It was already past 11 a.m., and after finishing all her morning chores-cleaning the mansion and kitchen-Aanya was heading back to her room. She hadn't seen anyone since dinner last night, nor had she wanted to. The silence suited her.

As she passed by the hallway near Ishaan's office, her eyes fell on the slightly open door. A small part of her screamed to keep walking, but another voice-a louder, desperate one-whispered "This is your chance."

She hesitated at the threshold, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "He didn't come to dinner. He's not around. I have to know."

Slowly, she pushed the door. It creaked slightly but opened with ease.

Inside, everything was perfectly arranged-each paper neatly stacked, books aligned, and files placed like a puzzle that only he could solve. She tiptoed in, every heartbeat louder than the last. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, hands trembling slightly as she opened a shelf and checked through files.

The drawers were locked-of course.

She bent to pick a file from the table, and as she lifted it, a folded newspaper clipping fluttered out and landed on the floor.

Frowning, Aanya picked it up.

It was dated a month ago.

Her eyes widened as she read the headline:

"Mehra Corporation Gets Sealed Due to Illegal Activities."

Before she could read further, a loud bang echoed across the room-the door slammed shut.

And then-
A voice, cold as steel and sharp like a blade, ripped through the air:

"WHAT THE F* ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"**

Aanya flinched violently.

It felt like her soul had left her body.

The newspaper clipping slipped from her hand. She turned around, her eyes wide with fear-and there he stood.

Ishaan Mehra.

His expression was terrifying-jaw clenched, face carved in fury, eyes burning with something far deeper than rage.

He began walking toward her, slow and predatory.

Aanya instinctively stepped back.

"I-I'm s-sorry sir... I just-I came to clean," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

Ishaan's tone was cutting, deadly.
"Cleaning? As far as I remember, I told you not to step foot in my office."

"Y-Yes, sir... I just-"

He roared like a wounded beast.

"THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"I-I'm sorry, sir..." she whispered.

"Tell me," he said, voice dropping into a hard, dangerous growl, "What were you looking for?"

"Nothing, I-I-"

"Don't lie to me!"

And in a sudden move, he grabbed her neck and slammed her against the wall.
Aanya gasped, the air knocked out of her lungs. She tried to push him away, choking slightly under the pressure.

"L-Let me go, sir... please..."

"Let you go?" His face was inches from hers now, his breath heavy and furious. "I will never let you go. I'll make your life a living hell. Just like your damn brother did to mine."

Her eyes welled up.

"I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Don't know?" he sneered. "Or pretending not to? You think I don't know why you're here? You're just like him-spying, stealing, digging up things that don't concern you!"

His grip tightened. Aanya gasped for air, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to push him away.

With a burst of strength fueled by desperation, she shoved him-just enough to break free.

He stumbled back a step.

Aanya coughed, drawing in air like it was life itself.

"D-Don't come near me," she said shakily. "Don't come near me, Mr. Mehra."

He chuckled darkly, walking forward again.
"Oh, you know how to scream now? That's cute. But you're screaming at the wrong man."

He lunged again, but she slapped his hand away.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" she shouted.
"WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?!"

"I didn't even know you before this! You forced me into marriage and now you treat me like nothing! Like I don't exist! WHY?!"

He was breathing heavily now. His chest rising and falling, fists clenched.

"I'm your wife, Ishaan-forced or not. What kind of man does this to his wife?!"

He cut her off, eyes darkening further.

"You are NOT my wife. You're just the maid of this mansion. That's all you'll ever be."

Her heart broke in that very moment.
Tears burned her eyes, her throat dry.

"You married me to destroy me," she whispered.

"I married you to make your family pay," he growled. "Like they destroyed mine."

"What did they do? What did my family do? What did I do?! Why are you punishing me like this?! What does any of this have to do with Nisha di's suicide?!"

That name.

Nisha.

The second it left her lips, everything changed.

Ishaan went completely still.

His fury vanished-replaced by something far more broken.

He looked at her.

Silent.

Wounded.

Like a man who had lost his whole world.

"You're right..." he whispered, voice shaking. "You're not guilty. But neither was my sister. Then why did she pay the price with her life?"

He turned away, his hands trembling.

His voice broke as he spoke, barely above a whisper:

"She died... and my mother slipped into a coma the same night."

His eyes turned red, not with anger-but unbearable pain.

Before she could respond, he turned back toward her-this time, his eyes colder again.

"Leave," he ordered flatly.

"Ishaan... please..."

"I SAID LEAVE!"

The shout struck her like lightning.

Aanya stumbled back, broken sobs escaping her chest, and ran from the room without looking back.

Ishaan stood frozen.

The silence returned.

Then, slowly, his legs gave out, and he slid down the wall behind him.

He sat there, back against the cold surface, fists clenched, face buried in his hands.

Aanya ran through the long, silent hallway like a wounded bird, her vision blurred by tears, breath caught in her throat. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest-not from the sprint, but from the storm that had just torn through her soul.

Jay had just stepped through the main gate, his footsteps light, unaware of the chaos inside. His eyes widened in shock as he caught sight of Aanya-her face pale, tears streaking down like broken raindrops, her hands trembling as she clutched the fabric of her kurti. Before he could call out her name, she vanished around the corner like a fleeting shadow, swallowed by the silence of the mansion.

She slammed her bedroom door behind her and locked it without a second thought. Her back pressed against the wood as she slowly slid down, her knees finally giving up. She collapsed to the floor, gasping for air between sobs, like someone drowning in memories and confusion.

Tears flowed freely now, unstoppable-as if her soul was weeping for all the words left unsaid, all the wounds still bleeding beneath her skin. She clutched her chest as if trying to hold her heart together, but it ached too much, and it kept breaking with every breath she took.

"Why?" she whispered to the emptiness. "What did I do to deserve this?"

There was no answer. Only the suffocating stillness of the room.

The mansion, though grand and adorned with beauty, felt like a prison now-a beautiful cage where her voice held no meaning, her presence no value.

She crawled toward her bed and buried her face into the pillow, muffling her cries. But her pain was too loud to be silenced. Her body shook violently with each sob, as if she were unraveling piece by piece.

She wasn't just crying for the humiliation, or for the pain in her throat where he'd held her. She was crying for the way he looked at her-like she was filth, like her existence was a burden. She cried for the love she never received, for the warmth she had been denied, for the questions that haunted her day and night.

She cried for Nisha-whoever she had been, whatever had happened to her.
She cried for her brother-who was somehow tangled in this web.
And she cried for herself-for the girl who once dreamed of love, who now lived as a stranger in a house that swallowed her voice and buried her identity.

She felt utterly alone.

No friend.
No family.
No one to believe her.
No one to save her.

Aanya turned to her side and curled into herself, like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Her pillow was soaked. Her body tired. Her soul exhausted. And in the silence, she whispered one last time, broken and small:

"Please... someone just tell me the truth..."

But the only reply was the sound of her own heart shattering again.

Ishaan sat alone in his office, leaning back into his chair, his mind not at peace. The silence around him was heavy, but his thoughts were heavier. Something about Aanya's tears... her silence... kept tugging at his chest in ways he didn't understand-or didn't want to.

But before he could follow the thread of that feeling, his phone rang, shattering the stillness.

"Hello," he answered flatly.

"Sir, your meeting will begin in half an hour. Are you on your way? The investors are expected soon," Sunny, his secretary, reminded him.

"Haan, main aa raha hoon. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He cut the call without waiting for a response.

He had come home earlier for that very meeting. The file-an important one detailing a multi-crore investment plan-had been left behind in his study. He cursed under his breath at the carelessness, then stood, reaching for the coat he had tossed over the couch earlier.

Fixing his suit and straightening his collar with a practiced flick, he grabbed the file and turned to leave the office. But just before stepping out, he paused.

His gaze drifted toward Aanya's room.

There was no sound. Just the heavy silence behind that closed door.

Something flickered in his eyes-an ache he didn't recognize. Was it guilt? Regret? Maybe both. Maybe something more dangerous: realization.

But he swallowed it down and masked his face with his usual stoic, unreadable expression.

And then he walked away.

Outside, his car was waiting. The driver opened the door, but Ishaan waved him off and got behind the wheel himself. Minutes later, he stepped into his company's glass building. Employees bowed politely as he passed, and he nodded stiffly, heading straight for his office.

Sunny followed closely behind.

Seated behind his desk, Ishaan asked, "Is the meeting setup complete?"

"Yes, sir. The investors will arrive in ten minutes. The boardroom is ready."

Ten minutes later, Ishaan stood in the sleek, high-tech meeting room. Across the table sat the CEO of one of India's leading logistics companies-Mr. Rajeev Singh-and his associates, ready to review a high-stakes partnership proposal.

The lights dimmed slightly as the projector came alive. Ishaan delivered the opening pitch-his voice calm, confident, controlled.

"We've developed an integrated, long-term model that guarantees 32% return in under eighteen months," he explained.

Then, as per custom, he personally handed the printed file to Mr. Singh-the same file he had retrieved from home.

Mr. Singh opened it.

His brows furrowed.

The room stilled.

He flipped through a few pages, then looked up at Ishaan, stunned.

"What is this, Mr. Mehra?" he asked sharply. "Are you... joking?"

"Excuse me?"

"This file-" Mr. Singh turned it to face Ishaan, "-contains recipes. Chicken curry. Paneer masala. Cake frosting techniques." His tone turned icy. "Is this some sort of corporate comedy show?"

The other investors were already murmuring in confusion, glancing at one another.

Ishaan blinked, stunned. "What are you saying? That's the main project file-"

"Mr. Mehra," Mr. Singh interrupted, standing now, voice clipped, "if this is your idea of professionalism, then it's deeply disappointing. I do not tolerate such negligence. Either you don't take your company seriously... or worse, you expect us not to."

"No, wait-this must be a mix-up," Ishaan said quickly, flipping open the file himself.

His face paled.

It was true.

The entire file-every single page-was a compilation of recipes.

Furious and humiliated, he turned to Sunny. "Where's the real file?!"

Sunny looked baffled. "Sir, that is the file you brought from home..."

"No-this isn't possible-" Ishaan seethed, clenching the pages in his fist.

Before he could speak again, Mr. Singh cut him off. "We don't invest crores into companies that can't manage a simple document. I'm sorry, Mr. Mehra. This deal is off."

And with that, the investors stood and walked out, leaving behind a room filled with stunned silence.

Ishaan's jaw tightened, the veins in his neck throbbing. His eyes burned with fury and shame. With a roar, he grabbed the useless file and hurled it across the room. It slammed against the wall and scattered like shreds of his reputation.

"Who the hell did this?!" he shouted. "WHO?!"

The staff outside flinched.

But inside, Ishaan was already spiraling. Something wasn't right. Someone had switched the file.

And he would find out who.

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