The hotel room was silent.
Too silent.
For a long moment after the door closed, Samaira didn’t move. The city lights flickered through the glass, casting shifting shadows across the room, but she stood still—back against the door, eyes closed, breathing slow and measured.
Then, without a word—
She pushed herself forward.
The trembling was gone.
Completely.
Her shoulders straightened as she walked deeper into the room, each step lighter, steadier, as if the weight she had carried all night had been left outside that door.
She stopped in front of the mirror.
For a second, she just looked.
Really looked.
Red eyes. Smudged kajal. Tear-streaked cheeks. Lips slightly swollen from how hard she had pressed them together to stop herself from breaking.
A perfect picture of devastation.
Her fingers rose and brushed lightly under her eye.
Then—
A soft exhale.
“Impressive,” she murmured.
Her voice held no pain.
No crack.
Just quiet acknowledgment.
She tilted her head, examining herself like an artist studying her own work.
“Bas…” she clicked her tongue softly, “makeup thoda zyada hi kharab ho gaya.”
*(Just… the makeup got a little too ruined.)*
Her lips curved faintly.
“Itni mehnat se kiya tha.”
*(I worked so hard on it.)*
The smile lingered for a second.
Then vanished.
Just like that.
Samaira turned away from the mirror and walked toward the bathroom.
The shower turned on with a soft hiss.
Hot water poured down, steam slowly filling the glass enclosure.
She stepped in without hesitation.
The water hit her skin, washing away the remnants of the night—kajal, tears, sweat, everything.
But not once did she lean against the wall.
Not once did she cry.
Not once did her breath falter.
Her eyes remained open the entire time.
Calm.
Focused.
Thinking.
Minutes passed.
When she stepped out, her hair damp and her face bare, there was no trace of the woman who had broken down in the mansion.
Not even a shadow.
She wrapped a towel around herself and walked back into the room, moving with quiet precision.
Her suitcase lay open on the bed.
She picked out fresh clothes. Simple. Clean. Controlled.
Every movement was deliberate.
YOU ARE READING
UNWILLINGLY HIS
Любовные романы**Her wedding day was supposed to be the start of forever. Instead, it became the day her world collapsed.** Samaira had it all-until Advait, the man she trusted, shattered her dreams on their wedding day. Left standing at the altar, humiliated and...
