The morning sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of the Sisodia Empire’s Jaipur headquarters, casting golden light on polished teak floors and sandstone pillars that carried centuries of royal history.

Inside the CEO’s office — a blend of modern elegance and ancestral grandeur — Devraj Pratap Sisodia sat behind his vast desk, reviewing the final contracts for an upcoming merger. His black suit was crisp, collar buttoned, cufflinks gleaming, every inch of him composed. Unbothered. In control.

Always in control.

He didn’t speak as his fingers scrolled through the digital document on his tablet. Not until his PA, Kartik, stepped into the room with hesitant urgency in his eyes.

“Sir?”

Devraj didn’t look up immediately.

Kartik knew better than to interrupt his silence unless necessary. And this was necessary.

Devraj finally lifted his gaze, sharp and unreadable. “Yes?”

Kartik cleared his throat. “There’s been a change in the Europe schedule. The French partners—Duvall Industries—they’ve moved the quarterly review forward. They want to finalize the deal this week.”

Devraj’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “They advanced it?”

“Yes, sir. The documents just came in this morning. They’ve booked a private suite for discussions. They were insistent that you be there in person.” Kartik handed over the printout, cautious not to let his hands shake.

Devraj took the paper, scanning the schedule with those calculating eyes that missed nothing.

A pause.

Then, calm as always, he spoke. “Reschedule the Mumbai board review. Push the investor dinner to next week.”

Kartik nodded quickly, already tapping his tablet. “The jet is ready. You can leave by tomorrow afternoon if that works for you.”

Devraj set the paper down on his desk, leaning back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

France wasn’t on his radar for the week — but business came before personal plans. Always. And when a king moved, it wasn’t with hesitation, but precision.

“Confirm the itinerary,” he said finally. “And Kartik…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Make sure no one knows I’m going.”

Kartik blinked. “No one, sir?”

Devraj’s voice was quiet, but it held the weight of finality. “No one.”

“Yes, sir. As you wish.”

With a respectful nod, Kartik exited the room, leaving Devraj alone in the quiet luxury of his domain.

He turned slightly, eyes drifting to the massive window that overlooked the palace gardens in the distance. There was a stillness to him — like a lion surveying his territory.

He didn’t believe in coincidences.

But something told him this trip… wouldn’t be as simple as a business deal.

Fate had its own timing.

And sometimes, even kings walked straight into it — unknowingly.

_________________

By the time I stepped into my hotel room, I felt like I’d aged ten years since morning.

The flight had been long, the layovers exhausting, and the thoughts… never-ending.

The room smelled faintly of fresh linens and lemon oil, with city lights dancing through the half-drawn curtains. Paris outside felt like another world — distant, elegant, untouchable. But in my heart, all I felt was the weight of Jaipur... the echo of raised voices, stubborn silence, and two men who loved me enough to break my heart if it meant saving it.

I didn’t bother unpacking. Just threw my handbag on the table and flopped onto the bed.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed.

Mavi.

I smiled weakly as her name lit up my screen.

I answered, holding the phone above my head, still sprawled like a corpse. “Madam ji. Late-night check-in?”

“Sri!” she shrieked, her face popping into the screen with dramatic flair. “Took you long enough! I thought your international roaming died or you did!”

I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “Honestly, at this point, either one sounds fine.”

Her face softened. “So… you made it. Paris, huh? Fancy.”

I exhaled. “Yeah. I made it. Landed. Cabbed it. Room service smells weird. Everything’s too quiet.”

“Tell me everything,” she demanded, pulling her knees up into frame. “What happened? What did Bhai say? What did uncle do?”

And so I did.

I told her about the shouting. The way Bhai had cornered me with facts instead of emotion. How Papa — Abhijit uncle to her, but my everything — had given me a condition that shattered me and gave me hope at the same time.

“If I prove Kunal’s genuine,” I said quietly, “Papa said he’ll agree to our marriage. No more fights. No more questioning.”

Manvi blinked. “Wait. Uncle said that?”

I nodded. “Swear on Mavi’s life.”

She grinned despite herself. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second — wow. That’s… huge.”

I pressed my lips together, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to feel, Vivi. I want to believe Kunal’s everything I think he is. But if I’m wrong... I’ll break.”

There was a long pause.

“You won’t break,” she said softly. “You’ll hurt. You’ll cry. You’ll eat three tubs of ice cream. You’ll curse all men. But you’ll come out of it with your crown still on.”

I smiled bitterly. “You always sound so sure.”

“Because you don’t see yourself like I do,” she replied. “You think being soft makes you weak. But it makes you brave, Sri. You love completely. Fearlessly. But now… you’re standing up for yourself too.”

I felt the burn behind my eyes before I could stop it.

She always knew the right words.

“And,” she added with a teasing smirk, “I am completely Team Uncle and Team Bhai on this one. I never trusted Mr. Smooth-talker. I just stayed quiet because you’d have blocked me if I said anything.”

I rolled my eyes. “You dramatic little traitor.”

“Love you too, Princess,” she said, mocking me with a curtsy. “Now go take a long shower, throw on a hoodie, and try to sleep. Tomorrow, your real journey begins.”

“Mavi... thanks for calling.”

“I always will,” she said. “Now go rest that genius brain and overthinking heart.”

I ended the call, silence falling over the room again — only now it felt… less lonely.

I sat there for a while, phone still in hand, the afterglow of our call lingering like a warm hug. Then finally, I crawled under the covers, pulled the sheets up to my chin, and stared at the ceiling.

Kunal’s smile.

Papa’s eyes.

Bhai’s voice.

Manvi’s faith.

And my own heartbeat — unsure, trembling, but still moving forward.

Maybe tomorrow I’d find the truth.

Maybe I’d find him.

Or maybe… I’d find myself first.

____________________

The morning light in Paris felt softer than usual.

There was a strange quiet in the air when I woke up, almost like the world was holding its breath. My phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Kunal.

His name still did something to my heart. Made it flutter. Ache. Hope.

I stared at the screen for a second, hesitating. Should I tell him I’m here? Should I tell him about Papa, about Bhai, about the deal I made with my family — a deal that meant my whole future?

But the moment I heard his voice — calm, sweet, so normal — I couldn’t do it.

I couldn't say the words.

So I didn't.

We spoke casually. He told me he missed me, asked me what I was doing, and I lied.

I told him I was resting, probably going to visit some places later. He laughed softly, called me “baby”, said he’d talk later because he was heading into a meeting.

I wanted to believe him.

I really did.

After we hung up, I sat there, staring at my reflection in the hotel mirror for a long time. Then I stood up, forced myself to get ready. Casual outfit. Nothing dramatic. Just beige trousers, a black top, light coat — simple. Elegant.

I needed to look composed.

Even if I wasn’t.

I walked with purpose. Every step toward his office felt heavy — not from fear, but from something deeper, something like instinct. Something like dread.

When I reached the building, the receptionist told me he was busy.

Of course he was.

But when I gave them my name, told them who I was — Kunal’s girlfriend, Srisha Abhijit Sisodia — something changed in their expression.

Respect.

Or maybe pity?

They let me through.

I walked past the marble halls, past silent doors and soft carpets until I reached the corridor that led to his private cabin. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

And then I stopped.

Because the door was slightly open.

Just enough for the truth to slip through.

Just enough for my heart to break without warning.

He was there.

Kunal.

Smiling.

Holding her.

Kissing her.

Not just a peck. Not something innocent or explainable. This was... passion. Familiarity. Intimacy.

The kind he once reserved for me.

The kind he promised belonged only to me.

I stood there frozen, breath caught in my throat, the air around me suddenly too sharp, too cold. My hands trembled at my sides, and I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t breathe.

It felt like time slowed down. Like the universe decided to let me watch every second of my heart being torn apart — in real-time. No filters. No protection.

He touched her face.

He whispered something that made her laugh.

And for the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to feel... nothing.

No tears.

No rage.

Just silence.

A silence so loud, it deafened me.

Was I not enough? Was all of it a lie? Every “I love you”, every pizza night, every gentle word — just a carefully crafted illusion?

I had crossed oceans for him.

Fought my own blood.

Stood against my family’s warnings — for this.

For him.

And now, standing at the edge of his betrayal, I felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me.

I wanted to run.

I wanted to scream.

But I did neither.

I simply turned around — slowly, like someone waking from a nightmare — and walked away.

Because in that moment, I realized something.

Loyalty is not blind.

Love is not enough.

And not every heartbreak makes a sound.

Some just live quietly inside you, forever.

_________________________

That's all for today