The illegitimate daughter of a powerful businessman, she was sent to live with her six half-brothers after her father's sudden death.
The boys were born from privilege, pride, and perfectly manicured bloodlines. No one welcomed her. No one cared.
De...
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The room smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh flowers. I had left the balcony doors open—the breeze made the curtains flutter like unsure hands reaching out and pulling back again.
Atharyu sat on the couch, his back straight, legs crossed, palms resting lightly on his knees. He looked like he belonged in some courtroom, not my room. I sat on the edge of the bed across from him, spine stiff, hands folded in my lap like I was back in school—waiting for judgment.
For a minute, he didn't speak. Just stared, like he was trying to see something behind my face. Then, he finally did.
His voice was firm but gentle. That rare kind of gentle you hear from someone who doesn't use it often—like winter sunlight breaking through thick clouds.
"I wanted to ask you something... about your mother's property."
My shoulders tightened.
"You're here now," he continued, "and it only makes sense to talk about what's rightfully yours. After the accident... the hospital and the NGO were both transferred to charity. Everyone believed you were... gone. But now that you're back, I was wondering if you'd be okay with me retrieving the assets and putting them under your name."
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Because what he said—what the world believed—wasn't the truth.
The hospital. The NGO. My mother's legacy.
They weren't given away to charity.
They were stolen.
But I couldn't say that. Not to him. Not yet. My silence was the only thing protecting the chaos from slipping out.
"I appreciate your concern," I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. "But I'd prefer if you didn't interfere in this."
He blinked, caught off guard—not by what I said, but by how I said it.
It wasn't anger at him. It was at myself. For failing to protect what was mine. For being too young, too helpless, too broken when it all slipped through my fingers.
"This battle... it's mine, Mr Rajput," I said quietly. "And I need to fight it on my own."
For a moment, the air thickened between us. His jaw tightened, the vein near his temple twitching—barely—but enough to show he wasn't used to being spoken to like this.
I stood up, avoiding his eyes. "You should go now."
He didn't argue. Just rose slowly to his feet.
A controlled inhale. Then he walked to the door and left without a word, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and the silence that settled into the space like dust.
The past slithered in like smoke, uninvited but familiar.
I was back in that rotten room again—the damp walls flaking like old wounds, the air thick with the smell of rust and mold. A single yellow bulb flickered above, the kind that didn't chase away the dark, just made it uglier.
