Chapter 4: The Gala of Secrets
The morning sun didn't bring warmth; it only exposed the bruises on my soul.
I woke up to the sound of a zipper. Advik was standing by the mirror, fastening a midnight-black tuxedo. He looked impeccable, like a god of war masquerading as a gentleman. He didn't look like a man who had spent the night on a cramped sofa.
"Get up," he said, his reflection catching my eyes. "There's a dress in the dressing room. Emerald. Wear it. We leave for the Malhotra Foundation Gala in two hours."
"A gala? My brother is missing, and you want to play house for the cameras?" I sat up, the silk sheets sliding down my shoulders.
Advik turned, his eyes darkening as they swept over me. "It's not 'playing house,' Ananya. It's a declaration. The world needs to see that you belong to me. If they think there's a crack in our marriage, they'll aim for you to get to me. And I don't like people touching my property."
He stepped toward the bed, leaning down until his face was level with mine. "The emerald dress. The Malhotra diamonds. And a smile that says you adore me. If you fail, the search for your brother stops. Am I clear?"
"Perfectly," I whispered, the word tasting like poison.
The Hidden Message
When Advik left to take a call on the balcony, I scrambled into the walk-in closet. It was a cavernous room filled with designer clothes that felt like a beautiful shroud. As I reached for the emerald gown, my foot hit something under a velvet ottoman.
A burner phone. Small, sleek, and vibrating.
My heart leaped into my throat. I grabbed it, my thumbs shaking as I swiped the screen. There was only one message from an unknown number:
"The Architect isn't the one who took him. Look at the guest list for tonight. Room 302. Come alone if you want Ishaan alive."
My breath hitched. If Advik didn't have my brother, then why was he letting me believe he did? Was he protecting me from someone worse, or was this a deeper trap?
"Ananya! Ten minutes!" Advik's voice boomed from the bedroom.
I shoved the phone into the deep pocket of the emerald gown, my mind spinning.
The Public Execution
Two hours later, I was draped in silk and millions of dollars worth of emeralds. We arrived at the grand ballroom of the Taj, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi blinding me.
Advik's hand was a permanent fixture on the small of my back, his grip possessive and firm. To the cameras, we were the most powerful couple in India. To me, his touch felt like a brand.
"Keep it together," he hissed under his breath, leaning in as if to kiss my temple. "You're shaking."
"I'm cold," I lied.
"Then move closer," he commanded, pulling me flush against his side. The heat of him was intoxicating, a contrast to the icy fear in my gut.
As we entered the ballroom, the music swelled, but my eyes were scanning the crowd. I saw the elite of Mumbai—politicians, billionaires, and criminals in silk ties. Then, I saw the elevators.
Room 302.
Advik was pulled away by a group of high-ranking associates. "Stay here," he warned, his eyes boring into mine. "If I turn around and you're gone, Ananya, the consequences will be legendary."
He turned his back for one second to shake a man's hand.
I didn't hesitate. I slipped into the shadows behind a velvet curtain, my heart hammering against my ribs. I ran toward the elevators, the emerald dress heavy against my legs.
I reached the third floor, my lungs burning. Room 302 was at the end of a long, dimly lit hallway. I pushed the door open, the silver dagger I had managed to reclaim from his study earlier clutched in my hand.
The room was pitch black, smelling of old cigars and ozone.
"Ishaan?" I whispered.
A hand suddenly slammed over my mouth from behind, and a cold, sharp blade pressed against my throat. But it wasn't Advik's sandalwood scent. This was something different.
"You shouldn't have come, Princess," a voice rasped.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Advik stood there, his tuxedo jacket discarded, a suppressed pistol in his hand. His face wasn't just angry; it was murderous.
"Let her go," Advik roared, the sound vibrating in the small room.
"Or what, Architect?" the stranger laughed, tightening the grip on my throat. "She's the only thing you love. And we both know what you do to things you love. You bury them."
Advik's eyes met mine, and for the first time, I didn't see the monster. I saw a man who was terrified.
"Ananya," he said, his voice strangely soft amidst the chaos. "Trust me."
Before I could breathe, he fired.