SHANAYA'S POV :

The first rays of the London sun streamed through the tall glass panels of my penthouse, casting soft gold against the white sheets tangled around my legs. I blinked slowly, momentarily disoriented before the stillness of the morning brought me back to the quiet truth.

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the silence too loud in contrast to the chaos that had once been my mornings.

Just me.

Alone in a city full of strangers.

I dragged myself out of bed, my feet meeting the cool wooden floor. The view outside my window was breathtaking—the London skyline stretching far beyond the River Thames, but my chest felt hollow. Like I was staring at a life I didn’t belong to.

Still, I moved.

Because I had to.

Twenty minutes later, I stood in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, brushing my hair back as steam fogged up the mirror.

My skin glowed faintly from the warmth of the shower, and I slipped into a soft cream blouse paired with high-waisted white trousers. Classic. Clean. Safe.

Just like the woman I was pretending to be.

I dabbed a nude gloss over my lips, locked my watch around my wrist, and stepped into pointed heels. I grabbed my laptop bag and made my way downstairs where the driver waited.

“Good morning, Miss Singh, ” he said politely, holding the door open.

I nodded with a faint smile. “Morning, Oliver.”

The drive was quiet—just how I liked it now. My phone buzzed a few times with emails and work notifications. I skimmed through most of them halfheartedly until one popped up.

Vihaan Oberoi,

“Hope you’re well-rested, London star. We need to talk when you reach the office—something big’s coming.”

I stared at the message a moment longer, unsure whether to sigh or smile.

Vihaan was… persistent. Charming in a polished, untouchable kind of way.

The kind of man who looked like he belonged in every magazine cover and boardroom alike.

And unfortunately—my current reality.

As the elevator doors opened to the top floor of the firm’s headquarters, I stepped into the bright, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows and clean silver lines. Vihaan was already in my office, leaning casually against my desk, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he said, tossing a grape from the fruit bowl into his mouth. “Look at you—looking like a Vogue cover.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re in my office.”

“And you’re late.”

I glanced at the clock. “By two minutes.”

“Still late,” he teased. Then his expression shifted—just slightly, but enough for me to notice the shift from banter to business.

“What’s going on?” I asked, stepping past him and placing my bag on the desk.

He straightened, walking closer.

“There’s a gala tonight. Black tie. It’s being hosted by the Times Global Forum in partnership with our investment board. Everyone important is going to be there.”

“Okay… and?”

“And,” he said, hands in his pockets, “we’re attending. As a couple.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

He smiled, almost apologetically. “It’s been set in motion for weeks. Our firms benefit from the media’s obsession with us, and now with the merge almost official, they want a public image to match. The Oberoi-Singh power pair.”

I laughed. Bitterly. “You mean a facade.”

He gave me a look that was strangely soft. “It’s just one night. The media will be there. Our families, old friends, a few snakes we probably don't know about. You know the drill.”

I crossed my arms, annoyed. “And what exactly do you expect me to do? Pose with you and smile like none of it matters?”

“Only if you want to keep up the image you spent so long building,” he said quietly. “And Shanaya—if you’re worried about him being mentioned, don’t be. I already ensured his name won’t be brought up. I know tonight will be difficult.”

I looked away. My fingers clenched around the edge of the desk.

Difficult didn’t even begin to cover it.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Get ready. I’ll pick you up at seven sharp. We need to look convincing. And you—” he paused, searching my face. “You need to show them that you’re not broken.”

The moment he left, I sat down slowly in the leather chair, the weight of the night ahead pressing down on my shoulders.

Tonight, I would walk into a room full of cameras, familiar faces, and carefully veiled whispers.

Tonight, I’d pretend to be Vihaan’s.

Tonight, I’d wear dress—not for attention, but for war.

Because while everyone else might believe the lie we’re living—

Only I would know the ashes I walked through to stand tall in heels again.

---

The clock ticked louder than usual.

6:05 p.m.

I stood before the full-length mirror, wrapped in a silk robe as London’s evening light spilled through the large windows. My makeup products were laid out before me on the vanity like weapons before a battle.

Tonight wasn’t about beauty.It was about control.About not letting the past bleed through the cracks of who I had trained myself to be.

I tied my hair up in a bun first—tight and slick—only to pull it apart a second later. Too corporate. Too clean.

I needed softness. Mystery. Edge.

I curled my hair into soft waves that framed my cheekbones, letting a few strands fall freely to graze my collarbone. My fingers worked slowly, methodically, like I was rebuilding something broken… something that once used to shine.

I stared into my reflection, picking up my concealer. The moment my brush touched my skin, I flinched.

The hollows beneath my eyes told stories I never spoke.

And I wasn’t sure even the best makeup could hide memories.

Still, I painted.

Lashes curled. Liner sharp.

Cheeks flushed with a hint of rose and highlighter that kissed the tops of my cheekbones.

And finally, a crimson red lipstick.

The same shade he once said made me look like I could kill a man and kiss him breathless in the same second.

I paused.

His voice echoed somewhere inside me, caught between memory and madness.

“You don’t just walk into a room, Shanaya… you swallow it whole.”

I blinked back the emotion threatening to break through.

Not now. Not tonight.

I stood and moved to the open wardrobe. Inside hung the gown Vihaan’s stylist had sent earlier—a floor-length piece in black satin, sculpted to fit like a second skin. It had an open back, a plunging neckline, and a slit that ran dangerously high up my thigh.

Bold. Elegant. Deadly.

I slipped into it slowly, the fabric cool against my skin.

As I zipped the side, I stared at my reflection again.

The girl from Mumbai who used to laugh like the world was hers—she was buried beneath layers of silence.

But this woman…

This woman would survive.

I reached for the diamond earrings gifted by my father on my graduation day. The matching bracelet clicked into place on my wrist as if to remind me I still carried pieces of the life before everything fell apart.

My heels clicked softly against the marble as I moved toward the mirror for one final look.

I didn’t look like someone who had once begged the stars to return someone they loved.

I looked like someone who now burned them instead.

Ding.

My phone lit up.

Vihaan: “Outside your tower, milady. Ready to break hearts and headlines?”

I smiled faintly, picking up my clutch. I walked to the glass door, giving myself one last glance in the mirror.

Not a crack in sight.

Only crimson armor.

I locked the door behind me, stepped into the elevator, and exhaled the breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding.

Tonight, I’d let them see the woman they built from fire and ruin.

Tonight, I wouldn’t look for Kabir in the crowd.

-------

The elevator chimed open with a soft ding. I stepped out into the polished lobby, my heels clicking against marble with the quiet confidence of someone who knew the weight of silence—and how to turn it into power.

Vihaan stood just outside, leaning against his sleek black car in a navy tuxedo that fit like sin. His watch sparkled under the lamplight, but it was his expression that held me still for a beat.

Eyes widened slightly. Jaw slackened for just a second.

And then he grinned. “Well damn,”

he murmured, offering his hand, “if this is how you kill at a gala, remind me to never be your enemy.”

I gave him a soft, practiced smile.

"You’d never survive it.”

He chuckled, taking my hand and twirling me lightly before guiding me into the car.

As the car pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurred past us like memories trying to catch up. My heart should’ve been calm—but something about tonight buzzed under my skin like static before a storm.

--------

The Gala – 8:00 P.M.

The venue was madness dressed in luxury.

Flashes of paparazzi bulbs lit up the entrance like fireworks. Velvet ropes lined the walkway. Photographers shouted names like confetti.

Chandeliers spilled gold down onto crystal floors inside the grand hall, where champagne flutes floated from tray to tray like they were born to be held by broken people pretending to be whole.

Vihaan stepped out first, then offered his hand to me.

The moment I emerged, the crowd stilled.

Eyes.

Cameras.

Whispers.

“Is that…?”

“Oh my God, she’s back—”

“She looks… wow.”

The black gown did exactly what it was meant to—it silenced everything except awe.

And yet, I felt nothing.

Vihaan leaned closer, smiling for the cameras as he whispered, “We’ve arrived, Queen.”

I nodded slightly. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

We walked together, posing briefly before heading into the heart of the gala.

The hall was breathtaking—grand pillars wrapped in ivory silk, tables dressed in rose-gold lace, a string quartet playing something haunting and elegant in the distance. Familiar faces blurred in and out of focus. Some friends. Some enemies.

My parents were already seated near the center. My father stood the moment he saw me, pride flooding his eyes.

My mother gave a tight smile, the kind that always meant, Behave like a Singh, not like someone who still aches.

I kissed them both on the cheek and sat beside Vihaan as the speeches began.

But I wasn’t listening.

I was scanning.

Because even if I hadn’t seen him yet, I felt the phantom weight of his stare on the back of my neck.

Kabir.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

And maybe he wasn’t.

But my soul hadn’t stopped searching the moment I walked in.

Vihaan kept me grounded, gently brushing his hand against mine under the table as the lights dimmed and a slow orchestral piece began.

“Dance with me?” he asked, eyes soft.

I nodded wordlessly, standing with him as we joined the slow waltz under chandeliers. His hand was steady on my waist, his touch respectful—supportive. Safe.

But my mind was elsewhere.

I twirled, smiled, and played my part.

The perfect Shanaya Singh.

Flawless. Untouchable.

Unreachable.

But inside—

A war still raged.

-------

THIRD PERSON POV :

Beneath the shadowed archway of the ballroom’s upper balcony, he stood—

A glass of untouched scotch in his hand, eyes never leaving the woman in black.

She moved like a flame, setting every gaze alight, her smile poised, her steps perfect.

But he saw through it.

He always had.

And in that moment, as the crowd spun around her, Kabir Singhania stood still—

Watching the woman he once bled for,

Dance like she’d never known fire.

While his own lungs still burned from the ashes she left behind.

He was there.

Hidden in plain sight.

And for the first time in years—

He didn’t know whether to fight for her or let her go.

---

END OF THE CHAPTER

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