The frantic terror of the accidental kiss drove Roo out of the wedding venue like a launched arrow. She did not drive home; the thought of facing her parents' rigid expectations and Shyan's immediate, toxic correction was unbearable. Instead, she drove to the hotel venue's front desk, her hands still faintly tingling, and booked herself a quiet, expensive room on a different floor, using her personal card—a tiny act of independence that felt enormous. Once inside the silent cocoon of the room, she shed her peach suit, not bothering to draw the heavy curtains. She fell into the luxurious king-sized bed, seeking not sleep, but simple, absolute oblivion. The silence was overwhelming, and for the first time in three days, the oppressive noise of her world stopped. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, claimed her instantly, pulling her into a deep, dreamless void.
The Midday Betrayal
While Roo slept the sleep of the emotionally exhausted, the clock ticked into the early afternoon. The hotel, still hosting the wedding contingent, maintained a low, bustling rhythm.
Shyan was awake, not in his own reserved room, but several floors down in the plush, corporate suite belonging to the parents of his latest, most lucrative conquest. The suite was an exhibition of gaudy, modern opulence: electric-blue LED strips cut across the ceiling molding, silver wallpaper shimmered, and a low glass table sat scattered with empty champagne flutes and crisp rupee notes left carelessly from a late-night card game. The air was heavy with the stale, cloying scent of high-end cologne and expensive perfume.
He was currently involved with a woman named Tania, whose sleek black hair was messily pulled back, exposing a long, graceful neck, and whose sharp, bored features suggested a life of minimal effort and maximum entitlement. She was currently draped in one of Shyan's discarded white shirts, her long, smooth legs carelessly extended across a sofa cushioned in unforgiving velvet.
Their connection was a purely transactional arrangement: Shyan's charisma and network for her family's political favors and financial opportunities. The physical intimacy, like everything else in their lives, was a casual, cynical exercise in power and pleasure.
Shyan retrieved his phone from the pocket of his discarded trousers, checking the frantic messages that had accumulated. "Did you see Roo last night?" Tania drawled, her voice thick with sleep and utter disinterest.
Shyan chuckled, a dry, dismissive sound that held no genuine humor. "The animal lover? She had a hysterical moment. Interrupted a very important business conversation because she thought a dog was hurt. It's fine. I apologized to her—made sure my parents heard it. She thinks she has leverage, but she'll realize it was just a misunderstanding by the end of the night. She always does." He dismissed his fiancée's emotional trauma with the same casual arrogance with which he had treated the pet. He knew Roo was in a cage, and he was confident she had no key. He leaned over and gave Tania a quick, perfunctory kiss, already planning his evening performance. The brief intimacy was merely a prelude to the real performance, which was convincing the world—and Roo—that he was devoted.
The Evening Preparations
As the shadows lengthened across the city and the time for the final ritual—the dinner and sangeet—approached, the activity within the hotel intensified. Three lives, three completely distinct inner worlds, prepared for the evening's final spectacle.
Lav: The Weight of Responsibility
Lav was in a sterile, beige conference room on the hotel's business floor, his back to the panoramic window. He was flanked by his legal team and business partners, dealing with a sudden, significant corporate crisis that required his immediate return to Mumbai. He wore a crisp white shirt and his charcoal suit, the attire of absolute, focused responsibility.
His thoughts, however, were a tumultuous battlefield. He was running through complex financial scenarios one minute, and the next, he saw the flash of emerald green, felt the desperate squeeze of Roo's arms around him, and the shocking, soft pressure of her lips against his cheek. Terror—the fear of ruin, both financial and emotional—was a cold, constant knot in his stomach. He felt completely overwhelmed, trapped between the world that demanded he be ruthless and successful, and the hidden world where a quiet girl and a dog had offered him salvation. He had to leave, but he could not leave without securing her. He had to act.