Katha's POV

Two pillows.

Two massive, fluffy, goose-down barriers sat between us like the border control of a war zone.

I lay on my side, staring at the white pillowcase, my eyes burning in the dark. It was the middle of the night, the witching hour, and I was wide awake, fueled by a cocktail of indignation, hunger, and a stupid, aching heart.

I couldn't believe him. Twenty-five lakhs. That was his solution. He almost kissed me-he wanted to kiss me, I felt it in my bones-and then he panicked. He got scared like a little boy and threw a diamond bracelet at me to make it all go away.

Transaction complete, his eyes had said.

I looked down at my wrist. I had taken the bracelet off and thrown it on the nightstand with more force than necessary. It sat there now, glittering in the moonlight, mocking me.

I rolled over, facing the other side.

Dhruv was asleep.

Of course he was asleep. The man had the emotional range of a teaspoon and the conscience of a rock. He was probably dreaming about spreadsheets or firing people.

I sat up slowly, the mattress dipping slightly. I glared at his sleeping form.

He looked... annoying. And peaceful. His hair was messy, falling over his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to brush it back. His harsh features were softened by sleep, his lips slightly parted. He didn't look like the Shark. He looked like... just a man. A tired, broken man.

I hate you, I thought, narrowing my eyes. I really, really hate you.

I raised my hands. I hovered them over his neck, fingers curled into claws.

I could do it, I thought, imagining it. I could just... squeeze. A little bit. Just enough to wake him up and scream, "Why are you such an idiot?"

I held the pose for a second, feeling like a vengeful spirit.

Then, Dhruv let out a soft, mumbly sigh in his sleep, turning his cheek into the pillow.

My hands dropped. My shoulders slumped.

"God, why are you so cute when you're unconscious?" I whispered furiously to myself. "It's unfair."

I hated that I couldn't hate him properly. I hated that I knew he was hurting. I hated that I was too kind, too soft, for a man made of steel.

And mostly, I hated that I was starving.

My stomach let out a loud, treacherous growl that sounded like a dying tiger.

I froze, looking at Dhruv to see if he woke up. He didn't stir.

I had skipped dinner. I had been so angry, so humiliated after the bracelet incident, that I had marched straight to the room and refused to come down. And Dhruv? Mr. Sensitivity? He hadn't even checked. He hadn't sent a tray. He probably ate a five-course meal while I was up here stewing in my misery.

"I waited for hours with a sandwich for you," I muttered to his sleeping face. "And you let me starve. Monster."

I couldn't take it anymore.

I slid off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold carpet. I grabbed a shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders.

I opened the bedroom door with the precision of a cat burglar, slipping out into the hallway.

Hallway Time: 1:55 AM

The Rathore Manor at night was a different beast.

During the day, it was intimidating. At night, it was haunting.

The silence was absolute. It wasn't the peaceful silence of a home; it was the heavy, echoing silence of a museum after closing hours. The moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting long, skeletal shadows on the marble floor.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of lemon polish and old money. It was beautiful, I had to admit. Cold, but beautiful.

I walked toward the grand staircase. The walls here were lined with history.

Family portraits.

I had walked past them a dozen times, usually rushing behind Dhruv, but I had never stopped to look. Now, with the house asleep, I paused.

There was a huge portrait in the center. Rohini Rathore, looking younger but just as stern, sitting on a gold chair. Standing behind her was a man I didn't recognize-he had sharp eyes and a cruel mouth. That must be Dhananjay Rathore, Dhruv's father. I realized with a start that I had never seen him. Is he dead? Away? No one spoke of him.

Next to them stood a young Arav, looking serious in a little suit.

I frowned. Where is Dhruv?

I scanned the other photos. There was Arav and Suhana's wedding photo-grand, opulent. There were photos of Arav graduating. Photos of Rohini receiving awards.

I walked further down the landing.

Finally, in a shadowy corner, separated from the main cluster, I found him.

It was a small photograph.

A young boy, maybe seven or eight years old, stood alone in a garden. He was wearing a formal suit that looked uncomfortable. His hands were clasped behind his back. He wasn't smiling. His eyes-those deep, dark eyes-were looking straight at the camera with an intensity that was unsettling for a child.

"Dhruv," I whispered.

He looked cute. But he looked so lonely.

I reached out and gently took the frame off the wall. I held it in my hands, tracing the glass.

"Even then," I murmured to the little boy. "You were always on the outside, weren't you? Separated from the pack."

It made sense. The other photos showed a family unit. Dhruv's photos were always solo. Him winning a debate. Him graduating. Him on a magazine cover. Always alone.

He hates having a family photo, I realized with a pang of sadness. Because he never really felt like part of the family.

My stomach gave another violent growl, reminding me that emotional revelations didn't burn calories.

"Sorry, little Dhruv," I whispered, hanging the photo back on its lonely hook. "I have to eat before I pass out."

I hurried down the stairs, making my way to the kitchen.

Location: The Kitchen Time: 2:10 AM

The kitchen was larger than my entire old house. It gleamed with stainless steel and marble surfaces.

I tiptoed in, feeling like an intruder. I went straight to the massive, double-door refrigerator. The light from inside flooded the dark kitchen as I pulled it open.

Cake. Imported cheese. Strawberries. Leftover pasta.

Jackpot.

I reached for the bowl of pasta.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I shrieked, jumping a foot in the air. I spun around, clutching the pasta bowl to my chest like a shield.

Suhana was sitting at the kitchen island in the dark.

She was wearing a silk robe that probably cost more than my kidney, sipping a glass of red wine. I hadn't seen her in the shadows.

"God!" I gasped, my heart hammering. "You scared me!"

Suhana raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Answer the question. What are you doing sneaking around at 2:00 AM?"

"I... I was hungry," I stammered, putting the bowl on the counter. "I missed dinner."

"So you decided to raid the fridge like a raccoon?" Suhana took a sip of her wine, her eyes scanning me with her usual disdain. "You really have no class, do you?"

I sighed, grabbing a fork from the drawer. I was too hungry to fight.

"Hunger doesn't have a class, Suhana Bhabhi," I said, opening the container. "Even queens get hungry."

Suhana rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Don't call me Bhabhi. It makes me feel old, and coming from you, it feels... wrong. Call me Ma'am. Or Suhana. Just not Bhabhi."

"Okay... Suhana," I corrected myself, taking a bite of the cold pasta. It tasted like heaven.

"And what about you?" I asked with my mouth full. "Why are you sitting in the dark drinking wine? Is this a rich person hobby I don't know about?"

Suhana scoffed. "I have insomnia. Not that it's any of your business. You don't have the right to ask me questions."

"Fair enough," I shrugged. I pulled out a chair at the dining table and sat down.

Suhana watched me eat for a moment. Then, surprisingly, she picked up her wine glass and walked over to the table. She sat in the chair opposite me.

She didn't look friendly. She looked bored. And Suhana, I was learning, would do anything to cure her boredom-even talk to the "roadside" girl.

"You're eating cold pasta," she remarked with a grimace. "It's pathetic."

"It's delicious," I countered. "Want some?"

"I'd rather die," she said flatly.

We sat in silence for a minute. It was weirdly comfortable. Just two women in a silent house, neither of them sleeping when they should be.

I swallowed a bite of pasta, looking at her. She was harsh, bitter, and sharp-but right now, she wasn't yelling. She was just... there.

I decided to push my luck.

"Suhana..." I started hesitantly.

"What?" she snapped.

"Can I ask you something? About... about the past?"

Suhana swirled her wine. "If it's about my skincare routine, it's confidential."

"No," I said softly. "About Tara."

Suhana froze. The glass stopped midway to her lips.

She looked at me, her eyes widening slightly. Then, a slow, dark chuckle escaped her throat.

"Tara?" she laughed, setting the glass down. "Oh, wow. You really are brave, aren't you? Mentioning that name in this house is like summoning a demon."

"I just... I want to know," I whispered. "Dhruv... he loved her, didn't he? Who was she?"

"You don't know?" Suhana looked at me with genuine amusement. "Ha! Even I don't really know her. That's the joke."

She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with the thrill of gossip.

"Dhruv met her last," she began. "But he claimed he knew her from childhood. How? No one knows. He has always been secretive, our Dhruv. He doesn't trust anyone. Not me, not Arav, not even Mom. But her?"

Suhana shook her head in disbelief. "He was mad for her. Obsessed. He trusted her blindly. It was honestly... disgusting to watch. The great Dhruv Rathore, following a girl around like a puppy."

"But who was she?" I pressed. "Why did she leave?"

Suhana's smile turned cruel.

"She didn't just leave, darling. She executed a plan."

Suhana took a long sip of wine.

"Do you know who Dhananjay Rathore's biggest rival was? The man Dhruv destroyed five years ago? The man Dhruv single-handedly sent to rot in prison for fraud?"

I shook my head.

"Vikramaditya Singh," Suhana said the name with dramatic flair. "And Tara... was Tara Singh. His daughter."

I gasped, dropping my fork. It clattered loudly on the plate.

"His... rival's daughter?"

"Bingo," Suhana smirked. "It was a revenge plot, pure and simple. She played him. She seduced the man who destroyed her father. She got him to fall in love, got him to the altar... and then? Poof. Gone. Left him humiliated three days after the wedding."

I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Dhruv didn't know?" I whispered.

"No one knew!" Suhana laughed, but it was a dry, hollow sound. "Dhruv is a genius in business. No one comes close to his tactics. But in love? He was an idiot. He didn't run a background check. He didn't look at her surname. He just saw a pretty face and lost his mind."

She looked at me, her expression sobering slightly.

"It destroyed him," she said, her voice dropping. "Not the money. Not the scandal. The betrayal. He thought she was his... I don't know... his soulmate? And she turned out to be the enemy."

I stared at the pasta, my appetite gone.

It made sense. The anger. The "I don't have a heart" speech. The "Don't leave me" nightmares.

He wasn't just heartbroken. He had been gutted by the one person he had let in.

"How is that possible?" I asked softly. "That no one knew? How could she hide it?"

"How would I know?" Suhana shrugged, leaning back. "Maybe she was a better actor than you. Maybe Dhruv was just blind."

She finished her wine in one gulp and stood up.

"But whatever it was," Suhana said, tightening her robe, "you know... it was fun."

I blinked. "Fun?"

"Entertainment," Suhana grinned, a wicked glint in her eyes. "This house is so boring usually. Just business, business, business. Finally, we had some drama. A runaway bride, a secret revenge, a broken billionaire... it was like a soap opera."

She patted my shoulder as she walked past me-a gesture that was patronizing but oddly inclusionary.

"And now we have you," she said. "The street girl playing the wife. Season Two is shaping up to be interesting."