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The grand Agnihotri mansion was no stranger to opulence, but tonight it felt like it wore a heavier crown—golden lights dangling from chandeliers, glittering champagne flutes, designer silks, and orchestras playing faintly in the distance. Still, none of it masked the charged silence that took over the room. There was silence—a heavy, watchful pause—as two formidable humans stood face to face.
In the eye of the storm stood Prakriti Malhotra.
Her expression was deceptively composed, but her stance screamed defiance. Across from her stood Mrs. Niharika Agnihotri, exuding her trademark elegance layered with icy arrogance. The room might've belonged to her, but for the first time, so did the tension she couldn't control.
Ishika watching from corner flinched slightly, but prakriti didn't move.
"You may control a room, Mrs. Agnihotri," Prakriti said, her voice firm and unshaken, "but you don't control me."
Murmurs rustled like wind through leaves. Heads turned.
Niharika arched a brow, her smile tight. "Control? Don't flatter yourself. I only speak when incompetence becomes unbearable."
Prakriti's eyes glinted. "And yet, you've spoken quite a lot tonight."
A soft gasp escaped from a server nearby.
For a second, something flickered niharika gaze—respect, maybe. Or calculation.
Niharika's mask faltered, only for a breath. "You have spirit," she murmured, silk laced with thorns. "Unpolished. Dangerous."
prakriti said coolly. "It's about you crossing a line."
"And you," niharika replied, smile fading now, "thinking you have the power to draw one."
But this wasn't just about tonight. This was about a silent war brewing since that school afternoon
Since then, the elegant queen had been waiting to strike back. And now she had her chance.
As the tension crackled between the them, Mrs. Agnihotri's gaze flicked briefly only for a second as she saw prakriti fierceness
Something shifted in niharika sharp, calculating eyes. A thought. A whisper in her mind.
That stance… that defiance. Where have I seen it before?
And then it hit her.
That girl's subtle stubbornness, the fire tucked just behind her words—it was eerily familiar. Almost like… him.
That man.
Renowned, ruthless, impossible to argue with in court: Ishank Malhotra whose name could shake a courtroom with a single objection. Her thoughts stalled for half a second. Could there be a connection? A resemblance not in blood, but in attitude?
She didn't speak it aloud. She didn't have to. She stored the thought like a loaded weapon for later.
No, that man wasn't the focus. Not now.
Her real problem was standing in front of her, chin raised, eyes proud.
And niharika Abhishek Agnihotri never let disobedience slide
Niharika had lost her calm mask. Her lips were pressed thin, eyes blazing. "You think just because you're studying in rosewood and learned a few big words, you can challenge me?" she hissed.
prakriti stepped forward, unafraid. "No. I challenge you because you're wrong. And someone in this room needs to say it."
Gasps spread through the crowd like fire on dry leaves.
And then came the intervention—late, but frantic.
Aditya Agnihotri rushed forward, pushing through the stunned guests. "stop it!" he said, voice raised for the first time that night. "Both of you, stop it! it's an anniversary party, not a courtroom!"
But neither of them turned to him. His voice might have carried weight in School meetings and family gatherings, but here, it dissolved against the steel of their stubbornness.
Niharika pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the girl. "She insulted me in front of everyone. Do you expect me to smile and sip tea after that"
"I expect you to act like the dignified woman you pretend to be in your interviews," prakriti shot back.
niharika agnihotri hand shot upward, trembling with rage. She had never been spoken to like that—not in her home, not in front of her guests.
Her palm hovered mid-air, fingers twitching, eyes locked on the prakriti face. Fury twisted her features.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. No one moved. No one breathed.
But before her hand could even move close—
Aditya caught her wrist. Firm. Silent. Absolute.
"No," he said. Just one word, but it shattered the gasp hanging in the air.
Niharika pulled back, stung more by defiance than restraint. Her chest rose and fell, the insult festering inside her.
The room stood frozen, watching power and chaos clash like thunderclouds.
Gasps again.
"You're both making a scene—"
"I'm not," niharika cut aditya in mid, her voice sharp enough to slice through the tension. "She's making a scene. I'm ending it."
And then her eyes fell on Ishika Malhotra.
In Ruhaan's blazer.
The sight stoked new rage. "You," she snapped. "Take that off. You don't get to wear anything that belongs to my son."
But before Ishika could even register her words, another voice cut through the hall like a whip.
"Then maybe," Ruhaan said, stepping into the light with lethal calm, "you should ask the son of your husband why he gave it to her."
Gasps again. Some shocked. Some delighted. Some terrified.
Ruhaan looked sharp tonight Every line of him screamed danger dressed in perfection.
And right now, he was ready to set fire to the very foundation of his house.
Before Niharika could respond, another dramatic entrance stole the spotlight.
Mrs. Vyomika Kapoor.
Wrapped in silk and supremacy, she stepped in with a twisted smile. "I leave for some minutes and come back to what? A family drama reunion or rehearsing for your future family breakdown?"
She didn't need to raise her voice. Her words bit through the air like acid.
She slowly walked toward the center, her sharp eyes landing first on the Ishika in the blazer, then on the prakriti—both of whom stood their ground. "I see the brats are still pretending they belong in respectable company," she said with a sugary smile laced in venom. "Honestly, what else can we expect from their bloodline?"
And then, like a flame catching dry wood, Ruhaan snapped.
"You will not talk about them like that!" He shouted, eyes blazing, chest rising and falling with rage.
Everyone stilled.
Vyomika turned, stunned by the roar that came from her usually dispassionate nephew.
"You've insulted them, mocked them, acted like you own this house—but newsflash, you don't," Ruhaan said, stepping forward. "You treat people like they're accessories to your pride. But they have more grace in a moment than you have in your entire reputation."
Vyomika blinked, shocked. No one had ever raised their voice to her like that. Not in this house. Not in public.
He turned to niharika. "And you either, not tonight. Not after turning this party into a battlefield just because you couldn't handle someone telling you the truth."
The room was dead silent. No one dared interrupt.
His gaze flicked to Ishika, softer now, then hardened again. "So if you have something else to say, make sure you can say it loud. Because I'm done whispering."
Silence reigned—until a quiet voice broke it.
"I think... they don't deserve this."
Shanaya.
The girl who rarely spoke. The one who always hid behind the drama. But now? She stepped forward, voice trembling but clear.
"They didn't do anything wrong," Shanaya said, glancing between the two sisters. "Maybe it's time to stop punishing people for things they never did."
Her voice didn't shout, but it resonated.
niharika lips pressed into a thin line, her pride wounded by the gentle defiance.
Before the tension could rise again, Aditya Agnihotri—calm and composed, always the peacemaker stepped forward.
"All of you please," he said, hands raised. "This was supposed to be a celebration. Let's not make it worse."
He looked between Vyomika and his mother. "You both know this isn't how it should be. We're not going to solve our differences by humiliating each other."
But it was too late. The damage had been done. Pride was shattered, reputations cracked, and alliances exposed.
prakriti Malhotra, still furious but now trembling slightly, looked at him. Aditya gently reached out, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. She didn't pull away—but she didn't relax either.
prakriti tried to steady her breath. Her hands were clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms, and her jaw was tight with restrained fury.
Aditya leaned in quietly, voice calm, soothing—too calm.
"Enough now," he whispered. "Let it go. Please."
She turned slowly, eyes stormy. "Let it go? Your mother tried to slap me. And I'm the one who has to let it go?"
"I'm not saying she's right," he murmured, trying to keep the peace. "I'm saying this isn't the place—"
"No, you're always saying that," she snapped, still quiet enough not to draw the whole room's attention, but sharp as a whip. "You just say don't make a scene, not here, not now. You want me to be silent because my voice offends your comfort."
He inhaled sharply. "That's not what I meant."
"It's what you always mean."She laughed bitterly. "Isn't it? You never say anything when they tear us apart with words. But the moment I raise mine, you step in."
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but she wasn't done.
"Don't you dare tell me to be quiet just because my anger makes you uncomfortable. This is my battle, too."
And with that, she turned away from him. Not toward the exit. Not toward the crowd. But toward her sister. Toward Ishika. And in that moment, they weren't just sisters. They were a unit. A force.
Niharika looked around the room, realizing she'd lost the narrative. Vyomika's glare flicked between Ruhaan and Ishika like she was recalculating every insult she could afford to unleash.
TO BE CONTINUED...