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prakriti turned away from Aditya, her frustration boiling over, a sharp crash rang out through the hall.
A wine glass. Shattered.
It had slipped from a servant's trembling hand, too shaken by the yelling and rising tension to steady the tray. The sound pierced the silence like a slap, shards scattering across the marble floor.
Everyone flinched.
prakriti breath hitched, her anger momentarily swallowed by the jolt of reality. Guests froze mid-whisper. Ishika gripped the blazer tighter around her shoulders. And niharika agnihotri… didn't even blink.
She just sneered, like the crash had punctuated her point.
prakriti didn't wait for permission—she was done.
She turned to niharika one last time, her gaze steady, unshaken, and filled with everything she hadn't said before.
"I'd rather walk out with dignity than stay here and choke on your poison."
The air was heavy.
The silence after her words was not peace—it was the stillness before a storm that no longer needed thunder. Her voice had already struck.
"I'd rather walk out with dignity than stay here and choke on your poison."
The chandelier flickered.
niharika face was pale with fury, her hands trembling slightly—but she couldn't speak. Not a word. The hall she ruled with cold elegance now felt colder without control.
Without waiting for a reply prakriti turned and reached for her sister's hand, fingers curling around it—not delicate, not gentle, but decided. A silent promise: we leave together or not at all.
"Come on," prakriti said softly, but firmly.
But before the first step—
Ishika hesitated.
She could feel it——his eyes on her. The one she'd never expected to see tonight. Her rival. The one who always leaned too close, spoke too low, looked at her like he knew all the things she tried to hide.
She turned her head.
And there he was. Watching silently
His expression was unreadable—cool and composed as ever—but something flickered underneath it. She couldn't name it, but it made her breath catch. Like heat behind glass.
Then prakriti looked too.
Her gaze landed on Aditya Agnihotri—the one who had tried to reason with her, to make her lower her voice while others raised their hands.
She stared at him with quiet fire. only hatred. disappointment deeper than words. She looked through him, not at him.
And then… her eyes shifted again.
To her
her soft-spoken bestfriend
Shanaya Kapoor
The girl who had invited them.
She looked small now. Guilt dressed in silk. Eyes wide, mouth tight.
prakriti stepped forward, slow, steady. Her heels echoed against marble like a countdown.
She stopped just close enough, her voice low—dark silk in tone.
"You invited us."
A pause.
"If you hadn't… none of this would've happened."
Her words weren't cruel. They were worse—true.
Then, no more glances. No more hesitation.
Heads turned. No one dared stop them.
Together, they walked. Past the broken glass. Past the watching eyes.
And the door—heavy, dark wood, carved like secrets—closed behind them with a quiet, final click.
________________________
The glass had stopped crunching beneath people's feet.
Because there were no more people left.
Just silence.
And the remnants of a celebration that turned into a storm.
Aditya Agnihotri stood in the center of it all, hands buried in the pockets of his suit pants, staring at the shattered table like it held answers he'd missed.
The wine had dried into the carpet.
The broken chandelier piece still swung slightly, creaking on its chain.
But none of it mattered.
He could still feel it—the tension—coiled around the air like smoke.
And her voice.
Sharp. Defiant. Echoing in his mind.
The way her eyes had locked with his before prakriti walked away. Like she knew.
Not just about the lies that cracked beneath the weight of the party.
But about him.
His grip tightened.
"She shouldn't have been here," a voice said behind him.
He turned. It was his bua Vyomika kapoor again, venom still fresh on her tongue.
"She brought it on herself. Her and that brat sister. Always looking to stir something up—"
"Enough," Aditya said.
Quiet. But final.
Vyomika blinked.
He stepped toward her slowly, his expression unreadable.
"You've done enough damage for one night."
"Excuse me?"
"I told you before, don't speak about her like that."
"She's not family," she hissed.
Aditya smiled—but it wasn't kind.
"No. She's not. And maybe that's why she still has a soul left."
Vyomika recoiled slightly.
Behind them, Ruhaan stood silent near the staircase, still breathing hard, jaw clenched. His hands were stained with the aftermath of glass and rage.
And Aditya?
He exhaled deeply, as if trying to shake off something that wouldn't leave him.
He turned to leave, but not before glancing toward the long hallway—the one she'd disappeared down with her sister.
He didn't follow her.
He'd never followed anyone.
But something inside him shifted then.
Not a pull.
A promise.
They thought it ended when she walked out.
But he knew better.
This was just the beginning.
And for the first time in years, the man who was always calm…
Felt like burning something down.
The silence hadn't even settled when a sudden crash tore through the party hall.
Ruhaan jaw locked tight, eyes storm-dark—shoved his hand forward and flipped the glass table without warning. The sound of shattering glass echoed like a gunshot across the marble, silencing whatever gasps were left.
Shards scattered at niharika Agnihotri's feet.
Vyomika froze mid-taunt, lips parted in smug satisfaction—but she didn't even get a word out.
Ruhaan turned to her, his voice like a knife wrapped in velvet.
"Get. Out."
Not a yell. Not a scream. Just cold, steady wrath. The kind that made everyone tense without knowing why.
The aunt blinked, startled. "How dare—"
He stepped forward once, just once, and her breath hitched.
"If I hear another word from your mouth tonight, I swear, I'll forget we're related."
The tension snapped like wire. A few guests slowly backed away, uncertain if they should pretend not to be there.
And then came the voice that used to calm rooms—now broken and harsh.
"Enough!"
Aditya shout cracked through the chaos. His composed mask had slipped completely. His chest heaved as he stepped forward, gaze sweeping across the shattered remains of what was supposed to be a celebration.
"Party's over."
He looked around. At his mother. His aunt. The wreckage. The judgment.
And then—at her.
His cousin.
Shanaya stood still, eyes lowered. The guilt clung to her like perfume—delicate but thick.
For just a moment, his expression softened. A flicker of something gentle. Protective.
But it was gone just as fast.
He took a breath.
Walked past her.
But as he passed, he whispered—barely audible.
"Next time, think before you open the door."
He didn't look back.
He didn't have to.
Because Shanaya felt it.
Every word.
_______________________
From the upper floor, beyond the long velvet drapes and antique glass, Abhishek Agnihotri stood still—half in shadow, half illuminated by the dying flicker of the chandelier.
A drink in hand.
Not a sip taken.
His posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed for a man watching the shards of his family's image collapse—but there was a gleam in his eye.
The party below was in ruins.
Glass crunched under the shoes of retreating guests. Rage still hummed faintly in the walls like a curse not yet lifted. But he didn't look at the mess.
He looked at them.
His sons.
He sipped the drink this time—slow, silent, as if tasting something far more intoxicating than scotch.
His smirk curved, sharp and slow
Because what he had just witnessed?
Was unlike anything he'd expected.
His gaze locked first on Aditya. Calm. Cold. Always detached. The one who never raised his voice, never picked a side, never wasted emotion.
But tonight, he had.
Tonight, he defended her.
A girl who had spit fire at his wife, walked out of his home like it wasn't worth her shadow, and dared to carry her dignity higher than anyone allowed.
He'd stepped between his wife and that girl like instinct—not duty.
He didn't even hesitate.
Interesting
Even more curious: Ruhaan.
The volatile flame. The golden boy with a mouth full of knives and a pride too sharp to carry safely.
He was never still. Never quiet.
But tonight?
He was silent
Still.
Like he was holding his breath.
Abhishek Agnihotri eyes narrowed, following the younger boy's gaze.
It wasn't hard to see where it landed.
Her
Wrapped in his blazer. Her back turned as she walked away. And yet, somehow, still pulling every thread of his attention with her.
Ah.
Now it all made sense.
But the real moment? The one that had Abhishek Agnihotri chuckling low into his untouched glass?
When his cousin sister—sharp-tongued and venom-lacedhad dared say something to her.
And that boy, the younger one, who'd been eerily quiet till then… had snapped.
Glass flipped.
Veins visible in his neck.
All for a girl.
A very specific girl.
Mr. Agnihotri swirled the drink once, still smiling.
Not once. But twice.
Abhishek Agnihotri's smile grew colder.
He took another sip.
"Well now," he murmured to himself.
"What do we have here?"
The game had changed.
And finally—it was getting interesting.
The smirk on his face now wasn't amusement—it was something darker. The satisfaction of a man watching a game unfold he never even needed to start.
No interference. No command.
Just a spark.
And the fire had lit itself.
He stepped back from the window, placing the untouched drink on the edge of the carved table.
"Let's see," he murmured to no one, voice like silk against a dagger.
"How far you're all willing to burn."
TO BE CONTINUED.....