The rest of the day passed like a blur I didn't remember walking through.
I avoided the West Wing.
I avoided the family.
I avoided even my own reflection.
Every time my mind replayed Riyan's voice — filled with a pain deeper than hatred — my heart clenched.
"Punishment is knowing the person responsible is still breathing freely."
How could he believe that person was me?
What happened to his brother?
What incident destroyed their lives?
And why did someone text me about it with such certainty?
By evening, my chest felt tight with unanswered questions.
I stepped out into the hallway to breathe some air, thinking everyone was still downstairs.
But halfway through the corridor, I stopped abruptly.
Voices.
Sharp.
Angry.
Coming from the room near the staircase.
A door stood slightly open.
I recognized one voice immediately — Riyan's mother.
The second voice belonged to a man… older, calmer, but strained.
Riyan's uncle, maybe.
I shouldn't listen.
I really shouldn't.
But my feet didn't move.
And then I heard my name.
"She's a problem," Riyan's mother said tightly. "Bringing that girl into this house is dangerous."
Dangerous?
"She doesn't even know anything," the man replied. "From the way she behaved at dinner, she looked clueless."
"She's not clueless," she snapped. "Don't underestimate her. She is the reason—"
Her voice dropped so low that I instinctively stepped closer.
But the floorboard creaked beneath my foot.
I froze.
The voices fell silent.
Then—
Footsteps approached the door.
Panic surged through me, and I stepped into the shadow of a pillar just as the door swung open.
Riyan's mother stepped out.
She paused.
Her eyes swept the hallway.
I held my breath so tightly my ribs hurt.
After a few seconds, she turned to the man behind her.
"She cannot find out," she said quietly. "Not until Riyan decides what to do with her."
The door closed.
Their footsteps faded.
My legs almost gave out beneath me.
She cannot find out.
Find out what?
My palms were damp; my heartbeat thudded painfully.
I turned to walk back to my room — I needed space, air, anything — but as I reached the corner, I collided with something solid.
Someone.
Large hands gripped my arms to steady me.
My breath caught.
Riyan.
His eyes narrowed immediately.
"What were you doing here?"
"I—I wasn't—"
"Answer me."
His voice wasn't loud, but it vibrated with an authority that shook me more than shouting ever could.
"I was just walking," I said honestly. "I didn't know your mother was inside that room."
His gaze darkened.
"Did you overhear something?"
I froze.
He stepped closer — too close — reading every flicker of my expression.
"Aarvi," he said quietly, "don't lie to me. Not about this."
My pulse pounded against my throat.
"I didn't hear anything… exactly," I whispered, though my voice trembled. "I just… heard my name."
Silence.
A silence that felt like it could shatter glass.
"What did they say?" he asked softly.
I swallowed hard. "That… bringing me here is dangerous. And that I shouldn't find out something."
His entire body stilled.
A storm gathered in his expression — anger, fear, regret, something he fought to keep buried.
"Who told you to walk around upstairs?" he asked sharply.
"No one. I couldn't sleep and I—"
"Aarvi," he snapped, cutting me off, "this house is not safe for you to wander."
Not safe.
Not safe?
A cold shiver crawled up my spine.
"Why?" I whispered. "What is in this house that I shouldn't see? Why am I dangerous? Why—"
"Stop."
He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose as if my questions were knives stabbing into a wound he had tried to close long ago.
"You don't need to know," he said tiredly.
"But I do!" The words burst out, raw and shaking. "Because I'm living in a house that hates me for something I didn't do! Riyan, please—just tell me what happened to your brother!"
His eyes snapped open, fury flashing.
"Don't," he repeated, voice low and final. "Don't bring him into this."
"I'm already in it!" I cried. "Your mother, your family — they all think I ruined his life! How can I live here without knowing what I'm accused of?"
He stood very still.
More still than I'd ever seen him.
Then, suddenly, his voice dropped to something so quiet it hurt:
"You want the truth?"
I nodded, breath uneven.
He exhaled shakily — like dragging out a memory he didn't want to relive — and stepped closer, his face inches from mine.
"My brother's life ended because of someone's lie," he said.
"Someone selfish. Someone careless. Someone who walked away while he paid the price."
My throat tightened painfully.
"But Riyan—"
"And the last person he spoke to before the incident," he whispered, "was you."
My entire body went cold.
Me?
I stumbled back, shaking my head.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "I didn't even know your brother. I never talked to him—"
"You did."
His voice was ice.
"You just don't remember."
My breath shattered.
"What… what do you mean I don't remember?"
He didn't answer.
He turned away.
Walked two steps.
Then stopped.
Without looking back, he said softly:
"You're already deeper in this than you think. Stop searching for answers, Aarvi. You won't survive them."
And he walked away, leaving me trembling in a hallway full of shadows and one unbearable realization:
Somewhere in my past…
hidden, forgotten, or stolen…
was a moment that tied me to his brother's destruction.
And Riyan believed I was the reason.