•| THIRTY SEVEN |•
Sara was looking at all this with rage and jealousy building like slow poison in her veins, her nails digging into her palm as her eyes remained fixed on the sight in front of her — her ex-husband, the man who once used to look at her the same way, now standing there being all soft, all protective, all lovey-dovey with someone else.
The way his arm rested around your waist so naturally, the way he kept pulling you closer subconsciously, the way his eyes kept scanning your face as if making sure you were comfortable — it burned her. It burned more than she expected.
When she first walked into the party and heard from Aarav’s mother that Krish is married now, she had laughed it off, thinking it was some rumour, some misunderstanding…
because in her mind, Krish could never belong to anyone else.
He was hers. He had always been hers. She had convinced herself that she could walk back into his life whenever she wanted and he would take her back the way he always did after every fight — silent, hurt, but still hers.
But this… this was different.
This wasn’t temporary. This wasn’t a rebound.
This was marriage.
And the realization hit her like a slap.
Her gaze drifted to Kiaan laughing in your arms, calling you mumma so naturally, so comfortably — and that word pierced straight through her chest. That was supposed to be her place. Her child. Her family. Her life. And now another woman was living it. Smiling in it. Breathing in it.
Her jaw clenched.
No…
She refused to accept it.
If she could leave once, she could come back too. And she would. No matter what it took. No matter who she had to remove from the equation.
Her thoughts were interrupted when suddenly the MC’s voice echoed through the ballroom, gaining everyone’s attention as he began announcing the next segment of the evening — laughter, applause, clinking glasses filling the air as the party carried on smoothly, as if no storm had entered it at all.
But Sara’s storm was just beginning.
She turned sharply and walked towards the bar, her heels striking the marble floor with purpose. “Vodka. Neat,” she ordered.
The bartender nodded quickly, sliding the shot glass towards her. Without hesitation, she picked it up and gulped it down in one go, the burn in her throat doing nothing to match the fire inside her chest. She exhaled slowly, eyes drifting back across the hall — straight to you.
You were laughing at something Ishika said, completely unaware of the way Sara’s glare was practically carving into your back.
Her lips curled.
“Excuse me! Do you have a pen and paper?” she asked the bartender suddenly.
“Yes ma’am,” he replied politely, handing them over.
Sara took the paper, placing it flat on the counter as she uncapped the pen slowly — her eyes never leaving you even for a second. The music, the chatter, the announcements… everything faded into background noise as something darker took shape in her mind.
She began writing.
After writing the note, Sara read it once again — slowly, carefully — as if savoring every word, every hidden intention behind it.
Satisfaction curled on her lips before she neatly folded the paper, pressing the crease firmly with her fingers.
But for her, the note alone wasn’t enough.
She wanted chaos… something deeper, something irreversible.
Her gaze drifted to the tray of drinks being prepared at the bar.
Quietly, she reached into her clutch, pulling out a tiny vial she had carried for emergencies — or rather, opportunities like this.
Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she uncapped it and poured the transparent liquid into one of the whiskey glasses, swirling it gently until it dissolved completely. Her smirk widened, dark and venomous.
She placed the folded note beneath the glass before calling a waiter closer with a slight curl of her finger.
“Give this to him… only him,” she instructed in a low voice, subtly nodding towards Krish across the hall.
“Sure, miss,” the waiter said, unaware of the trap he was carrying.
Sara’s eyes shifted to you again — standing beside Kiaan, adjusting his little blazer while he giggled. Her jaw tightened, jealousy clawing at her insides.
“I’ll make sure to break this bond,” she whispered under her breath, venom dripping from each word. “Samira… you’ll suffer.”
A sinister smirk settled on her lips as she watched the waiter walk away with the drink and the note.
Meanwhile —
You turned towards Aarav’s wife, gently fixing the pallu of your saree before speaking softly, “Didi, I’ll be back soon… I want to use the washroom. Please take care of Kiaan.”
She smiled warmly, adjusting Kiaan in her lap. “Don’t worry, I’m here with him. Okay?”
You nodded gratefully, caressing Kiaan’s cheek once before walking towards the washroom, completely unaware of the storm tightening around your life.
Back near the bar —
The waiter finally reached Krish, who was standing with Aarav, mid-conversation.
“Sir, this is for you,” the waiter said, offering the drink and the folded paper.
Krish frowned, confusion knitting his brows as he took the glass but didn’t drink it yet. His eyes dropped to the note.
“Who sent this?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone.
“She said… she’s your wife.”
Krish’s heart skipped.
“Samira?” he murmured instinctively.
Without wasting another second, he unfolded the paper — his eyes scanning the words written inside.
I’m waiting for you in Room No. 05.Want to do something… for which I was waiting for so long.
— Daddy