Dinner that night was a battlefield of silence.
Riyan sat beside me—not close enough to show affection, but close enough to send a message:
She is not alone anymore.
She is not unprotected.
Every member of the Malhotra family kept glancing at us, whispering behind half-raised hands.
But Riyan's mother kept her eyes fixed on me.
Sharp. Calculating.
Like she was trying to peel away my skin and look inside my mind.
When dinner ended, Riyan stood.
"I need to make a call," he murmured to me. "Stay here. Don't go upstairs alone."
He meant it as protection.
But the moment he left the room, I felt something cold slide behind me.
Her presence.
His mother.
"Aarvi," she said softly. "Walk with me. I want to… talk."
Not a request.
Not a choice.
I followed her through the corridor, my heartbeat heavy in my chest.
She pushed open the door to one of the sitting rooms—a beautiful place with soft lighting and arranged flowers that couldn't hide the truth:
This room was chosen for privacy.
For secrets.
For warnings.
She closed the door behind us and turned to face me, her expression smooth… but her eyes sharp enough to cut.
"Sit," she said.
I sat.
She remained standing—towering over me, a queen surveying someone unworthy.
"Tell me, Aarvi," she began softly, "what exactly are you doing to my son?"
My stomach tightened.
"Nothing," I whispered. "I—"
"Don't lie."
Her voice lashed through the room, soft but deadly.
"I have eyes everywhere in this house. And today, for the first time since Arjun's death, Riyan looked… conflicted."
I swallowed.
"I didn't do anything to Riyan."
"Oh, but you did," she said with a cold smile. "You walked into this family and I warned him you were dangerous. And look—already he is slipping."
"Slipping?" I echoed.
"His control. His judgment. His loyalty." Her eyes narrowed. "He didn't defend you before. Now he does. Why?"
I hesitated.
She stepped closer.
"What changed?" she demanded. "What did you tell him? What did you show him?"
"Nothing," I repeated, voice shaking. "We only talked."
"Talked?" She laughed softly—without warmth. "You expect me to believe my son shares anything with a girl like you?"
The insult stung, but I kept my eyes low.
"You know, Aarvi," she continued, circling me slowly, "this marriage was supposed to be temporary. A quiet embarrassment we could remove after a year."
My heart twisted painfully.
She leaned down slightly.
"But if you're trying to make this something real… you are playing a very dangerous game."
I stiffened.
"I'm not—"
"Oh, but you are," she said. "I've seen girls like you. Poor. Desperate. Hungry for acceptance."
She paused.
"And sometimes… hungry for power."
I shook my head. "I never wanted power."
She stopped in front of me.
Then she said something so quiet it froze the blood in my veins:
"You ruined one Malhotra already. Don't try to ruin another."
My heart stopped.
She leaned closer, her voice almost a whisper.
"Yes, Aarvi. I know the story. I know you were the last person Arjun spoke to. And now you stand beside Riyan like you belong here."
"Arjun didn't blame me," I whispered.
She stiffened slightly—but recovered quickly.
"Arjun was naïve," she said. "He didn't see your true intentions. But I do."
The air in the room felt heavy.
"You want to know something?" she whispered. "I don't care what you remember or don't remember. I don't care about your excuses. I don't even care what Riyan thinks right now."
She tilted her head.
"You will not become important in his life."
I blinked, stunned.
"You will not influence him.
You will not soften him.
You will not drag him into your pathetic world."
Her voice grew colder with each word.
"You are here because the doctors needed money, and because my son felt obligated by a misunderstanding of grief. Nothing more."
My throat tightened painfully.
She straightened, smoothing her saree.
"So here is your warning: Stay in your place. Stay quiet. Stay insignificant."
Her eyes hardened.
"Because if you try to step out of line—even once—this house will swallow you whole."
My breath stopped.
She turned toward the door.
But before leaving, she added one last sentence—soft, deadly, final:
"Remember this, Aarvi… I lost one son already. I will not lose another because of you."
The door clicked shut behind her.
I sat there frozen, shaking, unable to breathe.
Because her threat wasn't loud.
It wasn't violent.
It was worse:
It was calm.
Confident.
Believable.
And for the first time since I entered this mansion—
I realized Riyan might not be the only one I needed protection from.