Chapter 22: The Eve of the End
The sun set over the Mumbai skyline, casting long, amber shadows across the master suite of the Malhotra mansion. It was the final night. Three hundred and sixty-four days had passed since the rescue at the textile mill.
The year had been a blur of strange, quiet domesticity. True to his word, Advik had remained a "friend." He had helped Ishaan settle into a top-tier school, ensured Auntie Meera was safe, and even provided a monthly allowance for Aman, though I hadn't seen him since the day the truth came out. My love for Aman hadn't vanished—it had become a distant, faded photograph, beautiful but no longer alive.
I stood by the window, watching the waves crash against the cliffside. On the bed lay a single, crisp white envelope.
The divorce papers.
Advik entered the room without knocking, his presence still commanding enough to steal the air from my lungs. He wasn't in his tactical gear or his sharp suits today. He wore a simple black sweater, his sleeves pushed up to reveal the faint scars on his forearms—scars he had earned for me.
"I've signed them," he said, his voice low and devoid of the old gravelly threat. It was just... tired.
I turned to look at him. "Advik."
"Everything is prepared," he continued, walking to the desk and ignoring the way my voice caught. "The villa in Goa is in your name. Your brother's trust fund is secure. You are free to leave tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM."
I looked at the papers, then back at the man who had spent a year protecting me from a distance. "You haven't asked me to stay. Not once in twelve months."
Advik let out a hollow, bitter laugh. He stepped closer, finally allowing the mask to slip. His eyes were full of a raw, agonizing yearning that he had been suppressing for 365 days.
"Because I knew if I asked, you'd stay out of debt or duty," he whispered, his hand hovering near my face but never touching. "And I didn't want your gratitude, Ananya. I wanted your heart. But your heart was promised to a ghost, and I'm not a man who steals from the dead."
"Aman isn't a ghost," I said softly.
"He is to you," Advik countered, his gaze burning into mine. "You haven't called him in six months. You haven't mentioned his name since the day I brought your brother home. But you still look at the gates every time you think I'm not watching."
He was right. I was waiting for a feeling of liberation that hadn't come. I had my freedom, my brother, and my safety. I had everything I had bargained for.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," I said, testing the weight of the words.
"I know," Advik replied. He turned toward the door, his silhouette framed by the moonlight. "I'll be in the study. I won't be there to see you off in the morning. I don't think I can watch you walk through those gates one last time."
He paused at the threshold, his back to me. "I hope he makes you happy, Ananya. I truly do."
The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the vast, silent room. One day left. One night to decide if the life I had fought to return to was actually the life I wanted—or if the "monster" who had broken his own heart to set me free was the only person who truly knew me.