Author's note: Thank you for the love on the last chapter. Can we please get this chapter to 90 votes?

Aahana Agnihotri

I leaned against the marble pillar, surveying the most expensive circle jerk money could buy. The Agnihotri mansion was dripping with so much fake elegance it could make a museum of modern art look genuine. Afterall, it was the city’s most illustrious couple’s 30th anniversary.
The usual giant chandeliers were replaced with something even more grand. It sparkled overhead, illuminating a sea of faces so surgically enhanced they looked like they’d been sculpted by the same bored plastic surgeon.

My mother, draped in a designer dress that screamed "I'm desperate to look younger," air-kissed another Botoxed socialite. Her diamond necklace – a "gift to herself" because dad couldn't be bothered. I was sure she had purchased the biggest necklace she could find so no one could question how happy her marriage was. Four champagnes down, her laugh was getting louder, shriller.

Dad  was on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by hedge fund managers and real estate sharks. Classic power performance. Niharika, who had also joined her family’s company because I had, whispered something in my father’s ear, and they both laughed. Gross. The corporate circle jerk was in full swing, each man trying to out-alpha the others.

I grabbed another champagne. Behind me, Neeraj Agarwal – Rohit’s father – was eye-fucking the young bartender while his wife displayed her latest face lift like a trophy.

The ice sculpture of my parents' initials is slowly melting, just like their marriage. A live band that probably cost a lot of money played some forgettable classical piece, barely audible over the forced laughter and passive-aggressive small talk. Waiters in white gloves circulated with Hors d'oeuvres even though most people waved them off. I bet none of these people had eaten a real meal in years.

I began playing a random game in my head- count the affairs, the fake relationships, the hidden resentments. I had only managed to count 45 affairs, 20 fake relationships and 70 hidden resentments when I noticed Rohit walking towards me. He had tried talking to me earlier as well, but I had managed to avoid him, but this guy was a leech who refused to let off.

“Well, well. We meet again,” he said as he stepped closer to me, his breath hot against my ear. “You look so absolutely ravishing in this dress.”

I didn’t move or flinch. “I don’t want or need your compliments.”

His laugh was low, dripping with something between amusement and threat. “Come on, babe,” he said, “After all those nights we shared. This is how you treat me?”

I turned, fixing him with a look that could freeze hell. “Sleeping with you was a mistake the first time, and a bigger mistake every other time after that.”

“Come on, dollface, don’t be like that,” he mock whined, moving in closer. His breath reeked of scotch. “Do you not miss it? Our time together? Let’s go up to your room and I promise I’ll make you forget all about those other losers you've been with.”

I stepped back, disgust written all over my face. “Other losers? That's rich coming from you. At least they knew what foreplay meant.”

His eyes darkened. “You weren't complaining when—”

“When I was drunk enough to lower my standards to rock bottom? Yeah, those days are over.”

“Over?” He laughed, but there was an edge to it now. “Nothing’s ever really over in our world, sweetheart. Some things are just... waiting to begin.”

I rolled my eyes, taking another step back. “The only thing waiting to begin is my vomiting if you don't get out of my face.”

“Such a mouth on you,” he drawled, reaching for my arm. “Wonder what your father would say about that.”

I yanked away. “Leave my father out of this.”

His smile turned knowing, almost serpentine. “But he’s already in this. Has been for a while.” He leaned in closer, voice dropping. “Some games start long before the players know they're pieces on the board.”  He winked lasciviously, and I fought the urge to gag.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Let’s just say,” he straightened his tie, smirking, “Destiny has a funny way of circling back. And sweetheart? We are about to come full circle.”

He melted into the crowd before I could respond. He was so fucking annoying.

“Ma’am,” one of the party planners approached me. “Just wanted to let you know that we are going to be doing speeches and cake cutting in the next 45 minutes.”

“Yeah. Whatever,” I murmured, draining the rest of the glass of champagne and replacing it with another full glass.
I forced myself to make the usual rounds with people trying to get my attention and make  conversations with me. From the corner of my eye, I saw our new legal head entering the party. What was he doing here? Only our C-level executives were invited.

I forced myself through the motions of the evening, a practiced smile plastered on my face as I navigated the sea of people. My responses were automatic. The crystal champagne flute in my hand gave something to fidget with as I worked the room.

The shift in the atmosphere was subtle but unmistakable – like the air becoming charged before a storm. Adarsh had entered the party, and my carefully constructed composure threatened to crack. What was he doing here? Only the C-suite were invited to the party, yet here he was, moving through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who belonged. Mr. Mehrotra's warning echoed in my head.
I watched him work the room, my throat tightening as I noticed his calculated charm. The black suit he wore was clearly tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and cutting a devastating silhouette that drew appreciative glances from every direction. A cluster of women had already formed around him, their laughter tinkling like wind chimes as they competed for his attention. Each perfectly manicured hand that touched his arm made something twist in my stomach. It wasn’t jealousy of course.

Then his eyes found mine across the room, and everything else seemed to fade into a dull buzz. His smile, slow and knowing, sent an unwanted warmth creeping up my neck and into my ears. I felt the weight of his gaze following me, burning into my skin even as I tried to focus on conversations around me. No matter how many bodies stood between us, the invisible thread of awareness remained taut and electric.
When he finally approached, I felt myself instinctively straightening, armor of indifference clicking into place. My fingers tightened around my glass as I summoned every ounce of cool indifference I could muster.

“Lovely party,” he said, his voice carrying that hint of amusement that always made me want to either slap him or...

“Fancy seeing you here,” I mumbled into my drink. “I see all that sucking-up has gotten you into the inner circle. So congratulations, Mr.Khanna.”

His eyes sparkled and he smirked – that infuriating, attractive quirk of his lips – and raised his glass in a mock toast. “Thank you.”

“Although I guess your invite didn’t include a plus-one,” I jabbed, knowing I was being petty but unable to stop myself. I had inferred from the conversations at the office and when I was at Adarsh’s house, that he didn’t have a fiance, but I wanted to know the truth from him, however, I’d rather die than admit I cared enough to ask directly.
His chuckle was low and warm as he shook his head, stepping closer. “Are you seriously taking what a child said to heart?” His proximity was making it hard to maintain my aloof facade. “I am not a cheater, Aahana. I wouldn't have slept with you if I had a girlfriend. My mother is overenthusiastically trying to find a match for me and Amira hears things and her little brain connects things and formulates her own theories.”

“Whatever, I don’t care,” I said with a carefully calculated shrug, grateful for the party planner frantically waving me down across the room. “Excuse me,” As I turned away, I could still feel the heat of his gaze on my back.

The cake was covered in pristine white fondant. My parents stood behind it, their practiced smiles as artificial as the sugar roses cascading down the tiers.
With over thirty years of carefully orchestrated appearances, they were completely flawless in their performance.
My mother’s fingers rested on my father’s arm with just the right amount of pressure – enough to look affectionate to the cameras but not enough to wrinkle his expensive suit. She tilted her head to laugh at something he whispered, the sound precise and measured. His other hand covered hers for pictures.

“Such a beautiful couple,” Niharika gushed beside me, her voice dripping with the syrupy sweetness that made my teeth ache. “Thirty years! And still so in love.”

I took a long sip of champagne to avoid responding, letting the bubbles burn away the bitter laugh threatening to escape.
The photographer continued to position them for the cake cutting, and I marveled at their synchronized performance. Her smile widened exactly two centimeters – enough to show joy but not enough to risk wrinkles. Meanwhile my father’s hand settled at her waist, maintaining the precise distance that society and his political campaigning deemed appropriate.

The knife sliced through the cake, and the room erupted in applause. My mother fed my father a small piece, careful not to smudge his perfectly trimmed mustache. While my father returned the gesture with mechanical precision, and photographers captured what would undoubtedly be tomorrow’s society page headline: “Power Couple Celebrates Yet Another Anniversary.”

“Aahana, come stand with Mummy-Papa for photos!” My mother’s voice carried that special tone she reserved for public appearances – sweet enough to cause diabetes.

I slid into place and the photographer continued to click, nearly blinding me with the flashes while everyone in the room watched. I tried to ignore the anxiety as I focused on smiling for the pictures. 
“Smile wider, Aahana,” my father commanded through his teeth, his own smile never wavering.

“Any wider and I'll pull a muscle,” I muttered, but complied.

Once the photo session was over, they took the cake away and my father took the floor. Grabbing the microphone, he began speaking, “Friends and family… Kavita and I are so overwhelmed with joy that you decided to join us in celebrating this big milestone of our lives. Thirty years… Huh, Kavita,” He looked towards my mother who beamed on cue. “My love, today marks another year of our incredible journey together, and I couldn’t be more grateful. You are my partner, my anchor, and my greatest joy.” I internally rolled my eyes and then zone him out as he went on and on about how much he loved his mother and people are forgetting the virtues of a good marriage… etc. It wasn’t till he called my name and the spotlight fell on me that my dissociation dissipated. People were clapping, what did I miss?

People were applauding, their faces expectant, and panic clawed at my throat as I realized I'd missed something crucial.
“Here’s presenting the new COO of the company, effective next quarter,” he said as my mother gently nudged me forward towards him. “I’m sure that my daughter is going to take this company to new heights.”
The champagne turned sour in my mouth. I knew what was coming, had sensed it brewing in the board meetings and family dinners, but hearing it announced here, now, made my fingers tremble around the delicate stem of my glass.

My face arranged itself into the expected mask – the dutiful daughter, honored heir, proud successor. Inside, something screamed, clawed at my ribcage, begging to be let out.

“And,” he continued, his smile widening in a way that made my blood run cold, “I have a feeling we'll be gathering again very soon for another celebration.” He paused for effect, master performer that he was. “If all goes well, we’ll soon be announcing Aahana's wedding.”

The room erupted in excited murmurs and congratulatory looks. My glass nearly slipped from my numb fingers.  My father was going to pawn me off to the richest bidder. Two announcements, two nooses, both delivered with a benevolent smile.
My mother floated to my side, her arm around my waist more restraint than embrace. She could sense my flight response kicking in – she'd always been good at anticipating my escapes. “Smile, beta,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear but her words ice-cold. "Everyone is watching."

I survived the congratulations that followed through muscle memory alone, my social conditioning running on autopilot while my mind screamed in silence.

Then Rohit appeared, blocking my escape route, and his words hit me like a physical blow: “I believe congratulations are in order to the future Mrs. Rohit Agarwal.”