I walked into the hall, a polite smile pasted across my face, like porcelain. The lights glittered off crystal chandeliers, laughter bubbled, and somewhere in the corner a string quartet was playing something overly sentimental.
I did not belong here.
The family I had inherited was a brand, a mask. Not warmth. Not blood. But tonight I had to wear it. Reputation demanded it.
My manager, Raghav, walked beside me. Low voice, always sharp. "Keep the mask on, Sera. They can't see anything you don't want them to see."
I nodded. Politeness, acknowledgment. Inside, worry gnawed—where is Nehra right now? Every laugh in that room was a reminder that life moved on while horrors waited outside.
Then I saw him.
My brother.
The one soul in that family I could truly love. His eyes bright, unguarded, unaware of the world's cruelty or the hell I carried behind my smile. He stepped forward with a wide grin.
"Sera! Finally!"
"Hey," I replied, voice light, casual.
We exchanged stories. Sweet, ordinary, safe stories about mundane things: his new work, the garden he was tending, a book he recommended. For a brief moment, I almost forgot the chaos outside, almost let myself breathe.
But the smiles were fragile.
The conversation ended, and I turned across the hall. My gaze fell on the impossible—Arvind Rathore, moving among the crowd as if the world adored him. Beside him, perfectly composed, my ex—Avinash Gupta. Laughter floated around them, their faces framed by admiration and naïve support. The public had forgotten everything. They believed the charming, dangerous façade. My heart thumped—not in fear, but fury.
I excused myself.
Raghav's hand on my arm. "Sera, wait."
"No. Not tonight," I whispered, voice tight.
~
The door slammed behind me. Silence. My apartment welcomed me like a cold accomplice.
And then—I broke.
Screams tore from my throat. Cries jagged and raw. Glass shattered under my fists. Books, chairs, every object that had been orderly, disciplined, now lay in chaos. Pain and rage bled into each other.
Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time lost meaning.
I hadn't slept. Not a second. My mind replayed images I couldn't erase: fan girls cheering for monsters, my ex laughing beside him, my brother oblivious, Nehra's suffering—a ghost I couldn't shake.
Raghav appeared at dawn. Calm, methodical.
"Enough," he said softly, kneeling to pick up shards. "Let me help. You need to conserve your energy."
I didn't reply. I just let him work. His hands moved faster than mine. Precise. Efficient. As if he were cleaning not just the mess, but the chaos in my head.