The next morning—
News channels buzzed with a single headline, flashing across every screen:
“Aarav Khanna, heir to the Khanna Group, runs away from his own wedding!”
Reporters spoke with urgency, their voices layered with speculation.
“Sources close to the family suggest that Aarav Khanna has always been deeply invested in his business…”
“His parents have stated that he prioritized work over marriage…”
“Was this a planned decision or a sudden escape?”
The story twisted, turned, and reshaped itself with every passing second—truth buried beneath assumptions.
Inside the Malhotra Mansion—
Rudranshi sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, her gaze fixed on the television.
A slow, cold smile formed on her lips.
Perfect.
Exactly how she wanted it.
No suspicion.
No chaos pointing toward her.
Just a groom… who chose to disappear.
Beside her—
Rudrima sat sprawled on the couch, a bowl of ramen in her hands, completely invested—but not in the seriousness of the situation.
She stuffed her mouth with noodles, cheeks full, nodding enthusiastically at every word the reporter said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, slurping loudly.
Another bite.
Another nod.
“Bilkul sahi bol rahe hain,” she mumbled between mouthfuls, as if she personally agreed with the fake narrative being broadcasted.
Rudranshi glanced at her briefly.
A beat of silence—
Then she looked back at the screen.
One was enjoying the success of a perfectly executed plan—
And the other…
Was enjoying ramen like nothing in the world mattered.
Meanwhile—
Inside a room that once held the quiet anticipation of a bride—
Fire flickered.
Misthi stood in front of it, her expression eerily calm as flames slowly consumed the rich fabric of her wedding lehenga. The embroidery curled, the colors darkened, and the dupatta—once draped with dreams—turned to ash piece by piece.
One by one—
She threw in the rest.
Jewelry.
Accessories.
Every symbol of the wedding that never happened.
The fire reflected in her eyes, but there were no tears now. No hesitation.
Just… finality.
As if she had been waiting for this exact moment.
Waiting for something to break—
So she could finally let go.
The room filled with the faint scent of burning silk and metal, the silence louder than any scream.
Misthi watched it all without flinching.
Because whatever had ended last night
She wasn’t mourning it.
She was erasing it.
London, Paris
Between the timeless elegance of London and the romantic grandeur of Paris—stood a name that didn’t just belong to a city, but ruled across them.
Diamond Enterprises.
The building rose like a statement of power—glass and steel reflecting the ever-changing skies, yet standing unshaken beneath them. Its structure was sharp, flawless… almost intimidating, as if every inch of it whispered authority.
By day, it shimmered under the light, blending sophistication with dominance. By night, it transformed—its illuminated floors glowing like a crown in the skyline, impossible to ignore.
People didn’t just walk into Diamond Enterprises—
they entered influence.
Because this wasn’t just a company building—
It was a symbol.
Of wealth.
Of control.
Of a power that stretched far beyond borders.
Inside the owner’s office, the atmosphere felt… different.
Heavy. Intimate. Charged with an energy that lingered in the air like an unspoken secret.
The air is thick with the scent of musk and sex, clinging to the office furniture. A girl sat on the desk, with Abhay standing between her legs. His hands are everywhere, in her hair, on her hips, sliding under the dress. Abhay breaks the kiss to run a thumb across her kiss-swollen lips.
The dress is a deep red—silk, judging by the way it flows over her curves. A slit runs high on the thigh, leaving that soft flesh exposed. She's a vision in the dim office light—like a painting come to life.
But not for him to lure.
For him she's just a medium to forget his pain.
His biggest regret.
The air in the office is thick with tension—windows slightly fogged, the scent of her perfume mixing with his cologne. Abhay's hands are already under that slit hem, rough fingertips skating up bare skin as he kisses her deep and claiming. His tie is loosened, suit jacket discarded on a chair where it won't be noticed.
“Leave.”
No anger. No raised tone.
Just an order.
The girl didn’t argue. She quietly gathered herself and walked out, the soft click of the door sealing the room back into silence.
Abhay stood still for a moment, his presence filling the space… and then, slowly, he walked toward his chair.
He sat down, leaning back just slightly, as if the weight of something unseen had settled on his shoulders. His hand moved across the desk, stopping at a frame lying there.
He picked it up.
His eyes softened—just a fraction.
In the frame was a girl. Much younger. Smiling in a way that felt untouched by the world he now lived in.
His thumb brushed lightly over the glass.
Love flickered first.
Then regret.
Then something heavier—guilt.
All of it passing through his eyes without a single word spoken.
His jaw tightened slightly as he looked at her, as if holding back something that refused to stay buried.
“Where are you…?” he whispered, his voice no longer the commanding one people feared.
It was quieter. Rougher.
“I miss you.”
The room didn’t respond.
It never did.
The frame trembled ever so slightly in his grip as his gaze remained locked on her.
The red dress.
Long, flowing… with that same daring slit running up to the inner thigh.
The memory hit sharper this time.
Because he had seen that dress countless times after her. On different faces. Different women. Different nights.
But never… like this.
Never like her.
His jaw tightened, something dark flickering in his eyes as frustration and longing twisted together.
“She wore it like you did…” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low, strained. “Every single one of them…”
A bitter chuckle escaped him—empty, humorless.
“Thought maybe I’d forget.”
His grip on the frame tightened, knuckles turning pale.
“But you—” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if denying his own thoughts, “—you’re like a damn drug.”
Silence filled the room again, heavier this time.
His eyes softened despite himself, pain seeping through the cracks of his control.
“I’m addicted.”
A pause.
Longer. Deeper.
Then, barely above a whisper
“Come back, Rudrima…”
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