Her tears cannot erase fifteen years of his loss. Her guilt could not undo the nights he had spent reliving his mother’s death. Nothing she felt, nothing she could ever do, would soften what he had lived with, what he had carried, what had shaped him into the man standing here now.
His face hardened again as he brought the glass to his lips, finished the drink in one final swallow, and set it down with force. Then, without a word, without a glance in her direction, he turned and headed for the staircase.
Mishti took a step forward, to speak. But the strength left her before the words could form. She stopped, standing there, watching him take the stairs two at a time.
Within seconds, he disappeared into his bedroom on the upper floor while she remained where she was. Her throat burned, her chest ached, but she had no energy left to chase him, to explain, to ask for anything. She simply stood there, absorbing his retreat, wondering how to bridge that gap between them again.
The moment Karan stepped into his bedroom, he stopped short. His room was dark, but not empty. Soft fairy lights glowed along the walls. Flowers were placed with quiet care here and there. At the centre of the room stood a small table, draped neatly with candles flickering around it. And resting there, on it was a home-baked cake.
Karan stared at it, struggling to register what his eyes were seeing.
What the hell was this?
The rage and grief he had brought into the room collided with something entirely unexpected. Slowly, he walked toward the table, the candlelight reflected faintly in his eyes as he leaned closer and read the words written on top of the cake.
I love you, Karan.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs. He knew, instantly, who had done this, and he didn’t like it. Anger flared through him, again, feeding on everything that was already broken inside him.
Without thinking, he strode back to the door, yanked it open, and stormed out.
Mishti had just climbed the stairs and was moving slowly toward her room. The moment she saw him come out, she barely had time to react.
Karan crossed the distance in seconds. His hand closed around her wrist tightly, and he dragged her with him, back toward the room. She stumbled, startled, unable to even speak before she was pulled inside.
The door shut behind them.
It was only then, standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by the fairy lights, the flowers, the candles she had asked Maria to arrange before they could arrive home tonight, that Mishti understood why he was angry again.
Fresh tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. How could she have forgotten this? She had planned tonight so carefully. She had wanted to tell him how she felt. She had wanted to confess the emotions she had tried to deny for weeks, believing, foolishly, that there might be space for them in this marriage.
Instead, he had shattered her world entirely today. Karan had torn away every illusion she had built, exposing the real reason behind their marriage, revealing a truth so bitter it had broken her heart into pieces she did not know how to gather.
Mishti stood there, unable to find her voice as Karan’s anger exploded.
“What the f*ck is this?” he barked.
Mishti tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her silence only fed his fury.
He grabbed her arms and pulled her toward him. His eyes blazed as they searched her face.
“Are you out of your mind, Mishti?” he demanded. “What the hell is this supposed to mean?”
Mishti’s tear-filled eyes lifted to his, meeting the blaze of fury burning there. She had no courage left inside her to speak. Not a single word rose to defend her heart. She knew, with a painful clarity, that everything she had felt was wrong.
Wrong to want him. Wrong to hope. Wrong to believe that love could ever grow between them.
Her father had killed his mother. That truth alone was enough to crush every emotion before it was even born. Any man standing where Karan stood would never offer mercy, never offer tenderness, to the daughter of the man who had destroyed his family.
If only she had known this before.
If only she had known who her father really was, what he had done, she would never have dared to hope that their marriage could become something real. Never have trusted that it was anything more than his way of completing a revenge that had begun long before she entered his life.
But now it was too late.
She did not need to confess anything. Karan could see it all. In her face, in the trembling of her lips, in the way she looked at him. He read the truth in her tears, and it only pushed his rage higher.
He shook her hard.
