•| THIRTY EIGHT |•
After reading the note, his face instantly burned — a deep crimson blush spreading across his cheeks and even the tips of his ears.
His jaw tightened, yet a disbelieving smirk tugged at his lips.
His eyes instinctively began searching the hall for you, scanning every corner, every face — but you were nowhere to be found.
“This girl… umm,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly, half amused, half heated at the thought of you being bold enough to send something like this.
“And she sent you this drink, sir,” the waiter added politely, handing him the glass before leaving.
Krish glanced at the wine — dark, rich — his smirk deepening. Without thinking twice, he lifted the glass and gulped it down in one go, the liquid burning down his throat but doing nothing to cool the sudden heat rising inside him.
“Getting romantic, huh?” he whispered, tongue pressing against his cheek. “Baby girl needs punishment…”
There was possessiveness in his tone… and a playful darkness that only you had the power to bring out of him.
Completely unaware of the trap being laid beneath his feet, he adjusted his blazer and began walking towards the private hallway leading to the hotel rooms — each step confident, slow, anticipation curling inside him.
His mind was already painting images… you waiting shyly…
maybe nervous… maybe blushing… and the thought alone made his pulse spike.
Soon, he stood in front of Room No. 05.
The corridor was quiet — almost too quiet — the soft golden lights casting shadows along the walls.
He exhaled once before knocking on the door.
No response.
He frowned slightly and knocked again — louder this time.
Still nothing.
A crease formed between his brows.
“Samira?” he called softly, voice low but edged with impatience.
Silence.
After getting no reply, he frowned slightly but still pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click.
The room was dim, curtains swaying lightly near the balcony as the night breeze slipped in.
His eyes immediately caught sight of a figure standing there — slender silhouette, long hair cascading down the back. A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips.
“Baby… are you teasing me, huh?” he murmured, voice dropping into that husky tone that only came out when it was you. “You know you cause trouble… now deal with it.”
Without waiting for a reply, he began walking toward the figure — slow, confident steps echoing faintly against the marble floor. The effect of the drink still lingered in his veins, making him bolder, warmer, needier.
Reaching her, he didn’t hesitate.
His arms slid around her waist from behind, pulling her flush against him as he dipped his face into the crook of her neck. His breath fanned against her skin before his lips followed — placing slow, wet kisses along the side of her neck, lingering, possessive.
“I swear, Samira… you’ll be the death of me one day,” he whispered against her skin, smirking slightly as he felt her body stiffen beneath his hold — which he mistook for shyness.
He gently turned her around, hands still on her arms, that teasing smile still resting on his lips —
But the second his eyes met hers…
The smile vanished.
As if it had been wiped away.
His hands dropped instantly, and he staggered a step back.
“Y-you…?”
Shock.
Disbelief.
Anger.
All crashed into his voice at once.
Sara stood in front of him — eyes glinting with twisted satisfaction, lips curled in a slow smile as if she had just won something she’d been chasing for years.
Krish immediately let go of her completely, backing away as if burned.
“Why? What happened?” she murmured, stepping closer, voice soft but laced with obsession. “I know you want me too, Krish…”
“N-No…” he stammered, still trying to process what just happened — what he had just done, mistaking her for you. His hand ran through his hair in frustration. “So that note… it was from you?”
Sara’s smile widened.
“Yes,” she said calmly. “You couldn’t resist me… that’s why you came here. I knew it. You still love me.”
Before he could react, she suddenly threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly — desperately — as if afraid he’d disappear if she loosened her grip even slightly.
Krish stiffened instantly, anger replacing the haze in his mind. He tried pulling back, hands gripping her wrists, trying to pry her off.
“Leave me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t come here for you. I thought it was Samira.”
The moment her name left his lips —
Sara snapped.
“Why her?? HUH?” she shrieked, voice echoing in the room as her grip on him tightened even more. “What does she have that I don’t?!”
Her nails dug into his blazer as she clung to him, eyes wild with jealousy and rage.
“You were mine first, Krish… MINE,” she whispered harshly. “You can’t just replace me like I never existed.”
Krish’s jaw clenched, patience wearing dangerously thin as he forcefully tried to push her away again —
Krish was about to shove her away when suddenly his vision tilted.
The room — the lights — even Sara’s face in front of him — everything began to blur and spin together. He staggered slightly, grabbing the edge of the table beside him for support. His breathing grew uneven as heat rushed through his veins in waves.
Realization struck him instantly.
His eyes snapped back to her — furious, disoriented.
“What… did you put in that drink… huh?” he growled, voice heavy, strained as he tried to stay conscious.
Sara’s expression softened into something disturbingly pleased.
“Krish… stop fighting it,” she whispered, stepping closer. “I want you.”
Before he could react — before he could even steady himself — she grabbed his collar and smashed her lips against his.
His body stiffened in shock more than anything else. His hands immediately came up, trying to push her away, but the drug in his system was slowing his reflexes, weakening his strength.
Meanwhile…
You stepped out of the washroom, adjusting the pleats of your saree, making sure everything was in place before returning to the function. The hallway was quieter now, most guests gathered inside the main hall.
You had barely taken a few steps when you heard a faint sound.
You paused.
“Who’s there…?” you murmured under your breath, glancing around the corridor.
Silence.
You shook your head lightly, thinking you were just overthinking — and turned to leave —
CRASH!
The sudden sound of glass shattering echoed sharply from one of the nearby rooms.
Your heart skipped.
And then —
A voice.
Familiar.
Male.
Low… strained…
“Krish… umm—”
You froze mid-step.
Your breath hitched as his name registered in your mind.
Slowly — almost mechanically — you turned back toward the door the sound had come from.
Your hands began trembling without your permission.
No… he’s in the hall… he wouldn’t be here…
But your feet were already moving.
One step.
Then another.
You stopped in front of the door.
Your heartbeat thundered so loudly it drowned every other sound.
Taking a deep, shaky breath —
You pushed the door open.
Your whole world came crashing down in that single, merciless moment — as if the ground beneath your feet had split open and swallowed every ounce of happiness you had so carefully built after marrying him.
There he was — your husband — locked in an embrace with another woman, their bodies far too close, her hands fisted tightly in his collar while her lips were pressed against his like she had every right to be there…
like she belonged there. For a second your mind refused to process what your eyes were seeing, but reality was cruel — brutally clear — as their silhouettes moved against the dim balcony light, kissing each other like there was no tomorrow, like the world outside that room didn’t exist.
Your grip around the doorknob tightened so hard your knuckles turned pale, your fingers trembling violently as fresh tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision yet not enough to hide the scene that kept stabbing into your chest again and again.
Your breath hitched painfully, each inhale feeling heavier than the last, your lungs refusing to work properly as shock numbed your senses and heartbreak seeped into your bones.
Your legs weakened beneath you, wobbling as if they would give up any second, and you instinctively reached out to hold onto something — anything — to keep yourself standing, but your shaking hand collided with the decorative vase placed on the table beside the door.
It all happened too fast.
The vase slipped.
And then — CRASH! — it shattered against the marble floor, the deafening sound slicing through the thick tension of the room.
Both of them froze.
Krish’s eyes snapped toward the door — and the moment they landed on you, standing there with tear-filled eyes, broken breaths, and a face drained of all color — his expression shattered completely. Shock. Horror. Realization. Panic. It all hit him at once.
“S-Samira—”
But before he could even say your name properly, before he could explain, before he could step toward you — you saw Sara.
She was smirking.
Smirking at you with victorious satisfaction burning in her eyes, her gaze deliberately provocative — as if she wanted you to see this, wanted you to misunderstand, wanted this exact destruction.
Krish immediately shoved her away the second his senses returned, stumbling slightly because of the drug still clouding his system, but he didn’t care — he rushed toward you in panic, fear clawing up his throat when he saw you backing away like he had burned you.
“Samira wait— listen to me— it’s not what you think—!”
But you couldn’t hear him.
You couldn’t hear anything.
Your ears were ringing, your heartbeat roaring louder than his voice, louder than your own thoughts. Tears spilled over, sliding helplessly down your cheeks as you shook your head faintly, unable to bear another second of that room, that sight, that pain.
And before he could reach you —
You turned — and ran.