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prakriti turned away from Aditya, her frustration boiling over, a sharp crash rang out through the hall.
A crash cut through the tense silence like a whip.
A wine glass. Shattered.
It had slipped from the trembling hand of a servant—startled by the voices, the fury, the storm brewing beneath chandeliers and champagne.
The crystal pieces scattered across the floor like unspoken truths. Everyone flinched.
Shanaya breath hitched. Guests froze mid-whisper. Ishika gripped the blazer tighter around her shoulders. And niharika agnihotri… didn't even blink.
She stood frozen—not with shock, but with satisfaction. As if the sound itself agreed with her.
But Prakriti Malhotra?
prakriti didn't wait for permission — She was done.
She turned, slow and deliberate, locking eyes with the woman who had pushed her one step too far. Her voice didn't tremble. It sliced.
"I'd rather walk out with dignity than stay here and choke on your poison."
Silence. The kind that wraps itself around your throat.
The chandelier above flickered slightly, as if the very electricity felt the tension.
Niharika's face went pale, then pink, then livid. Her pride, chipped like the glass at her feet. Her hands trembled—but not with guilt.
With rage.
But Prakriti didn't wait. She reached out and grasped her sister's hand—not gently, but firmly. A promise made of fingers : we leave together or not at all.
"Come on," she said. Soft. Final.
But before the first step—
Ishika hesitated.
Not because she was scared. But because she felt it—his eyes. The one she'd never expected to see tonight. Her rival
She turned her head.
And there he was Ruhaan Agnihotri. Watching silently
He stood by the archway now. Hands in pockets. Head slightly tilted. Wearing a black Mandarin collar shirt under a deep navy suit—classic, careless, confident.
But his eyes?
His eyes weren't careless at all.
When they landed on her—still in his blazer—they burned. Not with embarrassment. Not even with anger.
Something deeper. Like surprise… mixed with a twisted kind of ownership.
Ishika turned away quickly.
But Prakriti didn't.
She turned her gaze to him—Aditya Agnihotri.
The boy who always spoke in measured tones. Who always diffused the heat but never touched the fire.
Tonight, he had tried to quiet her while his mother spat venom.
And the way she looked at him now?
It wasn't hate. It was worse. She looked through him, not at him.
Disappointment deeper than words.
The kind that stung long after the echo faded.
But the real heartbreak stood across the hall—wrapped in guilt.
Shanaya Kapoor.
Her best friend.
The one who had invited her.
The one whose family name was embroidered on the walls of this mansion… and who had stayed silent while Prakriti was being humiliated.
Prakriti's heels clicked across the marble.
She stopped just before Shanaya, voice low. Gentle. But full of thunder.
"You invited us."
Pause.
"If you hadn't… none of this would've happened."
Her words weren't cruel. They were worse—true.
Shanaya's throat closed. Her voice had left long ago.
Then, no more glances. No more hesitation.
Heads turned. No one dared stop them.
And with that—
The sisters walked out.
No backward glances. No second thoughts. Just the sound of broken glass under their heels.
The carved door shut behind them with a quiet, devastating click.
___________________
The hall felt like an abandoned warzone.
Guests lingered like forgotten smoke. Words hung, unsaid. Even the music had stopped.
The wine had dried into the carpet.
Aditya Agnihotri stood among the ruins.
His hands were buried in his pockets. His chest was still tight. And his thoughts… weren't where his body stood.
They were at the door.
On her.
On the fire she carried out of the hall like a flame refusing to die.
The way her eyes had locked with his before prakriti walked away.
Behind him, a familiar voice rose—icy, bitter.
"They shouldn't have come," Vyomika Kapoor spat, stepping forward. "Those girls don't belong here. Not with that blood. That mouth."
Aditya didn't flinch.
He turned. His eyes met his bua's. Cold. Controlled.
"Enough," he said quietly. Deadly.
Quiet. But final.
Vyomika blinked.
He stepped toward her slowly, his expression unreadable.
Vyomika faltered. "Excuse me?"
"You've done enough damage tonight. Don't speak about her like that again."
She sneered. "She's not family."
His lips curled, bitter. "No. Maybe that's why she still has a soul."
Aditya turned to leave, but not before glancing toward the long hallway—the one she'd disappeared down with her sister.
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 boy 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 exploded across the floor. One slashed across the base of Niharika's gown. She gasped.
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.
Vyomika blinked, startled. "How dare—"
But he took a step forward, and her lips closed like doors at midnight.
"If I hear one more word," he said deadly, "I'll forget we're related."
No one moved. A few guests slowly backed away, uncertain if they should pretend not to be there.
And then—
Aditya.
His voice rose like a whip through thick smoke.
"I Had Enough!"
Everyone turned.
He wasn't calm anymore. Not even close.
"This damn fucking party's over."
His voice cracked through the guilt and silence like thunder.
He looked around. At his mother. His aunt. The wreckage. The judgment.
And then— He turned to Shanaya.
Shanaya stood still, eyes lowered. The guilt clung to her like perfume—delicate but thick.
For just a moment, His expression softened for half a heartbeat.
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 invite someone."
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.....