The moonlight spilled into the bedroom, casting a soft silver glow across the marble floor. Myra sat on the bed, draped in a pale lavender saree, her feet tucked to one side as she absently twisted her dupatta. Ranvijay was buttoning his charcoal-black shirt, preparing for an urgent business trip that had come up last-minute.
He checked his watch once, then turned to her.
"I'll be gone just for a day," he said, his voice calm but low. "There's a deal I can't delay. I'll be back by evening tomorrow."
Myra blinked up at him. "Why are you telling me?"
He paused at her tone. She hadn't meant for it to sound cold, but it came out clipped, unsure. "I mean… it's not like you have to report to me."
Ranvijay tilted his head. "Still. I thought you might want to know. My wife deserves to know."
That word again—wife. Her heart stuttered whenever he said it with that strange mix of pride and possession.
"I'll miss you," he added, softer this time.
She didn't respond, just nodded, pretending to smooth a nonexistent crease on her saree.
Ranvijay walked over, knelt before her, and took her hand in his large, warm grip. "Whatever happens while I'm away, remember this—you're mine. Don't let anything make you doubt that."
His words made her chest tighten, but she said nothing. She just watched him leave with a weight she couldn't name.
---
Morning
Myra was arranging roses in a silver vase when she heard the sound of a car stopping outside. The servants rushed to the door, and her brows furrowed.
She stepped into the corridor, peeking down from the balcony, and her heart instantly dropped.
There she was.
Niyati.
Elegant, bold, and cruel.
She stepped out of the car like she owned the place—skin-tight jeans, designer sunglasses, heels clicking on marble like nails against bone. Her lips curled into a smug smile as she looked up.
"Myraaa!" she called out, her voice honey-dipped poison.
Myra's hands trembled as the scissors in her hand slipped and dropped with a metallic clang.
---
She had always feared Niyati.
Not because she was strong—but because Niyati had always known how to break her without leaving marks.
As children, Myra had been the prettier one. Kinder. More loved by her late mother. And Niyati… Niyati had hated that.
Niyati would pull her hair, hide her books the books which she used to collect from old and torn books of Niyati ,whisper cruel things to make her cry. And when Myra cried, she would grin and say, "Look how weak you are. No one will love a crybaby like you."
And now, the ghost of her past was walking into her home.
---
"Hope you've got a room ready," Niyati said, throwing her bags onto the couch. "I might stay for a couple of days. Just wanted to see how my little sister's royal life is going."
Myra straightened her back. "Ranvijay isn't home."
"Perfect," Niyati purred. "Then we girls can have a little chat."
She leaned in, her voice dipping into something darker. "You know, I was thinking… how long do you think a man like him will keep you around?"
Myra's throat tightened.
Niyati continued, slowly circling her like a predator. "I mean, sure, you're sweet. Soft. But men like strength. Power. Fire. And let's be honest, dear—you've always been the candle, I've always been the flame."
Myra's nails dug into her palm. "Ranvijay doesn't even like you."
Niyati chuckled. "That's what makes it more fun. Let's see how long that lasts. Men change. Give him one look at me in the right dress and… poof, maybe you'll be the one packing bags."
Myra flinched. It wasn't just her words—it was the way she enjoyed this. The same sadistic delight from their childhood.
"Poor little Myra," Niyati cooed. "Still so easy to shake."
---
"Is someone choking on their own perfume here?"
The voice sliced through the air like a whip.
Both women turned to see Anika, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, dressed in her cool, breezy jumpsuit. Her stance screamed sarcasm and confidence.
Niyati frowned. "You Again?"
Anika smiled sweetly. "yes me again who will not let you throw shade without backup."
She strolled forward, her heels calm but threatening. "You know, you must be truly inspired to show up uninvited at someone's house, insult your sister, and still have the audacity to breathe like you own the place."
Niyati scoffed. "I'm just here to see my family."
"Oh sure," Anika said, fake-nodding. "Like a fox visits the henhouse for friendship."
Myra blinked, surprised at the fierce glint in Anika's eyes.
Anika stepped closer to her. "You okay, bhabhi?"
Myra gave her a small nod, thankful but still silent.
Niyati tossed her hair. "Let's not pretend I'm the villain here. I'm just saying the truth. Men like Ranvijay don't stay loyal to… fragile things."
That was it.
The dam broke.
Myra took a deep breath, her chest rising with quiet fury. Her voice was steady, but cold as steel.
"You want to stay here, Niyati?"
Niyati arched an eyebrow.
Myra stepped forward. "Stay. Walk around this palace. Try your best. Wear your tight dresses. Talk your poison. Do whatever you want."
Her voice sharpened. "But if you think for one second that Ranvijay will ever look at you the way he looks at me, then go ahead and try."
Niyati blinked.
Myra took another step, her eyes blazing now. "Because I may be soft, but I'm not weak. And this time—you're not taking anything from me."
Silence filled the air. Anika's jaw dropped a little, pride lighting her eyes.
Niyati's face twisted into something unreadable—mockery or disbelief—but for once, she had no words.
Myra turned on her heel, her saree trailing behind her like a queen's veil.
And Niyati?
For the first time… she looked unsure.
Myra walked away briskly, each step echoing through the long corridor until she reached the side balcony that overlooked the quiet gardens. The moment she was alone, her knees weakened slightly, and she gripped the marble railing for support.
She exhaled sharply.
A breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding.
Her shoulders trembled as the adrenaline began to leave her body. Her hands—clenched into fists moments ago—were now shaking. Not from fear of Niyati, but from the storm inside her. The explosion she had just let out.
She had never done something like that before. Never raised her voice. Never stood her ground like that.
What had come over her?
A thousand memories flashed through her—Niyati pulling her braids, laughing when she cried, telling her she was weak, unlovable, unwanted. And now, after all those years, Myra had answered her back.
"I'm not weak," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the breeze.
But still… why had her voice trembled even as her words cut deep? Why had her chest felt like it would burst open?
She looked down at her hands. They were still shaking.
Myra closed her eyes, pressing a palm over her racing heart. It felt foreign—this power, this fire that had burned in her chest moments ago. Was it Ranvijay's presence in her life that was making her feel like she mattered? Like she could protect herself?
Or was it the fear of losing him that gave her that courage?
Her breath hitched at that thought. Because somewhere in the chaos, in between hate and fear… something inside her didn't want to lose him.
And that thought terrified her more than anything Niyati could ever say.