Talab

Her royal love 8

Morning light slipped through the curtains, gently falling over her bare skin.

Ruhanika stirred awake. Her body ached, wrapped only in a bedsheet — but it wasn't just the ache of last night's intimacy. It was something deeper. Something beautiful... now quietly bruised.

A soft blush spread across her cheeks as memories flooded in — his touch, his warmth, his whispered promises.

She looked around, expecting to find him beside her.
But the bed was empty.

Her brows knit together. She wrapped the bedsheet around herself and winced slightly as she stood. Her eyes fell on him — Maan — standing near the mirror in his crisp three-piece suit, fixing his cufflinks.

He looked... distant.

She smiled softly. "Good morning, Maan," she whispered.

But he didn't return the smile.

Instead, his expression was blank — cold, unfamiliar.
Her heart skipped a beat.

She rushed to him, cupping his face. "Maan, what happened? Are you okay?"

He looked at her, then stepped back.

His voice was ice.
"Rooh... I mean, Ruhanika... don't touch me."

Her world stilled.

She laughed nervously. "Maan, stop it. This isn't funny. What do you mean don't touch—?"

He pulled his hand away from hers, his next words sharp as glass.
"You were just a bet for me, Ruhanika. That's all.
A stupid challenge—to see if I could get you in my bed."

Her breath caught in her throat.
Her knees weakened.

"What are you saying?" she whispered, gripping his collar. Her voice cracked.
"I gave you my soul, Maan. My dignity. My love. And what did you give me? Betrayal?"

He pushed her away.

She staggered back, clutching her shoulder in pain.

Without blinking, he took out a thick bundle of cash and threw it at her feet.
"Take it. The price of your so-called dignity."

The words hit harder than any slap.

And then he left.

Silence screamed in the room.

She stood frozen, eyes wide, breath shallow. The girl who once believed in fairytales had just been ripped apart by the man who was her fairytale.

She looked down at the money — the weight of it heavier than any shame.

Her body trembled. Her soul? Shattered.

Her Maan — her safe place — had turned into a storm that crushed her without mercy.

But.

Her self-respect was not dead.
Her dignity may have been bruised — but not broken.

She took a deep breath, wiping away her tears.
With steady hands, she picked up the scattered notes... and placed them neatly on the bed. The same bed where she had once surrendered everything, believing in love.

She picked up a pen and paper.

**"Mr. Rajvansh,
Take this money.
Not for my dignity. But for satisfying your ego.

— Ruhanika"**

She changed her clothes, gathered her few belongings, and left the house — not as the shattered girl from this morning, but as a woman walking away from ruins with grace.

To where?

She didn't know.

But it would be far away from this house — this man — and this betrayal.

That Night

Maan walked into the same room.

It was spotless. Quiet.
Too quiet.

But something was missing.

Her.

Her laughter. Her presence. Her scent.
Her soft voice saying "Maan, I made your favorite breakfast."

Gone.

He noticed the money on the bed. Neatly stacked. Beside it — her note.

He picked it up. Read it.

And his eyes... stayed dry.

Not a tear left.

Just emptiness.

A dried-up sea where once love used to live.