ch 4

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Next Morning

The golden sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the Suryavanshi villa, casting soft shadows on the marble floor. The air was calm, almost deceptively so—like the quiet before a storm.

Mihir sat in the living room, casually dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, reading the newspaper. His expression, as always, was unreadable, but his eyes occasionally flicked toward the staircase.

A faint sound of anklets broke the silence.

Mihir's hands paused over the pages as his gaze slowly shifted—there she was.

Kiara.

She walked down the stairs, carefully, with a slight limp still in her step. She wore a simple red kurti that hugged her frame modestly, but elegantly. Her hair was left open, cascading over her shoulders like a silken curtain, and her face had a natural glow—the kind that spoke of silent strength and quiet beauty.

Mihir's breath hitched, just for a second.

She didn’t see him at first. Her attention was on her steps. But the moment she felt eyes on her, she glanced up and locked eyes with him.

Kiara noticed the way his eyes lingered—slightly widened, softer than usual. She wasn’t used to that look from Mihir. He never looked at her like this before.

She stopped mid-step, suddenly aware of how close he was watching her. Her fingers instinctively curled around the banister.

And then—it happened.

Her foot missed a step.

Before she could gasp, Mihir was already on his feet, sprinting toward her. His arms caught her just in time, wrapping around her tightly, protectively. Her body collided against his chest, and for a moment, the world shrank down to nothing but the two of them.

Kiara clutched the fabric of his shirt, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat.

His hands were steady, firm, wrapped around her waist.

She slowly looked up—into those deep, intense eyes. Her heartbeat quickened. Mihir's face was just inches from hers, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.

They stayed like that—locked in silence, wrapped in each other's warmth.

And then she blinked, reality snapping back in.

She gently pulled herself out of his hold and stood on her own, brushing down her kurti with trembling hands.

“I’m… fine,” she said, avoiding his eyes.

“You don’t have to act like you care.”

Mihir’s expression flickered—just slightly.

“I didn’t say I cared,” he said flatly, but his voice lacked the cold edge he usually used with her.

She laughed, hollow and soft.

“Of course. You only married me for Aakay. I know my place.”

That silenced him. For the first time, Mihir didn’t have a sharp reply. He looked at her… and said nothing.

Kiara didn’t wait. She turned and walked toward the living room, her back straight despite the pain in her leg.

Later, in her room...

Kiara lay curled up on the couch, her phone in her hand. She stared at it with longing eyes. One name flashed on her screen over and over again—Myra.

She’d called multiple times. No response.

“She has to be alive,” Kiara whispered to herself.

“She promised we’d stay together… in this life too.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but just as she was about to give up, her phone rang.

Myra.

With trembling fingers, Kiara answered the call.

“Kiara… do you remember everything?” came a familiar, shaken voice.

Kiara felt her soul jolt.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes brimming with tears.

“It was real. Everything. They killed us, Myra. But we’re back.”

There was a pause, followed by a sob.

“We need to talk,” Myra said.

“We need to find out who betrayed us.”

Kiara nodded, clutching the phone.

“Come here tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.”

Elsewhere… in a hidden basement of the same estate

A room shrouded in shadows, barely lit by a single bulb swinging from the ceiling.

A man sat on a grand chair like a king on a dark throne, one leg crossed over the other. His features were partially hidden in the gloom, but his burning eyes gleamed—like embers ready to ignite.

A bloodied body hung from the ceiling, suspended over a slab of cracked ice. Lifeless. Dripping. Silent.

The man stood, walking with calm menace toward the corpse. He pulled off his gloves slowly, wiping off the blood with a clean silk cloth.

“Let this be a message,” he muttered darkly.

“Anyone who even dares to harm my wife and child… this is their fate.”

He tossed the cloth onto the corpse and turned away—his face still hidden, his identity still a secret.

Friends, that's all for today. I will write the rest in the next part.

Bye...

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