final dinner that evening were a dazzling, overwhelming explosion of sound and light. The ballroom had been transformed with cascades of marigolds and jasmine, blinding crystal chandeliers, and a stage that pulsed with the synthetic beat of Bollywood tracks. The guests, dressed in their absolute finest, were loud and convivial, participating in competitive dance routines that felt less like celebration and more like a social audition.
Roo entered, feeling the immense weight of her elaborate attire. The royal-blue velvet lehenga was heavy, the gold zardozi embroidery on the hem and bodice catching every glint of light, making her feel like a gilded statue. The stiff, classic gold jewelry—the heavy kundan earrings and the simple, suffocating necklace—felt like actual chains. She moved through the crowd, a beautiful anomaly, her expression perfectly composed, but her mind a whirlwind of anxiety and a terrifying, growing resolve.
The Contemplation of Shackles
She found a spot near a pillar, where the light was slightly dimmer, and immediately spotted Shyan. He was performing exactly as expected, flanked by two giggling young women who looked barely out of university, leaning in with proprietary charm. Shyan's eyes, bright and insincere, never once glanced her way; his attention was entirely absorbed by the validation he received from strangers.
Roo's parents, seated at the main table, occasionally glanced at the scene. Her mother merely offered a dismissive, tight smile, whispering something to her husband. The message was clear: He's a man. He'll settle down after the wedding. Ignore it.
Roo stood, watching the entire, toxic tableau, and a cold certainty solidified within her. She could not, would not, do this. The shackles of the engagement were not just legal or social; they were spiritual. The idea of waking up every day next to that casual cruelty, under the judgmental eye of her parents, was a suffocating sentence.
But the fear immediately rushed in: financial stability. Her father controlled her trust funds; her mother meticulously monitored her career choices. To leave Shyan was not just to break an engagement; it was to sever all financial ties and face the world utterly alone, risking her family's wrath and her own destitution. The courage she showed yesterday in defending Ghost felt miles away, replaced by the crushing practicality of her situation. How does one buy freedom? she wondered desperately.
The Misjudgment and Descent
Needing a distraction, anything to silence the frantic calculator in her mind, Roo approached the non-alcoholic beverage station. She was so consumed by her internal crisis that she barely registered the ornate crystal glasses. She grabbed a tumbler containing a dark, fizzy liquid and took a long, fast sip. It tasted sharp, sweet, and immediately warming. A strong fruit juice, she thought carelessly, distracted by a new burst of applause for Shyan's dance moves.
In reality, she had picked up a dangerously strong Old Fashioned that had been mistaken for a mocktail.
She continued to drink, carelessly refilling the glass twice more, the complex flavors of bourbon and bitters blending easily with the heavy, sweet mixers. The alcohol worked quickly, a strange, creeping warmth that dulled the edges of her anxiety. The loud music became less grating; the glittering chandeliers seemed to spin with a mesmerizing, blurry light. The weight of the royal-blue lehenga suddenly felt enormous, cumbersome, and ridiculous.
The world tilted. She laughed out loud at something utterly insignificant. A wave of giddy recklessness washed over her, followed immediately by a sudden, heavy dizziness. She realized, with a lurch of cold panic, that she was profoundly drunk. Her resolve to find Lav's card and discreetly text him vanished. She needed darkness. She needed oblivion.
She stumbled slightly, excused herself with a mumbled apology to a passing acquaintance, and made her escape. She was no longer running toward something, but desperately fleeing the overwhelming noise and light. She headed immediately for the elevators leading to the hotel room she had booked that morning.