Pranati stopped at the foot of the yacht, the low hum of the engine vibrating beneath her feet.
The guard glanced at her pass, scanned it once, then nodded. "You may board."
She stepped onto the deck just as the ropes were released. The yacht eased away from the dock, the shoreline slowly slipping back, lights blurring into the dark water. Somewhere above, music swelled—laughter, clinking glasses, celebration.
Pranati's fingers tightened around the edge of her dupatta.
This was it.
Before she could take another step, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well… look who decided to show up."
She turned.
Neil Motwani stood a few feet away, dressed impeccably, a drink in his hand, his smile polished and unsettlingly calm. His eyes flicked over her—not crudely, but with ownership that made her skin prickle.
"So you came," he said, as if confirming a wager he already knew he'd won. "Good. Very good."
Pranati forced her voice steady. "You said I had to perform. I'm here for that."
Neil chuckled softly. "Relax, Pranati. We'll get to that." He gestured toward the interior corridor. "Come. We should talk first."
She hesitated—just a second too long.
Neil noticed. His smile widened, though his eyes hardened slightly. "Don't worry," he added lightly. "This isn't a trap. You walked in on your own. And besides…" He tapped the wall with one finger. "Cameras. Everywhere."
He leaned in just enough for his words to drop lower. "I'm not stupid enough to force anything here. Not at my sister's future husband's bachelor party."
The words didn't comfort her. They chilled her.
Pranati nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat, and followed him down the narrow corridor. The music faded with every step, replaced by the soft thrum of the engine and the creak of metal beneath the waves.
Neil opened the door to a private lounge and stepped aside. "After you."
She crossed the threshold, unease crawling up her spine, every instinct screaming that she did not belong here.
The door closed behind them with a muted click.
And the sea carried the yacht farther from shore.
---
Neil reached into a cabinet near the wall and pulled something out.
He didn't toss it.
He placed it deliberately on the table between them.
Pranati's eyes fell on the fabric.
Bright.
Minimal.
Wrong.
For a second, her mind refused to accept what she was seeing.
"This is…" Her voice caught. "This is a joke."
Neil leaned back against the table, completely at ease. "It's a costume," he said lightly. "You're here to perform. This fits the mood."
Pranati's hands curled into fists. "I'm not wearing that."
The temperature in the room shifted.
Neil's smile didn't fade—but something colder slid beneath it. "I didn't bring you here to negotiate."
She straightened despite the fear clawing at her chest. "You can't force me."
Neil stepped closer—not touching her, not even raising his voice. "You're right," he said calmly. "I can't."
Then he lowered his voice, each word precise. "But I can make sure your mother never hears the end of this. Fraud. Breach of contract. Money taken without service." He gave a small shrug. "Reputation is fragile in places like chawls."
Pranati's breath trembled.
"You'll dance," he continued, as if discussing the weather. "And you'll sing. Something that keeps the guests entertained." His eyes flicked briefly toward the door. "That's what you're here for."
Pranati stared at him—hard, burning, unblinking.
For a moment, Neil laughed. "Careful," he said, amused. "That look of yours? If looks could kill, I'd already be dead."
He picked up his drink and turned toward the door. "Get ready. We don't like delays."
The door shut behind him.
Silence flooded the room.
Pranati stood frozen, the walls suddenly too close, the hum of the engine pressing into her chest. Slowly, she reached for the fabric on the table.
Her fingers shook.
She clutched it to herself—not in acceptance, but in defeat—and sank onto the edge of the chair. The tears came then, silent and furious, blurring everything she had once sworn she would never become.
"I'm sorry," she whispered—to no one, to herself, to every version of her that had believed dignity alone could protect her from the world.
Outside, laughter rose from the deck—careless, distant, cruel.
Inside, Pranati cried.
To be continued…