The conference room was too bright.
White lights.
Glass walls.
Dozens of cameras waiting just outside like predators sensing blood.
I stood between Riyan and Arjun, my palms cold, my spine straight.
For years, I had lived in whispers.
Today, there would be none.
Riyan adjusted the microphone once, then looked at us—not like a billionaire, not like a man protecting an image.
Like a man choosing truth.
"We'll start," he said quietly.
The doors opened.
Cameras flashed instantly.
Questions exploded before we even sat down.
"Mr. Malhotra, is it true your brother was alive all these years?"
"Mrs. Malhotra, were you framed?"
"Who authorized the fake death?"
"What role did your mother play?"
The noise was overwhelming.
Riyan raised his hand.
Silence followed.
"My name is Riyan Malhotra," he said steadily. "And everything you're about to hear is the truth. Not the convenient one. Not the protected one."
He turned slightly toward Arjun.
"This is my elder brother, Arjun Malhotra. He did not die. He was taken. Isolated. Declared dead without consent."
A ripple ran through the room.
Arjun leaned forward, voice calm despite the weight of it.
"I was moved under false pretenses," he said. "I was told it was for my safety. That my family agreed."
He paused.
"They did not."
My throat tightened.
Then every camera turned to me.
I inhaled slowly.
"I was blamed for his 'death,'" I said. "I was married as punishment. Silenced as a convenience. And hated because it was easier than asking questions."
A murmur spread.
"But the truth doesn't care what's easy," I continued. "It waits."
Someone shouted, "Why speak now?"
I met the room head-on.
"Because silence almost killed three people," I said. "And I won't let it happen again."
Riyan's hand brushed mine—steady, grounding.
"We've submitted every document," he said. "Medical records. Audio evidence. Authorization misuse. Resignations have been filed. Legal proceedings are underway."
"And your mother?" a reporter asked.
Riyan didn't flinch.
"She will answer in court," he replied. "Like anyone else."
The room erupted again.
But this time, it didn't scare me.
Because the story was no longer something happening to me.
It was something I was telling.
When it was over, when the cameras finally powered down and the doors closed again, the room felt oddly quiet.
Arjun exhaled.
"Did we just dismantle a dynasty?"
Riyan let out a slow breath.
"Yes."
All eyes turned to me.
I didn't feel small.
I didn't feel afraid.
I felt… finished with running.
Outside, the world buzzed with the aftermath.
Inside, something simple and powerful settled between us.
We had stood in the light.
And for the first time—
The light didn't burn.