Chapter 9
Meera
Stepping out of the taxi, I stare at the guest house, my fingers tightening around my phone.
The evening air bites my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the storm raging inside me.
If only I could make Dev feel even a fraction of what I’m feeling—this anger, this frustration, this desperate ache to prove that he is not as almighty as he thinks, and that not everything bends to his will.
A hand settles on my shoulder, snapping me out of the vicious spiral of my thoughts.
“Meera, beta, hold this!” Sonia’s mom beams, thrusting a thali with sweets into my arms. The metal plate wobbles under its own weight, and I nearly lose my grip.
“Be careful, don’t drop it!” she warns.
“Aunty, this is so heavy.”
“Stop whining and hold it properly,” she chides, adjusting her green dupatta over her salwar suit.
“Why do we even need sweets?” I groan, staring down at what looks like a four-kilo besan laddoo. “Bet these rich people won’t touch a single bite. They’re all probably on some fancy diet.”
“Oh, hush! Today is such a big day, and I want you to be on your best behaviour, okay? No talking rudely, and where is your smile?”
I plaster on my best fake smile, irritated by the same lines she’s been repeating all through the drive.
“Is this okay, Aunty?” I ask, rather than admit that being pleasant around them is never going to be possible.
“Ah, that’s my good girl! Make sure it stays on,” she pats my cheeks and opens the car’s back door for Sonia.
The moment Sonia steps out, she helps her with her pink lehenga. “Careful, beta! Don’t step on it!”
For a second, everything inside me softens as I take Sonia in. She looks breathtaking in her soft pink lehenga that shimmers under the porch lights. Her hair is pinned neatly with sprigs of baby’s breath, and her silver-pink bangles glint under the light when she moves.
“You look gorgeous,” I smile at her. I’d already said it at home, yet I can’t help but want to tell her again.
Before Sonia can say a word, Aunty chimes in. “No talking! Just smile sweetly and nod a little… like a shy bride.”
Sonia nods like a scolded child, and I roll my eyes, murmuring under my breath, “Yeah, right… shy bride. Ugh, these theatrics are ridiculously dramatic.”
Just then, a few ladies in crisp uniforms, carrying plates of flowers, approach to usher us inside.
They scatter petals around Aunty and Sonia as they begin to walk.
I trail behind, carefully balancing the thali in both hands.
My wine-coloured lehenga, heavy with intricate zardozi work, brushes against my ankles, making each step slow and deliberate as I try to avoid a misstep.
The moment I step inside, I’m struck by the crowd of impeccably dressed guests and the décor.
Soft yellow light spills from crystal chandeliers, fairy lights cascade down the walls, and marigold garlands frame every doorway.
White drapes, gold cushions, and a stunning floral rangoli at the centre lend the space a regal elegance.
It’s a far cry from how I remember the place from last time.
An elderly man in a crisp white kurta and a woman of the same age in a heavily embroidered green saree walk towards us, accompanied by a striking young man in his late twenties, dressed in a white sherwani.
The moment they stop in front of us, Aunty’s posture snaps into rigid perfection. I don’t need to guess that these must be the Mehtas.
“Namaste, Pooja ji,” the elderly man says, his brown eyes shining beneath neatly combed, grey-streaked hair.
The woman beside him folds her hands in greeting as well, her smile warm and welcoming. “Namaste. We’ve all been waiting.”
Aunty returns the gesture. “Namaste, Dheeraj ji and Sharmila ji. I’m sorry, we got caught in terrible traffic. And you know how brides take time to get ready.”
Mrs. Mehta steps forward, and her hand cups Sonia’s cheek. “Sonia beta, you look so beautiful… truly radiant.”
Sonia blushes. Mrs. Mehta then turns slightly towards the young man standing beside her. “Kushal, come and see how beautiful your fiancée looks today.” She places her hand on his shoulder and guides him forward.
“Namaste, Aunty,” he says, bending to touch Aunty’s feet. She blesses him and presses a kiss to his forehead. Then he turns to Sonia and smiles softly. “Hi, Sonia. You look lovely.”
She lowers her eyes shyly, and I can’t help but feel that they’re all genuinely nice people. Nothing about them seems alarming.
Kushal then offers a polite nod to me. “You must be Meera, Sonia’s friend. Dev mentioned you.”
At the mention of that jerk’s name, a pang of irritation hits me, and I force a smile. “I am.”
“Nice meeting you, beta,” Mr. and Mrs. Mehta say, smiling warmly at me, and I return the gesture. Then Mrs. Mehta looks at Aunty. “Let’s go, the stage is ready and waiting for us.”
“Of course!” Aunty says excitedly.
They start moving towards the elegantly decorated stage at the far end of the room—soft pink drapes, cascading fairy lights, and two cushioned seats. I remain rooted to the spot with the thali clutched tightly in my hands.
Everyone looks happy, and I should be happy too. I should feel relieved that Sonia is with good people.
My gaze lingers on Sonia, who is smiling softly as Mrs. Mehta adjusts a stray strand of her hair.
“What’s running through that pretty little head of yours?” An irritating voice whispers in my ear from behind.
Pulling in a steady breath, I turn to Dev with a cold smirk.
“Well, I don’t reveal my secrets to my enemies, especially not the ones I’m planning to bring down.”
“You still think I’m your enemy?” he asks, mock-offended. “I’m the one who arranged this wedding, took care of everything, and most importantly…” He gestures towards Sonia. “She’s happy.”
“One good deed can’t undo the mountain of sins you’ve stacked up,” I reply coldly.
His lips tilt into that maddening, arrogant smile. “Haven’t you heard? Sinful men are always worth the risk. You would know, only if you dared to take the chance.”
I scoff. “I’d rather ruin you than even think about taking a chance.”
He steps closer, leaning in. “God, you and your ridiculous, never-ending threats! That’s exactly why I find you irresistible.”
I lean back, my eyes narrowing. “And this arrogance… it’s exactly why I find you disgusting.”
I don’t wait to hear his nonsense. Instead, I turn and head towards the stage, where Aunty waves for me to join.
I hand the thali of sweets to one of the uniformed helpers and climb onto the stage.
Sonia sits on the couch with Kushal, his parents standing on one side and Aunty and me on the other.
The Panditji begins chanting as they exchange rings, while the guests gather around, tossing flower petals at the happy couple and clicking pictures.
I force my gaze on Sonia, though it’s nearly impossible with Dev’s eyes burning into me from across the room. The moment he finally shifts his attention to a middle-aged man, I exhale a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding.
When they ask to clear the stage for the dance performance, I help Sonia down to the first-row couch reserved for her and Kushal.
Once she’s settled with Kushal next to her, and his parents and Aunty on either side, I slip through the crowd in search of a drink, anything cold to clear my mind.
As I reach the corner of the hall where the refreshments are lined up, two men in flashy silk kurtas stand nearby, talking.
“Man, the Rathores really know how to throw a party.”
“This?” the other laughs. “This is nothing. The real party is upstairs.”
My ears perk up immediately, all while pretending I’m not eavesdropping on their conversation.
“Upstairs?” the first man asks.
“Veer is on the first floor. Doing his usual…” He lowers his voice. “Drugs.”
A cold jolt shoots down my arms as my gaze drifts to the winding staircase at the side of the hall, half-hidden in shadow. I need to see this for myself. This might be exactly what I need.
Clutching my lehenga, I start towards the stairs, but before I can take the first step, Dev steps into my path.
“What happened? That annoying journalist friend of yours didn’t show up?”
“It’s none of your business.” I try moving to the side. He moves with me. I shift to the other side. He mirrors me again.
Annoyance scorches my patience. “Mr. Dev Rathore, get out of my way.”
“First, let’s have a glass of wine to celebrate this happy occasion,” he says, taking a glass from a passing waiter and extending it towards me.
I take the glass and meet his gaze as I let it slip from my fingers. It crashes against the marble floor, splashing red wine over his polished shoes.
“With you around, no occasion is ever happy.”
“Always hot,” he clicks his tongue softly. “Anyway, why are you going up? The party’s happening here. Looks like your intentions… aren’t very good.”
“You are well aware of my intentions. I’ve never hidden them from you, Mr. Dev Rathore.” I turn to walk away, but he catches my dupatta and yanks me back, tugging me off balance. I freeze as his fingers brush against my exposed back.
Heat flares across my skin… not the good kind.
I whirl around. “How dare you—”
“Your dori is open, sweetheart. And I’m sure you wouldn’t want people to see your little wardrobe malfunction.”
My cheeks flush, not with embarrassment, but with white-hot, pulsing rage. “I don’t need your help.”
“Come on, sweetheart, you don’t have to be stubborn about taking my help,” he croons, his hand snaking around my back towards the knot of my blouse.
But before I can slap him or push him away, a hand clamps down on his wrist and yanks it back.
“Don’t you dare, Mr. Rathore,” Samarth growls, standing protectively in front of me.
A muscle twitches in Dev’s jaw.
I slip my hand into Samarth’s, not wanting to get caught in any pointless fight when all I want is to reach Veer. Dev’s gaze drops to our joined hands, and his expression darkens, but I ignore him and squeeze Samarth’s hand.
“He’s not worth it. Let’s go.” I tug Samarth along and walk away.
Once we’re out of earshot, Samarth exhales sharply. “I hate you being around any of them, Meera. I told you to wait for me before coming, didn’t I?”
“I know,” I say quickly, waving it off. “But forget that for a second. I have something important to tell you.”
His brows knit together. “What?”
“Veer,” I whisper, leaning close. “He’s upstairs… doing drugs.”
Samarth curses under his breath. “Of course he’s up to something shady.”
“I want to catch him,” I say, determination threading through every word.
He nods, scanning the hall. “Okay, but we have to be careful.”
I nod, spotting Dev at the bar, his back to us as he sips his drink, his attention fully on it and not on us.
Samarth and I move through the crowd towards the staircase. As we climb, my heavy lehenga keeps catching under my heels, but Samarth steadies me every time.
When we reach the door, he looks at me. “Ready?”
I nod, lifting my phone. “For this? Always.”
He twists the knob and opens the door just a crack.
Through the narrow gap, the room comes into view.
The smoke is thick in the air, with neon lights flickering across sprawled bodies and discarded bottles.
At the centre, Veer is bent over a glass table, a rolled note in hand, white powder lined meticulously in front of him.
He snorts a line and throws his head back, lost in the high.
My heart races. This is it.
I quietly snap a couple of photos, making sure to capture a close-up of his face with the drugs clearly visible.
After clicking, I lower the phone, my lips curling into a victorious smile. “Got it.”
Samarth exhales excitedly. “This… this is huge.”
“I know,” I whisper, stepping back as Samarth shuts the door behind us.
As we head back to the party, a thrill coils in my chest. At last, whatever’s coming for them can’t be stopped now.