The walls of the mansion felt too quiet that night.
Too still.
Too aware.
Riyan and I walked to his private study in silence — not hostile this time, but heavy with anticipation neither of us could name.
He closed the door behind us.
The soft click felt like locking the world out…
or locking the truth in.
A single lamp on his desk cast a warm glow over the room, but even the light felt tense, like it knew what we were about to uncover.
Riyan pulled the USB from his pocket and held it between his fingers.
"It could be corrupted," he murmured. "It might contain nothing."
I shook my head.
"No one risks breaking into a forbidden wing to leave nothing."
He exhaled softly.
Not disagreement — acceptance.
He inserted the USB into his laptop.
The screen flickered once.
Then twice.
A single folder appeared.
A.M. — PRIVATE
My heart squeezed painfully.
"Arjun Malhotra," I whispered.
Riyan didn't speak, but his hands trembled when he clicked the folder.
Inside, there was only one file.
A video.
"Truth_001.mp4"
Riyan looked at me.
I nodded.
He hit play.
---
The screen lit up with a blurry recording.
A hospital room.
Dim lights.
A boy sitting on a bed, wearing the same wristband we found.
My breath froze.
Arjun.
Younger than Riyan.
Gentler.
Tired.
He stared into the camera with eyes full of sadness —
but also determination.
"If you're seeing this," he began softly, "then something has gone wrong."
Riyan leaned forward, every muscle in his body pulled tight.
Arjun continued, voice cracking:
"I didn't want to make this… but I have no choice. I need someone to know the truth before it's twisted again."
Twisted again?
The hairs on my arms stood up.
Arjun swallowed, eyes darting to the door as if expecting someone to walk in.
"This isn't about Aarvi. She doesn't know anything. She never did. She was innocent from the beginning."
My throat tightened.
Arjun continued:
"The real reason I'm here… is because of someone else."
Someone else?
Riyan's breath caught sharply.
Arjun's next words felt like a knife slicing through the room:
"Someone close to us."
My stomach twisted violently.
He kept speaking, voice lower now:
"I found out something I shouldn't have. Something about money. About the company. About people using my name to hide what they were doing."
Riyan stiffened.
"Company?" he whispered. "Who was using his name?"
I didn't answer.
I couldn't.
Because Arjun's next words broke the silence:
"They warned me not to talk. They told me to disappear quietly. They said if I didn't, they would ruin someone I cared about."
Riyan's head snapped up.
"Innocent—"
His voice cracked.
"He meant you."
I covered my mouth, tears rising.
On screen, Arjun looked down, fighting tears of his own.
"I couldn't drag her into this. So I pushed her away."
Pushed me away?
But he had approached me…
liked me…
talked to me.
My heart squeezed painfully.
Arjun lifted the camera shakily.
"If anything happens to me… please don't blame her. Blame the person who did this."
The video glitched.
A loud static crackled.
Then Arjun's voice returned, this time rushed, frantic:
"They're coming."
Riyan's hand clenched the desk.
Arjun whispered his final words:
"Bhai… I'm sorry."
The screen went black.
The video ended.
---
The silence that followed was louder than any scream.
My heartbeat thudded painfully.
My hands trembled uncontrollably.
Riyan stared at the blank screen, eyes wide, breath uneven — as if someone had ripped open a wound he'd spent years stitching shut.
"He…"
His voice shook.
"He wasn't broken because of a lie."
"No," I whispered. "He was scared."
"He wasn't hurt by you."
"No."
"He was protecting you."
"Yes."
Riyan stood abruptly, pushing the chair back.
He pressed his palms against the desk, head bowed, shoulders trembling.
"They lied to me," he whispered, voice raw. "They told me he killed himself over a girl. They told me he was… weak."
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
"Riyan…"
"They made me hate you," he choked out. "They made me believe you'd ruined him. They filled my head with—"
He broke off, unable to continue.
I stepped closer.
He didn't stop me.
"They blamed the wrong person," I whispered. "On purpose."
He looked up slowly — eyes red, shattered, burning with realization.
"Aarvi," he said quietly, "someone in this house murdered my brother."
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
And then — like fate aiming straight at our fear — a soft knock sounded at the study door.
A calm voice followed.
"Riyan? Are you inside? I need to speak with you."
His mother.
Riyan's entire body went rigid.
He whispered only one word.
A word filled with suspicion.
Fear.
Hatred.
Grief.
"Her."