CHAPTER 28! CLUB
Aadhira lowered the phone slowly, the polished glass cool against her palm. She had reread the message twenty-three times. It hadn't become any less real.
For several long seconds, she simply stood by the grand window, staring at her reflection.
The woman looking back at her didn't seem like the same person who had confidently dissected a financial ledger just moments ago.
She stared out at the beautiful, hostile luxury of the Singhania estate.
Bhagwan...
Bas aaj ki raat nikal jaaye.
Kal jo daant padegi, jo hoga dekha jaayega.
Lekin aaj...
Aaj Aryav ko kuch pata nahi chalna chahiye.
Bilkul nahi.
Every path ended in blood.
If she stayed silent, Samarth won.
If she spoke... Aryav would.
By the time Ayaan's school Bentley rolled through the heavy front gates, Aadhira had managed to stitch her composure back together.
At least on the surface.
The moment the seven-year-old bounded through the front doors, his school bag hanging crookedly from one shoulder, she crossed the foyer almost too quickly.
Before the boy could even call out, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him against her chest.
Tightly.
Too tightly.
Ayaan blinked in surprise, his small arms coming up to pat her shoulder. "Mama, are you hurt?"
"No." She buried her face briefly in his hair, breathing in the comforting, ordinary scent of chalk and baby soap. "I just missed you."
Ayaan accepted the explanation with the simple, unquestioning trust of a child. He hugged her back, his small fingers digging into her kurti.
The pure, uncomplicated warmth of the gesture nearly broke her.
She helped him change, fed him lunch, and forced herself to listen to a breathless, detailed explanation about a classroom argument involving a missing pencil box.
Normally, she would have matched his drama with her own, inventing wild conspiracy theories to make him laugh.
Today, she could barely anchor herself to his voice.
Sapphire Club.
10 PM.
Bring security and Aryav receives the videos.
"Mama?"
Aadhira blinked, dragging herself back to the sunlit room. Ayaan was watching her over his empty plate, his brow furrowed with a seriousness that mirrored his father's. "You're sad."
Her eyes burned. She blinked hard, forcing a wider, brighter smile as she tapped the tip of his nose. "No, baby. Just thinking."
Ayaan frowned, leaning forward. His gaze was piercingly analytical. "Your mouth is smiling. But your eyes aren't."
For a second, the air left her lungs. She looked at her seven-year-old son, shoked by how much of Aryav's unsettling perceptiveness lived inside him. "Look who's becoming a detective. Go on, finish your milk."
The evening gathering in the family lounge felt like a movie playing on mute.
Reyansh was arguing with Aarush about a recent cricket match, his hands gesturing wildly.
Nearby, Tara was aggressively critiquing a social media influencer's fashion choices, while Arjun looked seconds away from provoking an entirely separate argument just for his own entertainment.
"Pani puri is honestly overrated," Arjun declared casually, throwing a smirk toward the corner of the sofa.
Tara paused mid-sentence, instantly turning. "Bas. Aaj toh tu gaya."
The siblings collectively paused, waiting for the inevitable, sharp-witted retaliation.
Aadhira usually wouldn't let a comment like that slide without a five-minute defense of street food.
Nothing.
"Say that again when Bhabhi is mentally present," Reyansh muttered from the side, looking up from his phone.
Aadhira sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, a ghost at her own family's table.
Her thumb mindlessly traced the band of her wedding ring.
Twisting it. Again. And again.
Tara slowly turned her head. "...Bhabhi?"
Aadhira blinked, looking up. "Hmm?"
Tara's smirk vanished, her brow furrowing slightly. "Aap theek ho?"
"She's been twisting that ring for five minutes," Aarush observed quietly, his voice shifting from amusement to subtle concern.
Reyansh adjusted his posture. "Seven."
Aarush glanced at his twin. "...You counted?"
"I was trying to finish an email," Reyansh said, but his eyes stayed fixed on Aadhira now.
Arjun slowly lowered his phone, the playful look draining from his face entirely. "...Okay, that's actually concerning."
"I'm just tired," Aadhira forced a faint smile, but the sound was hollow.
"You know it's serious when Bhabhi doesn't have an opinion," Tara countered, shifting closer on the couch.
"This woman has argued with Google Maps. What's wrong? Are you sick? You look really pale."
"Do I look sick?" Aadhira tried to laugh it off.
The twins exchanged a heavy look. Fortunately, before the interrogation could deepen, Reyansh's phone rang with a loud buzz from a client, breaking the tight circle of attention.
Seizing the temporary distraction, Aadhira quietly stood up and slipped out of the room before anyone could follow.
The master bedroom felt suffocatingly large. The quiet air was thick with cedarwood and expensive cologne.
Kya ajeeb aadmi hai.
Room bhi daraata hai...
Aur sukoon bhi deta hai.
Yeh normal toh bilkul nahi hai.
Her phone buzzed in her palm. Her pulse jumped, a violent spike of heat hitting her throat.
But it wasn't Samarth.
Aryav: The accounts. Review them before dinner. Don't miss the maintenance discrepancies.
A second later, the typing indicator appeared. Then disappeared. No follow-up message came.
Aadhira stared at the glowing, ruthless texts, a low-level paranoia coiling in her gut. How does he know what I found? Is he already watching? Does he already know?
She didn't reply. Instead, she looked down the long corridor toward the far end of the wing.
The heavy oak doors of Aryav's private study remained closed, dark and imposing even in his absence.
Behind those doors sat a man who could solve this problem with a single, quiet command.
A man who could erase Samarth from the earth before the clock struck midnigh.
Aadhira looked away first. She locked herself inside the master bathroom, her hands steadying only when she pressed her back against the door.
She dialed the one person who knew every shadow of her past.
The call connected on the second ring.
"Aadhi?" The familiar voice grounded her instantly.
"He's back," Aadhira whispered, staring blankly at the floor tiles.
Silence stretched on the line. "And he wants to see me."
Kashvi didn't ask if she was okay; she knew better. "Tell me you're not thinking of meeting him alone."
Aadhira closed her eyes, her silence speaking volumes. On the other end, Kashvi swore under her breath. "God, you are."
"He has my videos, Kashvi. I don't know how he got them. I was in my room alone that time." The words hung in the air, cold, clinical, and permanent.
"Does Shourya bhai know?" Kashvi asked quietly.
"No."
"Does Aryav?"
"No."
"Why not tell them?" Kashvi pressed.
"If I tell them, Samarth dies."
"It's Good Aadhi."
"No." Aadhira squeezed her eyes shut.
"You don't understand. If his blood is spilled, I would spend the rest of my life knowing it happened because of me. They both would go to any length for me, Kashvi. I can't live with that guilt."
Kashvi exhaled heavily, her tone shifting to protective steel. "I don't care about Samarth's breath, but you're not going to that club by yourself. I'm meeting you there. Send me the location and share your live tracking the second you leave the gates. If you don't, maine sar fhod Dena hai tumhara."
A watery, breathless laugh escaped Aadhira's throat. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me. Send the location, Aadhi."
"Okay," Aadhira whispered, hanging up the call.
Silence flooded the room. Slowly, Aadhira opened her contacts.
Aryav. Her thumb hovered over the name.
One call.
Bas ek phone.
Aryav aa jaata.
Samarth khatam ho jaata.
Aur shayad...
aaj raat kisi maa ka beta bhi.
That guilt was too heavy to bear.
when she herself is mom.
The screen glowed beneath her thumb. Then went dark. Tonight, she chose silence.
She chose secrets. She chose the man waiting at Sapphire Club over the man whose surname she carried.
And somewhere deep down, she already knew she had made the wrong choice.
Places like these terrified her.
Too much money, too many pristine smiles, and too many men who believed they could buy anything.
The Sapphire Club glittered with a clinical, manicured luxury designed solely to bury sins under layers of velvet and gold leaf.
Crystal chandeliers dripped heavy light from the vaulted ceilings, casting fractured shadows over the patrons below.
It was a sensory illusion-loud enough to drown a conscience, yet quiet enough to preserve the darkest of secrets.
Aadhira hated every square inch of it.
She had been afraid all afternoon.
But somewhere between leaving home and entering the club, the fear had simply run out. There was nothing left now except survival.
Dil itna zor se dhadak raha tha ki agar club mein ECG machine hoti na...
Seedha ICU bhej dete.
Her heels clicks in a sharp rhythm against the polished marble floor as she navigated the private VIP corridor. She stopped outside the heavy mahogany door labeled VIP Lounge 3. Closing her eyes for a single heartbeat, she anchored herself, then pushed it open.
Samarth was already waiting.
Bas is manhoos ki shakal dekhni baaki reh gayi thi.
He lounged carelessly across a deep leather sofa, a crystal glass of amber whisky dangling loosely from his fingers. The moment the door clicked, his eyes snapped up, and a slow, familiar smile spread across his face.
"Aadhira," he murmured, his voice dripping with an intimacy she wanted to scrub off her skin.
"You actually came."
Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to turn around.
She forced her feet to stay rooted. "I came for the videos, Samarth. Let's not drag this out."
Samarth let out a soft, breathy laugh. He stood up, the casual movement instantly shifting the gravity of the room.