.
My chest tightened.
I walked slowly toward it, cold purpose rising in my veins. I opened the door.
There she was.
Her wrists were bound, body chained, but her eyes—red, wild, unrepentant—burned with defiance. A bitter smile curved her lips the moment she saw me.
"Get her out," I ordered.
Ravi unshackled her and tugged her out. She staggered, barely finding balance before he shoved her roughly to the ground. She landed at my feet, breath knocked from her, but she laughed.
A low, broken laugh.
Madness.
I crouched beside her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her face up to mine.
"I heard you tried to kill my daughter," I said, my voice colder than steel.
She didn't flinch. Her smile only grew crueler.
"Shame I couldn't," she hissed. "But you're doing a brilliant job protecting her—from everyone."
Then her voice dropped, slow and venomous.
"Including from her father."
My grip tightened.
"You think I'm scared of what he is?"
"No," she breathed, her voice laced with glee, "I think you know exactly what he is. Just like us. Blood excites him. Violence dances in his veins. You can't protect her from that, Aarav. Sooner or later, she'll see it too."
Something cold slithered down my spine.
She didn't care that I could kill her here and now.
Because people like Vaani didn't fear death. They feared irrelevance.
I let go of her hair and stood slowly, staring down at her as her laughter echoed like broken glass over the lake.
But she didn't realize—this wasn't about vengeance anymore.
Ravi handed me two bottles—small, empty, glass. The labels were faded, but I recognized them instantly.
The same medication Yug had sent to the lab.
I looked at Ravi, waiting.
He nodded grimly.
"You were right. Shaurya was taking them even six years ago."
My grip tightened around the bottles.
So that day...
That outburst... that terrifying moment that fractured everything—
Was he having an episode?
The truth sank deeper than guilt. It hollowed me.
"Will you open your rotten mouth," Ravi snapped, turning to Vaani, "or do I need to rearrange your face?"
Vaani laughed—dark, sharp, venomous.
She spit in Ravi's direction.
"Slaves like you should know your place," she sneered. "Dogs shouldn't bark without orders."
My teeth clenched. I didn't hesitate.
I slammed my foot down on her hand, crushing her fingers beneath the sole of my boot. She screamed, tried to push me off, but the damage was done. Even then, she straightened, pain curling around her mouth like smoke, but her pride remained unbroken.
She stood, defiant, and smiled like the devil herself.
"Damn," she said, breathing hard. "I really am proud of myself tonight."
She stepped toward me slowly, unbothered by the blood on her lip.
"Remember what you once told me?" Her voice turned almost playful. "That your love for Shaurya was unbreakable? That nothing and no one could ever come between you two?"
She laughed.
"So young. So stupid. So in love."
She leaned closer.
"And yet, I proved you wrong."
Her next words stabbed deeper than any blade.
"You're just like your mother. Selfish. Afraid. You cling to Aarya because you know once the Shekhawats take her from you, you'll have nothing left."
My rage surged like wildfire. I grabbed her face, fingers digging into her skin, nails leaving angry marks. I wanted to rip the smugness from her mouth.
And then she said it.
"I'll always win, Aarav. It was me. I drugged Shaurya. You couldn't stop me then. And you can't stop me now. I'll make sure you lose Aarya, just like you lost your love."
That broke something in me. She was the one who took away my husband from me? It was her all along?
I was ready to strike—but I didn't have to.
A hand gripped her throat and yanked her backward so suddenly she gasped. A figure emerged from the shadows.
Shaurya.
His eyes weren't calm. They weren't cold.
They were deadly.
"The fuck did you say?" he growled, his voice thick with violence.
Before she could respond, he drove a blade into her back. The sound of steel meeting flesh was sickening. Vaani's breath hitched, her body convulsing as pain overtook her face.
He shoved her to the ground like a ragdoll.
Then, slowly, he looked up at me.
His voice was calm. Controlled. And colder than the night air.
"She's ?zge's daughter."
Everything stopped.
And then the weight of it all came crashing down.
?zge's daughter?
She drugged Shaurya?
She tried to kill my daughter?
The world tilted. My thoughts spun in chaotic circles. My breath was ragged, my body trembling as I stared down at the bloodied figure on the ground—Vaani. Her face twisted in pain, but she still wore that same damn smile. Mocking. Unrepentant.
I couldn't stop myself.
I dropped to my knees beside her, grabbed her by the throat, and slammed her head against the dirt.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" I shouted, voice breaking. My hands shook, but I tightened my grip. My eyes burned with unshed tears—but I wouldn't let them fall. Not now.
Then I felt Shaurya's hands on me, pulling me back.
"Don't," he said, voice low, strained. "Don't touch this filthy woman."
But I shoved him off, fury searing through my veins.
"I need answers, Shaurya!" I turned toward him, the betrayal cutting deeper than any blade. "Why did she do that?! Why the hell did you let this happen?!"
Shaurya looked at me, pain shadowing his eyes—but before he could speak, Vaani laughed.
Laughed.
Through blood, through broken ribs, through everything—she still had the strength to grin.
"Because you're Shaurya's weakness," she spat, her voice a rasping whisper. "Destroying you meant destroying him—and I've done a damn good job at that."
I pulled out my gun and aimed it straight at her head.
Her grin widened, her mouth dripping blood.
"Killing me won't stop any of this, Aarav. It won't stop ?zge. It won't save your precious daughter. And remember this—" she coughed, her words growing weaker, "if ?zge dies... so does Shaurya."
And that was the last thing she ever said.
Because Shaurya raised his gun and emptied it into her.
Not once.
But again.
And again.
And again.
Each shot rang out like thunder, each bullet a scream. Her body jerked under the force before going limp. The smirk was gone. Her silence was final.
The gun slipped from Shaurya's hand.
And all that was left was the sound of our breathing. Heavy. Broken. Haunted.
I turned toward him.
Shaurya was crying.
His fists were tangled in his own hair, chest rising and falling in jagged rhythm—but he wouldn't look at me. Not yet. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, as if ashamed to meet mine.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice hoarse and broken.
That was it, then.
Six years of silence, of distance and aching questions—all of it led to this. Not closure. Not redemption. Just betrayal.
And now, even after everything, it still wasn't over.
Because Shaurya would leave again. I could feel it in the way his shoulders trembled, in the way he refused to lift his gaze. He wouldn't stay. Not this time. Not ever.
Slowly, he stepped closer. Hesitantly. Like a man asking for permission to breathe.
Then—he reached for me.
And I let him.
His arms came around me with trembling urgency, and when he finally looked down into my eyes, I saw a war raging behind them. Guilt. Regret. And something deeper—something too raw to name.
"Don't go after ?zge, Shaurya," I said, my voice cracking beneath the weight of everything I was holding in. "Please."
He shook his head slowly.
"I have to."
My heart clenched.
"You don't care about Aarya, do you?" I asked, quietly, cruelly—because I needed to hurt him the way I was hurting.
His jaw tensed. His hands tightened around me.
"As I said," he murmured, eyes locked on mine, "I won't die until I meet my daughter. And until you forgive me."
Today he was talking. But it was all shit. He still refused to give me my answers. And it clears all the fact that he wants to leave me, he'll leave me again if I get closer to his storm. The storm I was used to.
But I have to stop him. Ozge can't die yet. I can't let this happen.