Chapter-58
The heavy iron gates of Rudra Mansion creaked open under the guard’s command, but Abhimanyu barely registered the sound.
He sat motionless in the backseat of the SUV, gaze blank, hands clenched against his thighs. The city's chaos had blurred into a distant hum—like a dream he couldn't wake up from. Each passing second bled into the next, all wrapped in the same haunting silence that had shadowed him for days.
As the car rolled to a stop under the porch lights, Rudra’s voice floated in from the verandah.
"Yes, Uncle… I know. I’ll speak to the press—yes, I’ll handle it." His tone was strained, his movements restless.
Abhimanyu stepped out of the vehicle, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt mechanically. His face was stoic as always, unreadable.
But today, even Rudra could sense something different. Something heavier. Something irreparable.
"He’s been calling me again and again. At least talk to him once, yaar," Rudra tried.
Abhimanyu didn’t slow down. "Not today," he muttered, brushing past.
"Abhi..."
But his name was swallowed by silence.
He climbed the grand staircase like a man sleepwalking through a battlefield, the weight of every step echoing through the quiet mansion.
He entered the guest room he’d confined himself to these past four days. It was never meant to be lived in—bare, untouched, clinical—but now, it bore the shadows of a man unraveling in solitude.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and aged wood. Afternoon light spilled in through half-drawn curtains, casting long golden streaks across the cold floor. Time stood still inside these four walls.
He sank into the chair by the window.
Shoulders hunched. Elbows on his knees. His head bowed low.
Nothing moved. Not him. Not the room. Only the weight inside his chest—the weight of betrayal, guilt, and helplessness—shifted with every breath.
His eyes eventually dropped to his hand.
The ring.
Silver. Elegant. The one she’d chosen herself. It still sat there, unmoved—mocking his stillness. He turned his hand over slowly, staring at it like a question he couldn’t answer.
And in that silence, her laughter returned.
Flashback
"Why do you always wear it like this?" Aarushi’s voice burst through the quiet like sunlight. Soft. Warm. Light-hearted.
Abhimanyu, buried in emails on his phone, barely looked up. "Wear what?"
She marched over, grabbed his hand, and held it up like a teacher scolding a lazy student. "This ,Your ring! It’s upside down—again. Do you do this to annoy me?"
He smirked. "It’s a ring, baby. Not a GPS device. It’s fine."
She scoffed, dragging him to the dresser mirror. "Nope. You’re you. Which means people notice everything about you. And now you’re married to me—so you better do it right."
He watched her fiddle with the ring, her brow furrowed, her lips pursed. She twisted it into place gently, folding his fingers around it.
"There. Now you don’t look like you married me in a rush."
He chuckled low. "I didn’t."
She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
But before she could say more, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the crook of her neck.
"Abhi—"
"You talk too much about rings," he murmured against her skin. "I’m more interested in you."
Back to Present
Abhimanyu blinked—and the room fell back into silence.
She was gone again.
Only the dull creak of the fan remained, and the soft rustle of trees beyond the windows.
His fingers curled into fists.
That memory—so full of her, so them—cut deeper than any insult or accusation hurled his way in the last four days.
She had trusted him. Defended him. Loved him. And he? He’d watched her get dragged away in handcuffs.
Each passing hour was killing him.
His throat burned.
His mind replayed her face—her confusion, her tears, her fear—as she was taken away. Over and over.
She wasn’t sleeping. He knew that. She was probably freezing, alone in a cold cell, surrounded by judgment and unfamiliar faces.
And he was here.
In a warm room.
Doing nothing that could feel like enough.
He released a breath—shaky, broken, strangled.
"I should’ve protected you better," he whispered.
His voice cracked. Not loud. Just true.
A quiet confession to the silence.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t dare. Tears would be too easy. Too selfish. He didn’t deserve that release.
All he had was this weight. This grief. This unbearable ache that pressed against his ribs and refused to let go.
His hand tightened over the ring.
He had to fix this.
He had to bring her back soon.
The soft morning light spilled through the tall glass windows of the Rudra Mansion’s living room, casting golden hues over the marble floors.
The air was thick with tension, despite the calm silence of the estate outside.
Inside, amidst the polished furniture and untouched luxury, Abhimanyu sat on the cream leather couch, sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning a thick stack of papers in his hand.
His brows were furrowed, jaw clenched, every line on his face etched with worry.
Across from him, Rudra was hunched over his laptop at the coffee table, fingers flying across the keyboard.
The blue light of the screen reflected in his sharp eyes as he muttered under his breath, going through frame after frame of a CCTV footage.
Suddenly, he paused. His fingers froze mid-keystroke.
"Abhimanyu," Rudra said, his voice low but urgent.
Abhimanyu looked up immediately, straightening as his eyes locked onto Rudra.
"We’ve got it. The CCTV footage from the Home Minister’s floor—security sent the unedited version just now."
He turned the laptop slightly, showing Abhimanyu the screen.
"There," Rudra pointed. "Aarushi enters the room… see that? She hesitates at the door. She’s holding the envelope, looking uncertain—almost nervous."
Abhimanyu leaned in, his heart pounding louder than he expected.
The footage showed Aarushi just as Rudra described: standing awkwardly at the threshold, glancing around before slowly stepping inside.
She placed the envelope on the desk, turned to leave—when her purse slipped from her shoulder and fell.
Its contents spilled slightly, and among them rolled out something small—her ring.
"They used that," Rudra said darkly, "They edited and froze the footage at that exact moment. Made it look like she dropped it during something suspicious. But she clearly picks it up, puts it back in her purse, and leaves."
Abhimanyu’s throat tightened.
"She was inside for exactly two minutes. And then she left. There’s no way she could’ve… done anything in that time"Rudra said.
He exhaled slowly, voice cold. "They edited out the most crucial part. Deliberately."
Rudra nodded. "Exactly. And you were right—your lawyer during the first hearing? He wasn’t fighting for her at all. The guy was planted. I checked he purposely was filing weak petitions, not objecting, not even trying to get bail."
Abhimanyu’s eyes narrowed with a rising storm.
"I’ve already contacted someone else," Rudra continued. "A real one this time. She's brilliant—handled one of my toughest corporate cases a few years ago. And guess what?"
Just then, the doorbell rang.
"She’s here," Rudra said with a grin, already standing up.
Abhimanyu remained seated, still absorbing the weight of everything they had just discovered.
His fingers clutched the papers loosely now, but his expression was unreadable—his eyes stormy, lips set in a grim line.
The front door opened, and Rudra’s voice echoed lightly through the hallway. "Welcome, Meera. Thanks for coming on such short notice."
Then footsteps approached, heels tapping softly on the polished floor.
Abhimanyu stood up instinctively as Rudra entered with a poised woman walking beside him.
She was in her late twenties, dressed in a sharp navy-blue blazer and black trousers, her hair tied neatly in a sleek ponytail. Her presence was confident, calm, and graceful—an aura of quiet power.
"Abhimanyu,"Rudra began, "This is Meera Saxena. You might remember her—she was in our college too."
Abhimanyu gave a polite nod, but his eyes held no flicker of recognition.
Meera, however, had already frozen for a fraction of a second. Seeing him after all these years, not through a screen or a newspaper column, but right in front of her… it felt oddly surreal.
There he stood—Abhimanyu Rathore. Tall, poised, impossibly magnetic. Even now, in a plain white shirt and black trousers, he looked like a man carved out of marble and fire.
Memories stirred inside her—of silent lectures, group presentations, corridor glances.
He was always distant back then, unreachable. She’d never spoken to him much. Just admired from afar. And now, fate had drawn their paths together once again—but under grim, tragic circumstances.
Meera quickly masked the brief slip in her composure and offered a hand.
"Yeah ,I was in the same college as yours,"she said, her voice steady, though her heart raced faster than she’d have liked. "You probably don’t remember me."
Abhimanyu’s gaze held hers for a beat before he replied, "I… don’t recall clearly."
She smiled faintly, the corner of her lips curling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "It’s okay. I didn’t expect you to. You never noticed me back then either."
There was no bitterness in her tone—just a dry trace of nostalgia.
He hesitated briefly, then shook her hand. His grip was firm, professional. But Meera couldn’t help the slight jolt that went through her.
His touch was warm, real. And for a second—just one—it wasn’t about the case, the murder, or the courtroom.
It was a pull. Strange. Unspoken. But present.
She pulled her hand back, blinking herself out of it. Get a grip, Meera, she scolded herself silently. You’re here to defend an innocent woman, his wife...
"Let’s talk about the case," she said quickly, her tone shifting back into professional mode.
Abhimanyu gave a short nod.
The three of them settled down in the living room again—Rudra with his laptop, Meera pulling out a notepad and pen, and Abhimanyu with the documents now lying between them like the battlefield they were about to enter.
As Rudra paused the video she leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on her knees, eyes fixed on the screen as she reviewed the footage.
"This is the real footage," Rudra clarified, rewinding the clip again for clarity. "The original claim said Aarushi was inside for ten minutes. They showed a heavily edited version to support it."
Meera’s sharp gaze followed Aarushi’s figure entering the Minister’s office.
The woman in the video looked hesitant, visibly unsure as she paused at the door, glanced around, and then stepped inside. Her movements were cautious, respectful.
"She stays for just under two minutes," Meera confirmed, glancing at the time stamp.
Abhimanyu, seated across from her, gave a small nod.
"And here," Rudra pointed again, tapping the screen. "Her purse slips… the ring rolls out… she picks it up immediately. Nothing suspicious. But the edited footage cuts this part completely."
Meera’s brows furrowed in thought. "It was a deliberate setup. Someone orchestrated this, carefully."
She flipped to the next page of her notes. "You also mentioned a message?"
"Yes," Rudra replied, pushing his phone toward her."We received an anonymous message yesterday—right after I requested the original footage. It said something like he knew everything about you and her life will be in danger"
Meera’s expression sharpened. "Any trace on the number?"
"It was routed through some encrypted platform. Still working on tracking it. But whoever sent it… knows more than we do."
"There’s someone out there who saw everything. Or was part of it," she murmured.
They sat in silence for a moment, the gravity of the situation settling between them.
Meera could feel the layers of manipulation. The way the puzzle pieces were scattered, intentionally hidden. And Aarushi—caught at the center of it all.
But as they dove deeper into the case, piecing timelines, analyzing behavior, dissecting motive, Meera’s attention was quietly pulled elsewhere for the briefest seconds—drawn to the man sitting across from her.
Abhimanyu. He looked tired and somewhat haunted. As if sleep hadn’t touched him in days. His eyes had shadows beneath them, and his movements were restrained, distant.
And then there was the ring.
She had noticed it when they shook hands. A simple but elegant platinum wedding band, snug around his finger. But what struck her more was his unconscious habit—every few minutes, without even realizing it, his thumb would drift to the ring and slowly turning it upward.
A smooth twist. A pause. A tight breath. Then again.
She quickly looked away. She wasn’t here to read him, or feel anything.
She cleared her throat and redirected her focus. "This message… it’s a lead. Whoever sent it is either trying to help or playing a dangerous game. But if they’re watching, they’ll likely reach out again—especially if they see the narrative shifting."
Abhimanyu finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "We need to bait them. Make them think we’ve found more than we have. That might push them to act."
His tone held command, but his eyes still flicked briefly to the footage—pausing on the frame where Aarushi stood inside the room, clutching the envelope, looking so small and out of place. His fingers turned the ring again.
"We need to get her out soon" he added quietly in a soft tone.
Meera caught that—a softness buried beneath the steel.
"Don't worry "Meera replied gently, but firmly. " I don’t plan on letting them get away with this."
Rudra nodded as the discussion returned to strategy—court filings, petition timings, witnesses to reach out.
After few hours ~
The hours passed with the rhythm of focused urgency. Abhimanyu sat silently on the sofa across meera and Rudra, hands folded tightly on his knee, watching every frame with unblinking eyes.
They are examining the whole CCTV footage from the charity event.
"Okay, this angle is from the west corridor. The Minister enters at…" Rudra murmured, checking the timestamp, "10:20"
"There," Meera pointed at the screen, "he’s going into the private chamber."
The footage played forward in near silence, save for the soft whir of the machine and the occasional exhale from someone in the room.
They watched as the Home Minister walked briskly down the corridor, entered the chamber, and the door closed behind him.
Meera leaned in, watching the seconds pass. "Pause it… now."
Rudra tapped the spacebar.
A figure entered the frame, walking from the opposite end of the hallway. Dressed in formal black, face partially obscured by the camera angle and a brief glare of light from the overhead chandelier.
"Who’s that?" Meera asked.
"Camera 4 has a closer angle," Rudra said, already switching the view. "Let me patch it in—here."
The new angle was sharper. The man’s face was still not fully visible, but the shape of his jaw, the slicked-back hair, and the confident stride began to form something disturbingly familiar.
They watched in eerie silence as the man walked directly toward the chamber door. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t knock. He just… entered.
Abhimanyu sat forward now, eyes narrowed, body coiled with tension.
Rudra quickly fast-forwarded. The door opened again. The same man stepped out.
But this time, something different happened.
He pulled out his phone, tapped quickly, then raised it to his ear as he walked. Just as he passed the camera, his face tilted ever so slightly upward—just enough.
The frame froze.
Meera's breath hitched. Rudra’s hand stilled.
Abhimanyu rose from the sofa, walking slowly toward the screen like a man approaching a memory he wished wasn’t real. His eyes widened.
The image on the screen was clear.
Sharp cheekbones. A mole near the left brow. That cold, composed expression.
"Aakash," Rudra breathed, almost like a curse.
Abhimanyu didn’t speak. His face paled, jaw locked tight, eyes glued to the screen as if he could will the truth to be different. But it wasn’t.
It was Aakash.His trusted right hand. The man who had managed his schedule, guarded his secrets, and stood by his side in the corporate boardroom for years.
"Aakash?" Meera asked, stunned, turning toward Abhimanyu.
"Yes,"Rudra answered for him, his voice tight. "That’s Aakash. Abhimanyu’s PA."
Abhimanyu didn’t react immediately. His lips parted slightly, his hands slowly curling into fists at his sides. His mind reeled back—remembering every interaction, every quiet word, every moment Aakash had stood behind him, calculating, silent.
Meera clicked further into the footage. "There’s more."
They watched as Aakash exited the hallway and walked into the main atrium. There, he approached a junior staff member, handed over an envelope, and whispered something before briskly walking away.
Meera quickly traced the timestamp. "This is minutes before the body was found… he made sure the envelope was delivered right after the murder. He’s the one who made it look like Aarushi was the last person there."
Rudra shook his head, fury beginning to simmer beneath his professional facade.
Abhimanyu closed his eyes, breathing heavily as the weight of betrayal began to sink in.
"He was with me," Abhimanyu muttered, voice low and trembling—not from fear, but from the weight of betrayal. "The night before the event. That morning. He helped finalize the guest lists, security… everything."
Rudra’s expression turned sharp, eyes narrowing with a deadly calm. "That bastard has been right in front of us the whole time."
Meera leaned closer to the screen, studying every detail. "He was smart. He didn’t stay long. Entered quickly, came out composed. Made a call, passed that envelope to a staff member on his way out."
Abhimanyu stared at the frozen image of Aakash—his face so composed, as if it was just another task on his schedule. "He planned everything," he said bitterly. "He knew what he was doing. Framed Aarushi perfectly, left no loose ends."
"But he made a mistake," Rudra said, voice taut with restrained fury. "He didn’t expect us to get the real footage."
Abhimanyu turned toward him slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable. "We have to confront him right away. If he knows we’ve found out, he’ll disappear."
"So what do we do?" Meera asked, trying to steady the rush of adrenaline pounding in her chest.
Abhimanyu’s voice was cold now, all emotion tucked behind the controlled rage of a man who’d just had the earth pulled out from under him.
"I’ll call him," he said. "Tell him I want to meet him—say it’s about media strategy, damage control after Aarushi’s arrest."
"Good" Rudra said, catching on. "He won’t suspect a thing."
"We will confront him face-to-face," Abhimanyu added. "Let him talk. Let him lie to our faces. And then—when he’s cornered—we show him this." He motioned toward the paused footage. "Let him see the moment he lost everything."
Meera nodded slowly agreeing with him.
Rudra broke the silence again. "Once we confront him, we record it. Get him to talk. We need more than just this footage—we need a confession."
"I want to know why," Abhimanyu said, voice low. "I need to hear it from him. I need to know why he did this to her , to me"
Meera stood up slowly, picking up her notebook. "Whatever happens, we need to be prepared. I’ll draft the legal angles. We’ll need statements, backup footage, tech analysis. If we want this to hold up in court and protect Aarushi—we can’t make a single mistake."
Rudra walked to the table, already pulling up call records and backup files. Meera moved to collect the footage drive.
And Abhimanyu?
He stood there in silence for a moment longer… twisting his ring again. The calm before the storm.
After an hour ~
The grand living room of Rudra Mansion was soaked in tension.
Aakash stepped in with his usual swagger, unaware of the storm waiting to erupt.
His eyes quickly scanned the room and noticed not just Rudra, but a woman beside him. Meera Saxena. The name hit him immediately—the famous criminal lawyer, sharp and relentless.
Aakash’s brow furrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in his gaze, but he composed himself.
"Yes, sir?" Aakash asked, addressing Abhimanyu with his usual formality.
Abhimanyu stood by the edge of the table, arms crossed, jaw set. There was no warmth in his eyes—just cold, brewing fury. Rudra gave Meera a look before clicking on the video file. The large screen came to life.
"We found a video," Abhimanyu said, voice calm but dangerously clipped. "Have a look. They said Aarushi was there for ten minutes. This is the real footage."
Aakash walked forward, still maintaining his innocent facade. But as soon as the footage began to play, his mask faltered.
The camera zoomed in on a man entering the Home Minister’s chamber moments after the minister had gone in. The video was clearer now, not edited, not tampered. The man’s face turned slightly toward the lens. It was Aakash.
For a few seconds, the room held its breath. Aakash’s body went rigid. His lips parted slightly, then closed again.
He looked up at Abhimanyu, who was now glaring at him with barely restrained rage. His fingers had curled into fists, and Meera noticed his rage.
Aakash tried to smile, a weak attempt. "Sir, I—I don’t know what this is. This isn’t what it looks like."
"What does it look like then?" Rudra snapped. "Because to us, it looks like you walked in, murdered a man, and calmly walked out."
Meera folded her arms. "You better speak otherwise yhe court will decide, Mr. Aakash. And if you're guilty, you’ll rot in prison for the rest of your life."
Aakash’s face turned pale. He opened his mouth to protest, but Abhimanyu’s voice boomed—
"Why did you do this?!"
Aakash stumbled back at the force of the shout. "I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t kill anyone, sir. Please believe me—this isn’t what it—"
"Stop lying!" Abhimanyu slammed his hand on the table. "You planned this. You made my wife suffer. You humiliated her, framed her. Do you know what she went through in jail? She was broken! She thought I abandoned her."
Aakash's eyes darted around. Panic surged visibly through his face. For a moment, his expression faltered—his defenses cracking under the weight of their eyes, the evidence, the guilt.
"You want to play it in court? Fine," Meera said icily. "But know this, we’ve got enough to bury you."
Silence.
And then, the dam inside Aakash broke.
"Fine, I did it," he shouted suddenly, eyes wild. "Yes! I did everything. I framed Aarushi. I planted the ring. I edited the footage. I wanted her to suffer because I wanted you to suffer, Abhimanyu"
Abhimanyu stared, stunned. A cold numbness began to seep through him.
"Why?" he asked, quieter now but deadlier. "What did I ever do to you?"
Aakash let out a bitter laugh, trembling. "You don't know? Of course, you don’t. You don’t even remember me. My name, my past—it meant nothing to you. But everything that’s wrong in my life... it's because of you"
"What are you saying?"
"You killed my mother."
The room fell silent.
Abhimanyu looked stunned. "What?"
"My mother was Aditi Rathore."
Abhimanyu’s brows drew together, and Rudra's mouth parted in shock. Meera’s eyes widened.
"Aditi?" Rudra echoed.
"Yes," Aakash hissed. "Your wife's bua. My mother. I am your step-brother. I am Arjun Rathore’s son."
Abhimanyu reeled back. The revelation hit him like a storm. For a second, he forgot how to breathe.
"What... what nonsense is this?"
"You heard me!" Aakash roared. "He told me. My father. Arjun Rathore. He said you and your precious mother were behind my mother’s death. He said your mother came between them, and because of her, my mother died."
Abhimanyu’s eyes burned. "What the hell are you saying? It's all lies, You believed a man who is rotting in jail for murder. You think I killed your mother?"
" I saw him kill mine.He stabbed her in front of my eyes, Aakash. I was a child. And your mother... Aditi...As far as I know she committed suicide because you father cheated on her with his second wife."
"It's means she was alive , she didn't committed suicide......Oh god this was also a lie.That man , what kind of person he is?"
Aakash froze "You are lying"
Abhimanyu walked forward, chest heaving, eyes full of fire. " Oh yes and you fucking father is saying truth....he is lying to all of us we don't know what is true or not."
"You made my wife suffer. She cried for nights, thinking she was alone. All because of your stupid, blind revenge"
Aakash trembled.
"We don't even knew you mother was alive and how she died. He was lying to you and you believed him. Are you insane? How can you believe someone so easily" Abhimanyu shouted.
Aakash stumbled back. "No. No. He said... he said she died because of you two and they arrested him in false accusations he–he didn't do anything"
"He manipulated you," Meera said sharply. "You were a pawn in his game to destroy Abhimanyu. And you walked right into it."
Aakash stood frozen, breathing hard. Years of lies, twisted truths, and a life lived in shadows came crashing down."I–I don't kno–How. I thought––I am sorry please I––?"
Abhimanyu’s face—his mask of control now fully shattered. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wild, and his entire body vibrated with a rage so palpable, it made the air heavy.
Abhimanyu’s fingers twitched. And then, without warning, he lunged forward and landed a punch square on Aakash’s face.
The crack echoed across the room.
Aakash’s head snapped to the side, blood instantly blooming from the corner of his lip. He barely had a chance to recover before another punch came, this time landing on his cheekbone. His body jerked backward, knees wobbling, mouth open in shock.
"Now you are sorry " Abhimanyu roared, voice hoarse with fury. “Because of you—because of your pathetic, twisted brain—she’s suffering"
His third punch came even harder, crashing into Aakash’s jaw with enough force to send him stumbling and collapsing onto the floor.
"Abhimanyu"Meera’s voice rang out, sharp with alarm. "Stop! He’ll die—we need him alive for the court hearing tomorrow"
But Abhimanyu wasn’t listening. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing rapid—he looked like a man possessed, like a storm that had broken loose after years of restraint.
Rudra stepped in quickly, grabbing Abhimanyu by his shoulders, trying to pull him back. "Abhimanyu listen stop! We need him in court. We need him alive."
Abhimanyu didn’t budge at first. His fists were still clenched, chest heaving. Rudra had to physically yank him back with full force.
"Let go, Rudra" he growled, still trying to charge forward.
"No! Look at yourself" Rudra shouted. "This won’t help Aarushi! Killing him won’t bring justice—bringing him to court will"
Those words, Aarushi and justice, snapped something inside Abhimanyu. His fists lowered, though his jaw remained clenched tight.
His eyes—dark and cold—were still trained on Aakash like he could burn a hole through his skin.
On the floor, Aakash groaned, one hand clutching his nose where blood dripped freely. His lips were split and swollen. He coughed hard—once, twice, three times—his entire body trembling from the impact.
Then he looked up at Abhimanyu. His expression wasn’t just one of pain now—it held something deeper. Shame. Realization.
"I’m sorry…" he whispered, voice cracked and weak. "I thought… I didn’t… Please, forgive me…"
Abhimanyu’s eyes narrowed.
"Forgive you?" he said, voice dangerously quiet now. "I trusted you, Aakash. You were by my side for years. I gave you responsibility. Power. You knew everything about my schedule, my home, my wife. And you used all that to destroy her…You shouldn't have even think about hurting her but you––"
His voice broke at the end, and he turned his face away, disgusted. "I don’t want to hear a word from you again."
Those words pierced deeper than any punch. Aakash looked at him, broken, bleeding, finally understanding the cost of the lies he had lived with all his life. The cost of blind revenge.
Abhimanyu turned to Rudra, voice still shaky but firm. "Take him to the hospital."
Rudra nodded slowly. "Okay."He glanced at Aakash, then back at Abhimanyu. "You… talk to the family. They need to know, it's almost over"
Abhimanyu closed his eyes for a moment, taking a long breath as if trying to suppress the storm still raging within him. Then he nodded once.
"I’ll talk to them"
Rudra bent down to pull Aakash to his feet. Aakash winced, clutching his ribs and limping, but said nothing. Not another excuse. Not another lie. Just the silence of guilt.
Abhimanyu stood still, his back turned to them as Rudra led Aakash out.
The door clicked shut behind Rudra and Aakash, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than all the noise that had just passed. The air was still tainted with anger, betrayal, and blood.
Abhimanyu stood still for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his gaze slowly dropped to his own hand.
His knuckles were red, scraped, slightly swollen—fresh blood crusting along the edges. His fingers twitched slightly from the impact, and his jaw tightened. He didn’t flinch.
He slowly turned and walked toward the sofa, the fury still simmering beneath his composed surface.
"Abhimanyu…"Meera’s voice came softly from behind. She had been standing quietly all this while, not daring to interrupt when he was thrashing Aakash. But now… now she couldn’t help it.
"There’s blood on your hand."
Abhimanyu went towards the desk and picked up his phone without looking at her. "It’s not mine," he muttered flatly.
"But it’s still bruised," she said gently, taking a few steps forward, concern evident in her tone. "You should at least clean it… apply something."
Without waiting, Meera reached into her tote and pulled out a small medical pouch she always carried—old habit from courtrooms and unpredictable emergencies. She took out a small tube of antiseptic and moved closer .
But as she was going to touch his hand "Let me—"
"Don’t touch me," Abhimanyu said suddenly, his voice low but sharp.
Meera froze mid-step, hand still extended toward him, eyes widening.
"I-I’m sorry," she said quickly, stepping back, flustered. "I wasn’t— I mean, I just thought—"
"It’s not…"Abhimanyu stopped himself, sighed, then looked up at her "It’s not your fault. I don’t mean to sound rude. I just… I don’t like when someone touches me"
Meera nodded immediately, her voice softer. "It’s fine. I understand." She looked down, trying to school her expression. "I’m sorry if I crossed a boundary. Just… just treat it, okay?"
Abhimanyu gave her a faint nod and whispered, "Thank you. For your help."
Meera’s lips twitched with a faint smile, though her eyes betrayed something deeper—something she tried to push down quickly. "It’s my job," she replied, holding her folders to her chest. "But… it’s nice to see you again. After so many years."
He nodded again, more distantly this time. "Yeah."
There was a moment of stillness between them. Meera looked at him, her gaze lingering a second longer than necessary—searching his features, noticing how much he’d changed, and yet how some things… hadn’t.
Abhimanyu broke the silence first. "You should go , you have been working from hours. My driver will drop you home."
"Oh, no. It’s alright, I can—"
"I know you can," he said gently, but firmly. "But for safety. You’re Aarushi’s lawyer. You’re helping us. My driver’s outside."
Meera hesitated, then finally relented. "Alright. Thank you."
She gathered her bag and files, and as she turned to leave, she paused. Her gaze flicked to him again—he was now busy on his phone, jaw tight, brows furrowed. All his focus had shifted again. Still carrying the weight of the world, still distant, still unattainable.
And yet, something about him pulled her in like a tide she couldn’t swim against. Maybe it was the way he carried his pain, the way he stood like a wall for those he loved, the way his silence screamed louder than any words.
But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. So she quietly turned away and walked out, the sound of the door closing barely registering in Abhimanyu’s mind.
He sat down on the sofa, motionless for a moment. Then he unlocked his phone, fingers trembling slightly—not from pain, but from everything else boiling beneath the surface.
He dialed a number.
"Rohan," he said, the moment the call connected.
"Abhimayu why are calling–"
"Come to Rathore Mansion. Bring everyone. I’ll answer every question tonight."
There was a pause. "You have already announced divorce, there is no–"
"There’s no divorce. Come to the mansion—now. It’s urgent," Abhimanyu said, his voice low but firm. "I don’t need to pretend anymore. We’ve caught the real culprit… and I want the entire family to hear the truth."
He ended the call, and leaned back into the sofa, finally allowing his head to rest against the cushion.
His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, heavy with exhaustion—not just of the body, but of the soul.
All he wanted was a few seconds of peace, to fall asleep wrapped in her arms, to feel the calm only she could give. But he knew he couldn’t.
She is angry—hurt—and he had no one to blame but himself. The weight of his choices pressed against his chest, making even rest feel like a luxury he didn’t deserve.
What if I hadn’t pretended in front of Aakash? he thought bitterly. What if I’d actually trusted him?What is something had happened to Aarushi?
The thought alone made his stomach churn. Aarushi… behind bars. The woman he loved. The woman he couldn’t protect in time.
A shadow crossed his face. He was thankful he pretended in front Aakash. His instincts had kept him distant, guarded. And that instinct… had saved her.
But the cost? It still bled inside him.
He stared down at his hand again. Not at the bruises. Not at the blood. But at what it all meant. Every wound was a reminder—of the war he was fighting, of the price he was paying.
And tomorrow… it would end. She would walk free. The world would know the truth.
But for him, it wouldn’t be over. Not even close. Because beyond the justice, beyond the victory, he still had to face her. He still had to earn her forgiveness. And that... would be the real battle.