Payal and Asra slipped into his private chamber, the heavy door sealing shut behind them with a resonant thud that muffled the mansion's distant murmurs. The room was a sanctuary of contrasts—opulent velvet drapes framing tall windows overlooking moonlit gardens, shelves groaning under arcane tomes and glittering artifacts, a massive four-poster bed dominating one wall, yet scattered with half-finished sketches and flour-dusted cookbooks hinting at Asra's hidden domestic heart. Candlelight flickered, casting warm pools across Persian rugs, the air scented with sandalwood incense and faint traces of baked goods from morning .Payal pulled away from Asra's shoulder, her earlier boldness giving way to a torrent of questions as reality crashed back. "Now tell me what was happening," she demanded, whirling to face him, brown eyes flashing with confusion and lingering hurt from William's chamber revelations. "What was that you did back there—magic? Some illusion? And why did Julian and William act like that?"Asra exhaled slowly, guiding her to a cushioned chaise by the window with gentle hands. "Listen, Payal," he began, seating himself across from her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unwavering sincerity. "I will tell you everything you need to know. Have a seat." His voice carried the weight of centuries, calm yet laced with urgency as he leaned forward, elbows on knees."Our family holds great magical powers," Asra explained, gesturing to the artifacts humming faintly on shelves—crystal orbs pulsing with inner light, rune-etched daggers, ancient grimoires bound in dragonhide. "They've belonged to our bloodline for centuries, passed through generations of conquerors and sorcerers. You don't know much about us because you're a mere human, untouched by this legacy. For us to fully awaken these powers—precognition for me, intuition and vanishing for William, speed and illusion for Julian—we need a life partner. A sacred ritual binds our magic to theirs, amplifying it exponentially."Payal's breath hitched, her transmigrated knowledge aligning fragments: the novel had glossed over these supernatural depths, focusing on obsession and downfall, but this explained the brothers' otherworldly edges . "Before you, there were countless women," Asra continued, voice tinged with regret. "One of them was Yuri. Her relationship with Julian was... intense. Too good, or perhaps just an act—I don't know. Julian was utterly consumed by her, whispering vows in the night, losing himself to her charms. William wanted nothing to do with marriage, retreating into his shadows; neither did I. We were content wandering our own paths—me sketching futures in solitude, William vanishing into threats unseen."He paused, running a hand through his cool blue hair. "What I saw then was Julian spiraling too deep into Yuri. So William and I decided to walk away, let him crash on his own terms. The wedding broke spectacularly—Yuri walking out when Julian couldn't commit beyond possession. We all scattered to our different careers: my quiet wanderings blending art and foresight, William's shadowy dealings with empires' underbellies, Julian's wild pursuits of pleasure and power. We barely knew each other's lives, meeting only when Father summoned us—to parade another woman for marriage, test our rituals, secure his dynasty. That's it—no brotherhood, just survival."Payal leaned forward, piecing Yuri's garden confession with this truth—the "first fiancée" saga a fractured prelude to her own arrival. "Okay, I know what you're thinking," Asra preempted, reading her furrowed brow. "But believe me, it wasn't my plan to marry you. We don't know why Father chose you—a mere human, no magical lineage, no alliances to bolster. I even sent Julian to your room to back out of the marriage, sabotage it quietly. But when he returned... he insisted. He wanted you. I was furious—betrayed by my own brother choosing Father's game."Asra's fists clenched, the memory raw. "William intervened, ever the strategist: 'It's for the best. Marry her, Julian takes responsibility, and we slip away to our paths.' After that, you know what happened—the ritual binding us, Yuri's sudden return as 'responsibility,' Father's escalating schemes to control our powers through . We thought you safe, pliable. But you... you changed everything. My visions shifted because of you."The chamber felt smaller, intimate under candlelight, Payal's heart aching with layered truths. Yuri wasn't just temptress but ex-fiancée with genuine history; the brothers' "act" rooted in survival, not malice toward her. Yet her minor role stung—chosen for harmlessness—clashing with Asra's confessed love, Julian's reclaimed warmth, William's conflicted anxiety. Father's machinations deepened: using Yuri to rekindle Julian's obsession, forcing marriages to awaken powers he coveted. , mansion wards humming with magic, the Deo Forest pact—all converged here.Payal reached for Asra's hand again. "And now? With Yuri back, your visions of me leaving... what do we do?"Asra squeezed her fingers, resolve hardening. "We fight it. Together. No more acting."Outside,William and Julian plotted; the novel's altered script bent under whom influence ?
Payal's heart pounded like a war drum in her chest, the candlelit chamber's intimacy amplifying every shaky breath. Asra's revelations had peeled back layers of deception—Yuri's history, the brothers' fractured paths, Father's power-hungry rituals—but now it was her turn, the transmigrated secret burning on her tongue like forbidden fire. She had to tell him, bridge the asymmetry that isolated her as the sole bearer of the novel's truth. "I also want to say something," she began, voice trembling. "I am tr... tr..." The word stuck, lodged in her throat like a curse. Transmigrated. Why couldn't she utter it? Was it some metaphysical gag from the novel's rules, her outsider soul bound against revealing the script? Panic flickered—had her agency limits fractured even here?Asra leaned closer, confusion etching his brow, cool blue hair falling forward. "What do you want to say? Payal, you can tell me anything."Frustration welled; if speech failed, action wouldn't. "Okay, if I can't speak, I can write," she muttered, snatching a nearby quill and parchment from his cluttered desk—strewn with sketches of her sleeping face, prophetic fragments scrawled in haste. With hurried strokes, she poured it out: I am transmigrated. I mean, I am not from this world. I know the novel's plot—your villain arcs, Yuri's obsession, the empire's fall. I'm the unlucky wife who knows too much.She thrust the paper toward him, heart in her throat, brown eyes wide with desperate hope. Would he believe? Dismiss as madness? Asra's dark eyes scanned the words, then widened—not in shock, but sudden understanding. Before she could gauge his reaction, he surged forward, enveloping her in a crushing hug, arms wrapping around her like salvation. "Oh, you want a hug?" he murmured against her hair, misunderstanding blooming from affection. "I'm yours—you don't need to ask."The paper fluttered to the floor, ignored amid the embrace, her confession unread in the moment's rush. Payal stiffened briefly—this wasn't what she'd written; he hadn't seen the truth! But vulnerability crashed over her, the weight of isolation too heavy after William's deceptions, the plot's relentless pull. She hugged him back fiercely, melting into his warmth because she needed it—the solace of his steady heartbeat, the sandalwood scent grounding her spiraling mind. Tears dampened his shirt as sobs escaped; for once, the minor character allowed herself comfort without strategy, her secret safe yet unshared.Asra held her tighter, mistaking the paper's scribbles for a plea for reassurance, his precognitive instincts humming with her distress but missing the meta-depth. "Whatever burdens you, Payal, I'm here," he whispered, rocking her gently. "No more running, no more illusions. My love is real—visions be damned."The chamber's candles guttered, shadows lengthening asdistant footsteps echoed in corridors below, servants whispering of garden tensions, William and Julian plotting Yuri's fate in shadowed corners. Payal clung longer, torn: reveal the paper now, risk disbelief? Or hoard this hug, her confession a ticking bomb amid Father's schemes and the novel's altered twists? Her embrace tightened, vulnerability craving his light before darkness reclaimed them.Outside, the mansion stirred—Julian sensing Asra's emotional surge through brotherly threads, William's anxiety throbbing anew. Payal's unspoken truth hovered like a storm cloud, her hug a momentary dam against revelation's flood.