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Aanya walked away with hurried steps, her body trembling as though it could no longer carry the weight of her heart. Each breath burned in her chest, sharp and uneven, as if her lungs were refusing to work. She wanted to scream, to cry out, but her throat was locked, strangled by the truth she had just heard.

Her vision blurred; corridors stretched and twisted like shadows mocking her. She clutched the side of the wall for balance, yet her legs carried her blindly, dragging her toward the one place she could hide—the four walls of her room. By the time she reached it, she slammed the door shut behind her and collapsed against it, her knees folding. She pressed her palm against her mouth to muffle the sob that broke free, but it was useless—the grief clawed its way out of her, raw and merciless.

Her heart whispered only one name.
Aransh.

The brother she had trusted with her soul. The man who had carried her childhood in his arms, who had shielded her from storms, who had been her pride. And now... now he stood before her in the ugliest truth—her sister's destroyer, the reason behind Nisha di's shattered life, the blood on her hands.

"No..." her voice cracked as she buried her face in her knees. "No, bhai... you can't... you can't be this person."

But Jay's words still rang in her ears, every syllable like a blade carving her heart: Aransh Verma. The man who betrayed Nisha. The man who destroyed Mehra Corporation.

And then Ishaan's face appeared. His coldness. His distance. His hatred. Suddenly everything made sense.
That's why. That's why he married me. Not for me... not out of love. Only for revenge. To break me the way his sister was broken.

Aanya's chest heaved, pain tearing through her like knives. She clutched at her dupatta, twisting it in her fists as though holding on to it might stop her from falling apart completely.

"Why, bhai... why?" she whispered into the silence, her tears spilling onto the floor. "How could you do this to us? To Nisha di? To me?"

Her room felt suffocating, walls pressing in, air heavy with despair. She curled into herself, trembling, feeling smaller and smaller as the world she believed in crumbled. The foundation of her marriage, her family—everything had been built on lies, betrayal, and revenge.

In that moment, Aanya wasn't just broken—she was lost, adrift in a storm with no anchor. Her faith in her brother, her trust in her husband, her belief in love—all shattered into dust that she could never piece back together.

The room was silent, almost too silent—until a sudden thud echoed from outside.
Aanya flinched, her heart racing as if someone had shaken her out of her storm of thoughts. Slowly, she lifted her head, her tear-stained eyes falling on the small clock at her bedside.

1:20 a.m.

Her breath caught. She already knew who it could be at this hour.
Ishaan.

She tried to ignore it, turning towards her bed. But then another muffled sound reached her ears. Her steps faltered. Her mind wavered between fear, curiosity, and a gnawing pull she couldn't name. With hesitant steps, she moved toward the door, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned the knob.

The living room stretched before her, dimly lit by a faint lamp in the corner. And there they were—two familiar figures. Arav was sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep in a drunken haze. Ishaan, however, lay half on the floor, his head resting awkwardly against the carpet while his long legs dangled off the sofa's edge.

But what caught her eyes was a man crouched beside Ishaan, trying to lift him. Startled, Aanya stepped closer.
"Who... who are you?" she asked, her voice low but edged with caution.

The man looked up quickly. "hello, ma'am. I'm Arav sir's driver. Both of them are drunk. I thought I'd drop Ishaan sir off here first and then take Arav sir to his mansion. But when I tried to separate them, they just wouldn't let go of each other." His tone carried both helplessness and amusement.

"Oh..." Aanya whispered, her gaze flickering back to Ishaan, who remained sprawled out, muttering incoherent words.

The driver sighed. "Madam, could you... could you please help Ishaan sir to his room? I really must take Arav sir home, and then I have to return to my own family too. Please."

Aanya opened her mouth to protest—"But—"
But the driver cut her off gently, already lifting Arav. "Please, madam. I'm getting late. please."

Before she could answer, he was gone, leaving her alone with the impossible task.

Aanya stood frozen, staring at Ishaan. His head had rolled to the side, strands of hair falling across his forehead. His lips moved faintly, muttering something she couldn't quite catch. She let out a heavy sigh.
"Oh, Ishaan..."

She knelt beside him and tried to lift him. The weight was unbearable. His tall frame refused to cooperate, limp and heavy like a stone statue. "God, how much do you weigh?" she muttered under her breath, struggling as his arm slipped over her shoulder, dragging her down. "If you put all your weight on me, my back will break tonight."

After several attempts, she managed to pull him up halfway. His arm slumped across her shoulders, his warmth pressing against her. He leaned dangerously, almost crushing her small frame. Every step was a battle.

The staircase loomed before her like a mountain. The moment she tried to climb, Ishaan stumbled, nearly dragging her down with him.
"Aahh!" she gasped, clutching him tighter. "No, no, no—you are not falling now!"

With gritted teeth, she pushed forward. Her feet wobbled, her heart hammered, but she steadied herself, guiding him step by step. More than once she thought they'd both tumble down. His weight bore down mercilessly, but somehow, through sheer willpower, she managed to keep them both upright.

By the time they reached the top, her body screamed in exhaustion. She stopped for a breath, looking at Ishaan leaning against her—eyes half-shut, lips parted, breathing slow. For a fleeting second, he looked less like the ruthless man who had broken her, and more like a lost boy. Vulnerable. Human.

Aanya tore her gaze away, shaking her head. She led him towards his room, but at the threshold she froze. Her chest tightened. The thought of stepping inside his private space, his sanctuary, made her hesitate.

But then she looked at him again—his face pale under the dim light, his body swaying helplessly against her shoulder. She closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath.

"Fine," she whispered, as though convincing herself.

Her hand pushed the door open. The hinges creaked softly, and she guided Ishaan inside, the weight of both his body and the unspoken emotions pressing down on her chest.

She guided him to the edge of the bed, breath shallow from the climb and the weight of him. Ishaan sagged when she eased him down, the mattress dipping under his broad frame. His shoes were still on—mud flecked along the sole, laces knotted and careless—so she crouched by his feet and tugged them free one by one, lining them neatly beside the nightstand as if order could steady the chaos of the night.

ishaan shifted, restless, a frown cutting through the slackness of drink. The tie at his throat was pulled too tight, the collar digging into his skin. Aanya hesitated, then leaned over him. With careful fingers she loosened the knot and slipped the tie away, folding it automatically, the silk whispering against her palm. She reached for his coat, meaning only to make him comfortable.

In a sudden, drunken reflex, ishaan hand shot out and caught her wrist. He pulled, and she toppled forward, landing across his chest with a soft gasp. Heat rushed to her cheeks; her heartbeat leapt against her ribs. She tried to push up, but his arm locked around her, iron-strong even in sleep, pressing her close. She could smell the sharp mix of cologne and alcohol, feel the ragged rise and fall of his breath against her cheek.

"Who... who are you?" ishaan slurred, lids half-lowered, pupils swimming. "Trying to... to take advantage of me?"
His brow knotted; he turned his face away. "Shoo... shoo away, woman. I'm married."

The words stunned aanya. Married. He never said it when sober. Not once.
"Go away. I have a wife," he mumbled.

Aanya's lips parted, a disbelieving laugh dying in her throat. When you're awake, I'm just 'the maid.' Now, drunk, you remember I'm your wife? The thought pricked, tender and painful all at once.

He tightened reflexively, then murmured in a conspiratorial hush, can i tell youa  secret "My wife... she's so pretty. So... beautiful."
A small, helpless smile flickered across Aanya's face—rose-petal soft, there and gone. For a heartbeat she let herself feel it: seen, chosen, wanted.

But the next words shattered it.
"But I hate her," he said, thick-tongued, lost somewhere between hurt and haze. "I really... hate her. She's bad."

The smile broke. Her eyes filled, vision blurring at the edges. His grip slackened; the arm around her slid away. He was already drifting, lashes sinking, mouth still forming the same fractured refrain: "I hate her... I hate..."

Aanya pushed herself upright and, for a long second, simply looked at him. The anger was gone from his face now; what remained was weariness, a boyish, battered ache that made something inside her twist. Gently, she brushed the messy hair from his forehead, her fingers lingering like a promise.

"I know," she whispered, voice shaking but steady in purpose. "I know you hate me. And I know this—this is not truly who you are. You're hurt. You're broken, Ishaan. But listen to me." She drew closer, so her words wouldn't be lost to the sleeping room. "I promise I'll set this right. I will find the truth. If my brother is behind what happened to Nisha... I'll stand with you. I'll do whatever it takes. And if he isn't, I will drag the real culprit into the light, in front of you."

She straightened, shoulders squaring, the tremor in her body hardening into resolve. "Mark my words, Mr. Ishaan Mehra: your 'I hate you'... I will turn it into 'I love you.'"

For a final, quiet moment she studied his face—unarmored, unguarded—then turned away. She slipped from the room with eyes burning and a heart heavy as stone, pulling the door to with a soft click. In the hush that followed, his breathing evened out, and her vow hung in the darkness like a lit match refusing to die. 

Every heart hides a storm, and sometimes the words left unsaid weigh more than those spoken.

"Thank you for reading this chapter.