Some people send flowers when they want to make a point.Riven Kaul sends evidence.
And not the gentle kind.The kind that detonates.
It happens the next morning.I'm halfway through a cup of burnt hotel coffee, eyes swollen from lack of sleep, when my phone pings with a new email.
From: Anonymous.Subject: "You wanted the truth."Attachment:RivenProof.zip
Because of course he'd be dramatic enough to name it that.
For a full minute, I just stare at it — the blinking cursor, the quiet hum of the city outside, the faint tremor in my hand.Then curiosity wins, as it always does.I click.
Inside the folder: three things.A document. A photo. And a voice recording.
The digital holy trinity of heartbreak.
I open the document first.
It's a series of emails — dated, timestamped, clean.All between Darian Malhotra and an unknown overseas account, marked as "charity investments."Except these "investments" were being funneled into a subsidiary — one that no longer exists.
And the name on the signature?Riven Kaul.
There's a note at the bottom:
He framed me. He used my account. Check the timestamps. I was in Singapore.
My stomach twists.Because the dates match.The night of the "photo." The night everything began.
Next, the photo.Different from the one I posted.Same dinner, same setting — but a new angle.
This one shows both men standing, not smiling — arguing.Darian's jaw tight, Riven's face half-lit, furious.And in the background — a woman I recognize.
Alina.
What. The. Hell.
The last file is the recording.I plug in my earphones, hit play.
Riven's voice first, sharp and angry.
"You think you can cover this up? The charity fund is in my name. If this leaks, it's on me!"
Then Darian's voice — lower, colder.
"You shouldn't have used the money without approval."
"I didn't touch a rupee!"
"Then who did, Riven?"
A pause.Then the faint sound of a door opening.Heavier heels.A woman's voice.
"Gentlemen, if you're done accusing each other, perhaps you should check who signed the approval."
Alina.
The clip ends there.
I yank out my earphones, my pulse thundering.
If this is real…Then Darian wasn't the thief.He was set up.
By her.
Alina — the ex-fiancée.The one who spilled wine on my dress, who whispered poison at the gala, who never left his orbit.
It's like the world just turned itself inside out.
My phone buzzes again.A new message.
RIVEN: You see it now, don't you? He's not the hero you think.ME: You're lying.RIVEN: Am I? She was part of his cover-up. Find the original approval files. They're in the Malhotra server. Folder name: CASSIOPEIA.RIVEN: He'll never tell you himself.
My fingers tremble as I type.
ME: Why are you helping me?
RIVEN: Because once, I wanted to protect you. Now, I just want you to know who you married.
That night, I can't breathe.I can't think.The truth feels too big to fit in my chest.
If what Riven sent is true — then Darian is innocent.But if he's lying again — then I'm about to destroy the one man who might've actually loved me.
By dawn, I make my decision.
I grab my laptop.Connect to the Malhotra Group's secure server.Type Cassiopeia.
A single locked folder appears.Password protected.
"Of course it is," I whisper. "Because why make it easy?"
And then I see it — a faint sticky note on the desk near Darian's old photo frame.A scribble I remember teasing him about months ago.
C + L + 27 = ?
My breath catches.C for Cassiopeia.L for Lyra.27 — our wedding date.
I type it in.
The folder opens.
Inside — files, transactions, signatures…and one video.
I click play.
The footage shows a conference room.Alina handing papers to a board member.Her signature — clear as day — on every illegal approval.And Darian, standing in the doorway, frozen.
"What have you done?""What you asked me to," she says, smiling.
The video ends.
And I finally understand why Darian couldn't tell me.
Because the person who betrayed him…was the one he once planned to marry.
I close the laptop slowly.Tears burn behind my eyes — equal parts guilt, relief, and heartbreak.
My phone buzzes one last time.Another message from Riven.
"Now you know. Choose your side."
I look out at the city — our city — glowing like it's daring me to pick a side.Between two men.Two versions of truth.And two futures that might ruin me either way.