Chapter Seventeen The Indulgence and the Sympathy #3
“I am serious,” Rovanth grinned, leaning down to steal a quick, intoxicating kiss. “The suite is booked under my name. The doors are locked. And I can assure you, the security on the VIP floor is impenetrable tonight.”
“Take me upstairs, you menace,” she agreed readily, her heart soaring.
They slipped out of the ballroom, completely ignoring the lingering guests.
As they stepped into the private VIP elevator, the doors closing, Rovanth backed her gently against the polished wood paneling.
He kissed her deeply, hungrily, the playful banter melting into a simmering desire.
Anshira tangled her fingers in his hair, laughing softly against his mouth as the elevator shot upward.
They were lighthearted, deeply in love, and completely unguarded as they walked hand-in-hand down the quiet, plush corridor of the top floor.
Rovanth pulled the black keycard from his tuxedo pocket. He swiped it against the lock of the Presidential Suite. The light flashed green, and the mahogany door clicked open.
Rovanth pushed the door wide, pulling Anshira inside, his lips already finding her neck.
But as they stepped into the cavernous living area of the suite, the door clicking shut behind them, they both froze.
The ambient, low-level lamps were turned on. And sitting on the velvet-upholstered couch, bathed in the dim light, was Ananya Singhania.
Anshira’s breath caught in her throat. Rovanth’s arm immediately tightened around her waist in a protective, instinctual grip.
Neither of them had ever seen Ananya behave this way before. The composed, untouchable professional exterior of the brilliant legal director was completely, shockingly stripped away.
She was visibly, heavily drunk. Her designer gown was slightly rumpled, her hair had escaped its flawless chignon, and her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, tracing dark, tragic paths down her cheeks.
On the glass coffee table in front of her sat a half-empty bottle of Rovanth’s private reserve scotch, and a crystal tumbler dangled precariously from her manicured fingers.
“Ananya?” Rovanth asked, his voice a sharp mixture of profound shock and immediate concern. He stepped slightly in front of Anshira. “What are you doing in here? How did you get in?”
Ananya didn't answer his question. She slowly lifted her head, her red-rimmed, glassy eyes bypassing Rovanth to lock onto Anshira.
The silence in the room was thick, toxic, and utterly jarring.
“I used my override clearance,” Ananya slurred, her voice bitter and hollow, echoing in the massive suite. She let out a dry, humorless laugh, gesturing vaguely around the room with her glass. “The scene of the crime. Isn't that what they call it?”
Anshira stood frozen, her heart breaking slightly at the sight. The malice she might have expected to feel toward Ananya was absent; she felt only a deep, profound sadness looking at the broken woman on the couch.
Ananya stood up, swaying slightly on her heels. The grief and the quiet resentment that had been poisoning her for two years finally boiled over into a messy, unraveling breakdown.
“I did everything right,” Ananya whispered, tears spilling over her lashes. She looked at Rovanth, her voice cracking with a desperate, agonizing vulnerability. “I went to the right schools. I made the right alliances. I was perfect for you, Rovanth. We were perfect.”
“Ananya, you are intoxicated,” Rovanth said gently, holding his hand up in a calming gesture, though his posture remained rigidly protective of Anshira. “Let me call a car for you. Let me get you home.”
“No!” Ananya shouted, her voice breaking on a sob. She turned her venomous, heartbroken gaze back to Anshira.
“Is this all it took?” Ananya demanded, her voice shaking with a bitter, inconsolable rage. She pointed a trembling finger at Anshira. “You did nothing! You are a nobody! You just stumbled in here, completely drunk, and fell asleep on a bed. That’s it! That is your great accomplishment!”
Anshira shrank back slightly, the cruelty of the words hitting their mark, reminding her of the agonizing accusations she had faced in this very room two years ago.
Ananya let out a fractured sob, dropping her hand, her shoulders slumping in absolute defeat.
“If I had known,” Ananya wept, the fight draining out of her, leaving only a hollow, echoing despair.
She looked around the suite, her voice dropping to a tragic, broken whisper.
“If I had known that’s all it took to win you...
I wonder. I wonder, bitterly, whether the same fate might have changed things for me, too.
If I had just been the one to get drunk and pass out in your room...
would you look at me the way you look at her? ”
Both Anshira and Rovanth stood completely frozen in shock.
The sheer, tragic absurdity of the question hung in the air heavy and suffocating.
It was a jarring, deeply sad moment for them both, a brutal reminder of the collateral damage their love story had left in its wake.
Neither of them had anticipated walking into this wreckage, and as the silence stretched, the joy of their anniversary dissolved into a profound, haunting pity.