4. The First Consequence

His family was waiting when he arrived home. The grand foyer, usually filled with the quiet hum of wealth, was thick with unspoken questions and barely contained fury. His mother stood rigidly by the sweeping staircase, her face pale, her eyes filled with a horror that eclipsed even her anger. His father sat heavily on a velvet settee, head in his hands.

"Why, Riaan?" his mother finally choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Why did you do this?"

But he had no answers. Only the echo of the chaos, the ghost of Avya's defiant eyes, and a raw, gnawing emptiness in his gut. He didn't know why—only that something inside him had snapped, a lifeline severed by betrayal, sending him spiraling into an act he himself couldn't comprehend.

He locked himself inside his study, the rich mahogany and leather a poor shield against the storm raging within him. He sat in the opulent silence, trying to make sense of his own monstrous actions. His rage had demanded a sacrifice, and Avya had been the nearest, most convenient target. But the hollowness remained.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers automatically dialing a familiar number. "Kabir," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. He started to recount the disaster, still unaware of the true storm already gathering on his horizon.

While he talked, Avya was already at work. She had retreated from the wedding hall, not to crumble, but to calculate. The sindoor had been wiped clean, the mangalsutra ripped off and discarded the moment she reached her car. Now, in the stark, sterile confines of her private office—she made a call. A quiet, calculated one. Her voice, usually smooth and authoritative, was now a razor's edge. She gave precise instructions, outlining the target, the method, the exact timing. They were followed without question.

The deed done, Avya didn't wait. She marched straight to his house, not out of duty, but out of a burning need to deliver the first consequence herself.

The guards at the gate, formidable and imposing, tried to stop her. The servants, hovering in the grand foyer, tried to intervene, murmuring apologies and pleas. She didn't listen to a single one. Her steps were precise, unyielding, each one thudding a silent drumbeat of vengeance. Her eyes, burning with a cold, unholy fire, were fixed on her destination.

His mother appeared at the drawing-room door, her face still etched with shock and shame. But seeing the absolute, terrifying resolve in Avya’s gaze, the sheer force of her presence, she simply stepped aside. Her voice was barely a whisper. "He's in the study."

Avya stormed in without knocking. The heavy oak door crashed open, revealing Riaan, still on a video call with Kabir. Kabir's face on the screen was a mask of bewildered shock as Avya barged in, her presence filling the room with an almost physical force.

Riaan looked up, his jaw tightening. A bitter, self-deprecating taunt spilled from his lips. "My bride really likes walking in and out as she pleases."

Avya ignored the sarcasm, her voice cutting through his words like glass. "I'm not your bride," she said sharply, her eyes blazing. "This marriage—whatever you want to call it—means nothing to me. It's a sham. You forced me into this, and I refuse to play your replacement." Her voice dropped, each word a stone falling into a deep well. "I want a divorce. You violated every boundary, Riaan Malhotra. And you will understand that a woman cannot be controlled or tamed when she has her own rulebook."

He opened his mouth, a retort forming, but Avya cut him off, her voice rising with an undeniable power. "You will pay for this. Every action has consequences. And let me be very clear—your money doesn't impress me. Your power is a joke compared to what's coming."

As she turned to walk away, his phone on the desk rang, its shrill sound piercing the tense silence.

Avya paused by the study door, her hand on the cold brass knob. She looked over her shoulder, a cold, dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Pick it up. You'll like the gift I left you."

He frowned, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but answered the call. His secretary's voice, tinny through the phone's speaker, was shaking. "Sir... one of our major branches, Mumbai... it just declared bankruptcy. Overnight."

"What?!" Riaan roared, his face draining of color. The phone slipped slightly in his hand. For the first time, he felt the chill of being truly outmaneuvered, of having someone dare to cross him with such devastating precision. And it was her.

He snapped at his secretary, his voice tight with barely contained fury, "Find everything about her! Every damn thing! Dig into Avya Mane! Everything!"

Kabir, still on the video call, finally found his voice. A low whistle. Then, a smirk that Riaan barely registered. "Looks like you've finally met your match, buddy."

Riaan's eyes stayed fixed on the door long after Avya left, a storm brewing in their depths. Confused. Intrigued. Burning with questions.

Back at her apartment, Avya fell into bed, drained but not defeated. Her body might be exhausted, but her mind was already planning the next moves. She had started a war—a cold, calculated war—and the battlefield had just opened.

But the storm ahead? Even she wasn't ready for all of it.

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