THE PERFECT TRAP

Divya's jaw tightened, her chest rising and falling as she fought to keep her voice steady. Though anger flushed her face, she chose restraint.

“Child, opportunities like this don’t come every day,” Divya pressed, her tone deceptively soft. “Think about it! Your career isn’t going well either.”

“That’s exactly why I need to focus on my career, ma’am,” Shreya shot back, unable to hold it in any longer. Her voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying both her frustration and her helplessness.

A flicker of irritation passed over Divya’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. She replaced it with a saccharine smile, the kind that never reached her eyes. Rising from her chair, she gracefully crossed the room and sat down beside Shreya, placing both her hands over the girl’s.

Shreya stiffened instantly. The sudden closeness unsettled her, but more than that, a sharp fear sliced through her chest. What if Divya noticed? What if she saw the faint, ugly traces hidden beneath her sleeves? That was why she had deliberately chosen to wear a full-sleeved top today.

But Divya missed nothing. She had already caught glimpses earlier—the faint, bluish smudges on Shreya’s wrists, the shadowy marks peeking from the edge of her collar. When she had escorted Shreya into her room, her sharp eyes had scanned every detail. On any other day, she would have erupted, making a spectacle of the discovery. But today was different. Today was Shreya’s day. And on such days, even a donkey, if useful, must be treated like a father.

Divya’s fingers began tracing slow, deliberate circles over Shreya’s knuckles, her touch unnervingly tender. In a voice dripping with affection, she cooed,

“She may be my stepdaughter, but you know, darling, how much I adore you. From the very beginning, it was I—not Uday—who supported you and your mother in this house. How could I punish you for the mistakes committed by them?”

Shreya’s lips pressed into a thin line. These words—this performance—she had heard it all a hundred times before. The rehearsed lines of a woman who never did anything without her own profit in mind. Divya might fool the world, but not her. Yet, no matter how much Shreya steeled herself, Divya’s voice had a way of creeping into her thoughts like slow poison.

Divya leaned back slightly, her sharp eyes assessing every flicker of emotion on Shreya’s face. The words weren’t sinking in—at least not yet. It was time for the masterstroke.

“Look at yourself, child!” she sighed dramatically, tightening her hold on Shreya’s hands. “What are you doing to yourself?”

Shreya’s throat constricted. The fake concern in Divya’s voice was unbearable. She felt as though the walls of the room were closing in, suffocating her.

Divya’s gaze hardened, though her tone remained sweet. She reached out and, with the tip of her manicured finger, brushed the faint bruise peeking at Shreya’s neck.

“If a girl bears these marks after marriage, people call it love. But if she carries the same marks before marriage…” Her voice lowered, smooth as velvet, lethal as venom. “…they call it a stain.”

Shreya’s breath hitched. The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale as chalk. Her heart thudded wildly, because she knew all too well what would happen if Uday ever learned of this. Nothing escaped Divya’s hawk-like vision. Even in a collared, full-sleeved top, she had still managed to see.

Divya noted Shreya’s reaction and her lips curled in satisfaction. She had struck the nerve she was waiting for.

“My dear,” she said with a sigh, her tone suddenly gentle again, “I didn’t want to say this, but I must. Don’t repeat your mother’s mistake—the very mistake you’ve been paying for till today. Do you really want the same fate for your children?”

The words cut deep. Shreya’s eyes welled up despite herself, tears shimmering though she tried to blink them back. This woman—this stepmother—truly was an artist. She knew exactly when to strike, where to press, and how much force to use. Few in this world could manipulate so artfully.

“Who doesn’t know the Chopras?” Divya continued, her voice silk over steel. “You’ll gain not just a good family, but fame, money, respect—everything you’ve ever desired. If Rhea can continue her acting career after marriage, why can’t you? I’m certain they will support you too.”

That last line landed differently. For the first time, something shifted in Shreya’s mind. A seed of doubt. A fragile pause in her resistance.

Divya noticed it instantly, and a quiet triumph gleamed in her eyes. She had hooked her. The rest was only a matter of time.

“Of course, child,” she said sweetly, releasing Shreya’s hands with a pat. “We won’t force you. If you still don’t want this, you’re free to say no.”

Shreya lifted her eyes slowly, meeting Divya’s gaze. And in that silent exchange, Divya knew—her control was complete.

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