The Royal Library was a cathedral of knowledge, with floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves and the comforting scent of aged vanilla and leather. As Meira stepped inside, she felt a rare sense of peace—until she spotted a young boy sitting cross-legged on a velvet rug, surrounded by a mountain of adventure novels.
"You must be the girl everyone is whispering about," he said, looking up with a wide, toothy grin. This was Sahil, Shekar and Mohini's son.
Unlike the rest of the family, Sahil didn't have a drop of malice in him. Within minutes, he was showing Meira his favourite maps and asking her about the world outside the mansion. For the first time, Meira felt a genuine spark of connection; she found herself treating him with the protective warmth of an elder sister, a role that felt strangely natural to her.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the atmosphere was far from peaceful. Mohini was busy directing the staff with uncharacteristic fervour.
"Make sure the spices are mild," Mohini ordered, her eyes sharp. "I want everything perfect. I'm going to serve her myself, with my own hands."
"What is this nonsense?" Yamini walked in, her face twisted in a scowl. "Since when do you play the doting aunt to a commoner? You're acting like she's a long-lost princess instead of a parasite."
Mohini didn't flinch. She simply turned and offered a sugary, dangerous smile. "Oh, Yamini. In this house, power doesn't always come from shouting. Sometimes, it's fed through a silver spoon. Shekar and I know what we're doing. You should worry less about my kitchen and more about why the walls are starting to talk to our guest."
Yamini's jaw tightened, the divide in the family was deepening.
Later, Seema approached Meira in the library. "It's time, Meira. Please follow me."
She led Meira to the Royal Dining Hall, a room of intimidating grandeur she had never expected to enter. As Seema settled her into a velvet-backed chair, Mohini entered, followed by a procession of servants carrying silver platters of aromatic dishes.
Meira's eyes widened in shock. "All of this... for me?"
"Eat, dear," Mohini said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she began heaping portions onto Meira's plate.
"Ma'am, please, my appetite is very small," Meira tried to protest, her hands raised in defence.
Mohini ignored her, piling on more delicacies. "Nonsense. You've been through so much. Shekar would be so happy to know you finally had a proper meal. Consider this a fresh start with us."
Meira looked at the mountain of food, feeling less like a guest and more like a bird being fattened in a golden cage. Mohini's "kindness" felt heavier than Yamini's hatred.
Meira retreated to her room, feeling physically weighed down by the rich food and mentally exhausted by Mohini's suffocating attention. Her stomach felt uncomfortably full, a stark contrast to the hollow emptiness she usually felt in this house. She summoned Seema, hoping to set some boundaries before the day ended.
"Seema, please inform the kitchen that I won't be having anything for dinner tonight," Meira said, leaning against her bedpost. "The lunch was far too much."
Seema shook her head with a knowing look. "I don't think it's that simple anymore, Meira. Mohini Ma'am has officially taken over the responsibility of your meals. From now on, she decides what you eat and when."
Meira felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. It was as if her very autonomy was being stripped away, one silver platter at a time. "It feels like... even my hunger is under someone else's control now."
Seema let out a soft, light-hearted laugh. "But you should be happy! It means people have finally started accepting you as one of their own."
"I don't know about that," Meira whispered, looking out the window at the darkening grounds. "This house is full of contradictions. Sahil and Taniya... they feel like pure souls, untainted by whatever is happening here. Mohini and Rudra seem to be trying so hard to be nice, but I can't tell if it's real. Raghav is openly hostile, and I've barely spoken a word to Vivek or Shekar."
"And what about Divya Ma'am?" Seema asked, her voice dropping to a curious whisper.
Meira froze. The image of Divya's face—the strange moment of recognition in the corridor and the way she had stood up to Yamini—flashed through her mind. There was a pull there, a magnetism that terrified her more than Raghav's anger or Mohini's forced kindness.
After a long, heavy pause, Meira looked away. "I don't know," she said softly. "I really don't know what to make of her."