Meera sat still for a moment, taking in everything Daksh had said—the weight of her father's sins, the cold truth of the man she was married to, and the brutal chessboard she now stood upon.
But she didn't crumble.
She lifted her gaze, steadied her breath, and spoke softly—but with steel under her words.
"Agar mere pita ne galti ki thi… toh main usse sudhaaroongi."
("If my father made a mistake, I will correct it.")
"I can't undo what he did, but I will try to bring something different into Abhimanyu's life. Joy, maybe. Peace, even if he never says he wants it. I promise you, Dakshbhai."
For the first time in the conversation, a small smile crept onto Daksh's face—a rare expression on a man known for stone resolve. He nodded once, and gestured to her glass.
"Finish your drink, Meera. You've earned it. Then rest. Tomorrow… will be heavier."
Meera offered a faint smile, lifting the glass without a word. As she stood and began to leave, Daksh's voice called out behind her.
"Kunal Rajput…" He said the name like a curse.
"I'll handle him myself. You don't need to worry about that filth anymore. He's already forgotten his place—now, I'll remind him. And don't worry about your contracts and lost brands. Not for a second. They'll come crawling back, not because of Abhimanyu… but because you'll have my name behind you now."
Meera turned back at the door, surprised—not by his offer of power, but by the quiet protectiveness behind it.
She smiled, this time gently. "You being there for me… matters the most. I don't need your support, Dakshbhai. But thank you—for standing beside me anyway."
Daksh gave her a silent nod, then turned back to his desk, already diving into the next war he had to fight.
And Meera walked out—not as someone broken, but as someone determined.
————————————————————
The palace corridors were unusually quiet for the hour.
Meera walked through them slowly, her dupatta trailing behind her like a whisper. She wasn't sure what she would say—or if she'd say anything at all. But something in her heart pulled her toward him. Maybe it was Daksh's words. Maybe it was the ache she hadn't been able to silence since London.
She reached their shared chamber.
The heavy door was ajar.
Inside, the lights were dim. Abhimanyu stood by the window, his jacket discarded on the chair, sleeves rolled up, fingers holding a glass of water he hadn't sipped. He didn't turn when he heard the door creak. But he knew it was her.
She stepped in.
He finally looked over his shoulder. His eyes locked onto her face—no defiance, no coldness. Just silence.
Her voice came quiet, calm. "I spoke to Dakshbhai."
Abhimanyu's jaw clenched. "Did he tell you everything?"
She nodded. "He did."
He looked away, his fingers tightening slightly around the glass. "Then there's nothing more left to say."
She walked up closer, only a few feet away from him now. "You've carried it alone, Abhimanyu… all of it."
His laugh was short and sharp. "I didn't need company."
"You needed healing."
"You think you can give me that?" he shot back, finally turning to face her, eyes dark with exhaustion and anger barely held back. "You—his daughter?"
She didn't flinch. Not this time.
"If I can't… I'll still try."
The silence between them swelled.
He looked at her—really looked—and something shifted. She wasn't pleading. She wasn't begging for his love, or even his forgiveness.
She was just… there.
Unmoving. Undemanding. Present.
That unsettled him more than any words ever could.
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His fingers brushed her jaw instinctively—eyes falling to the purple bruise that was still faintly visible under her skin. She flinched. Barely, but enough.
His hand froze midair.
Regret flashed through his face, fast and sharp.
"I didn't mean to—" he began.
"I know," she said softly.
Another silence.
And then he stepped back, as if the proximity was unbearable.
"I'm not the man you should be trying to fix, Meera," he said. "I can't give you anything. Not peace. Not love. And definitely not happiness."
She took a breath. "I don't want anything."
He looked confused. "Then why are you still here?"
Her voice was steady. "Because I choose to be."
He turned away before she could see his reaction. She watched him for a moment longer… then walked to her side of the bed, took off her jewelry, and quietly settled beneath the covers.
She didn't say goodnight.
Neither did he.
The early morning sun filtered through the carved jharokhas, casting soft golden patterns on the marble floor of Meera's room. She sat on the edge of her bed, silent, still in the clothes she'd fallen asleep in, her eyes staring into nothingness.
Abhimanyu was gone.
As usual.
No note. No message. Not even a sound of his departure. Just the cool, impersonal silence he left behind.
A knock came before the door flung open.
"Meera!" Zara's voice cut through the quiet like a siren.
Isha and Dhriti followed right behind her, all three entering like a mini hurricane.
"Where the hell were you yesterday?" Isha asked, arms folded.
"Daksh Bhai took you right after you got back. You didn't say a word to us," Dhriti added, concern furrowed on her forehead.
Zara flopped onto the bed beside Meera. "Spill. Now."
Meera looked at them, eyes soft but tired. "I'm fine."
Zara raised an eyebrow. "Fine? You were bleeding two days ago and now you're acting like nothing happened? No, ma'am. Not acceptable."
Meera gave a tiny smile but her voice was firm. "Whatever Daksh Bhaiya said… it was between me and Abhimanyu. It still is. I don't want to drag anyone else into this mess."
Dhriti sat on the other side of Meera. "We're not 'anyone else.' We're your girls. We're allowed to be in your mess."
Zara stood up suddenly. "And what about Kunal bloody Rajput? You think we're going to let him get away with what he did? I say we fly back to London right now and smash that bloody bastard's face in."
Isha chimed in, deadly calm. "We're trained in kickboxing, Zara. I say we break a few bones. Legally questionable, but emotionally satisfying."
Dhriti nodded, her voice more heated. "I've got friends in London. We can have him tracked in less than an hour."
Meera burst out, "Guys! Stop!" Her voice was sharp, but not angry—more like overwhelmed.
They all fell silent.
She took a deep breath, eyes glassy but steady. "Daksh Bhaiya is handling it. He's promised. And I believe him."
Zara narrowed her eyes. "Daksh? That snobby King with the 'I own the world' energy?"
Dhriti gasped, mock offended. "Hey! That's my brother."
Zara grinned. "So? Even you know he's snobby."
Dhriti raised her hands. "I mean… yeah, but still. The man walks like the hallway owes him rent."
All three girls burst out laughing.
Meera looked at them—Zara's dramatics, Isha's quiet but fierce loyalty, Dhriti's warmth—and her throat tightened.
"I love you guys," she whispered.
They stopped and looked at her.
"I love you for staying," she continued, voice cracking a little. "For staying here for me. For more than five days. For showing up. For not leaving when things got too dark."
She opened her arms. "Group hug?"
They didn't need to be asked twice.
Zara was the first to throw her arms around her, followed by Dhriti and then Isha, and they held each other tight, like a storm shelter built out of arms and loyalty and unsaid love.
In that moment, Meera didn't need Abhimanyu. She didn't need closure or apologies or vengeance.
She had them.
And sometimes, that was enough to survive the day.