She was lost in the flashbacks, her mind replaying the memories of their past, when she was jolted back to reality by a sudden thud. The lift jerked violently, causing both her and Siddharth to stumble. The lights in the lift started flickering, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
As the jerking stopped after a few seconds, Shruti's awareness snapped back to the present moment. That's when she realized she was in an awkward situation. Siddharth's hand was wrapped around her waist, holding her steady as he had instinctively reacted to the sudden jolt. He had been looking upwards, checking the lights to see what was happening, but as the lift stabilized, his gaze dropped to his hands.
Realization dawned on him, and he quickly pulled his hand away, as if burned. The sudden removal of his touch left Shruti feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment. They both turned their faces in opposite directions, avoiding eye contact. The tension between them was palpable, and the air was thick with unspoken emotions. The flickering lights seemed to mirror the turmoil brewing inside them, and the silence between them grew heavier with each passing moment.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, Shruti let out a soft sigh, her voice barely above a whisper. "Great. Just great..." she muttered, her words laced with frustration and awkwardness. Siddharth remained silent, his jaw clenched in tension as he stared straight ahead at the doors, his eyes fixed on some invisible point.
Shruti tried to break the oppressive silence, her voice hesitant. "Do you think... do you think we should press the alarm? Or call someone?" she asked, hoping to spark some kind of response from him. But Siddharth didn't even acknowledge her question, his gaze still fixed on the doors. A muscle twitched in his cheek, betraying his otherwise stoic expression.
Shruti sighed softly, feeling a mix of disappointment and resignation. "Okay. Be that way," she said quietly, her words dripping with a sense of "I give up." She turned her attention to the floor indicator, watching as the numbers ticked by in silence.
Another long, heavy silence hung between them, the air thick with unspoken tension. Shruti fidgeted with her purse, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the strap. Siddharth shifted his weight, his movements stiff and controlled, still avoiding looking at her.
Suddenly, a flicker of static crackled from the emergency speaker, making Shruti startle. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her nerves on edge. Siddharth finally spoke, his voice cold and clipped. "Relax. It's probably the emergency system," he said, his gaze still fixed on some point ahead, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Right. Of course," Shruti replied, her voice softening slightly. As she looked at Siddharth, it was only then she realized that he was looking thinner and more worn down than she remembered. The lines on his face seemed more pronounced, and his eyes seemed to hold a deeper weariness.
"Siddharth..." she said hesitantly, her voice trailing off. But Siddharth interrupted sharply, without looking at her. "Save it, Shruti. Whatever rehearsed speech you've prepared, I'm not interested." His words were laced with bitterness and distrust.
Shruti tried to defend herself. "It's not a speech. I just..." she began, but Siddharth cut her off again. "Just what? Just wanted to see the aftermath of your little victory? Enjoy the view from the top while my company crumbles?" His words dripped with sarcasm and anger.
Shruti's voice raised slightly, her emotions getting the better of her. "That's not fair, Siddharth!" she exclaimed, her words hanging in the air like a challenge.
Siddharth turned to face her, his eyes blazing with barely suppressed anger. The intensity of his gaze made Shruti take a step back, but she couldn't look away. "Oh, really? Tell me, Shruti, what is fair?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing. "Was it fair to promise me forever and then rip it away? Was it fair to use my feelings against me?"
Shruti's eyes welled up with tears as she struggled to meet his accusatory gaze. "You wouldn't understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Siddharth's expression twisted in pain and anger. "Understanding suggests I was given a chance," he spat, his words laced with venom. "I was given a knife in the back."
"I did what I had to do," Shruti whispered, her voice trembling.
Siddharth scoffed, his eyes flashing with contempt. "And what, pray tell, was so all-consuming, so utterly necessary that it justified destroying us?" he demanded, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Helping your father finish off his competition, I presume."
Shruti closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She couldn't tell him the truth - she just couldn't. The weight of her secrets felt crushing. "Please, Siddharth," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... leave it."
But Siddharth wouldn't let it go. He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Leave it? You're asking me to just leave it? After everything?" he repeated, his words hanging in the air like a challenge.
He was standing very close now, so close that Shruti could feel the heat radiating from his body. She could smell the scent of his cologne, and her heart ached with memories of their past. The air between them was charged with tension, and Shruti felt like she was trapped in a vortex of emotions, unable to escape.
The lift jerked again, and Shruti's leg tripped out from under her, sending her tumbling to the floor. "Ah!" she winced in pain, clutching at her ankle.
Siddharth's face etched with concern, he asked, "Are you okay?!" His voice was laced with genuine worry, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to dissipate.
But as quickly as it appeared, his concern vanished, and he stood up, composing himself with an effort. His expression turned cold again, and he glanced away, his eyes fixed on the doors. "Not that I care, though," he said, his voice dripping with indifference.
Shruti was surprised for a second by his sudden change in demeanor, but then she felt a pang of pain as she tried to stand up. She winced again, clutching at her ankle. "Ah!" she cried out, unable to hide her discomfort.
Siddharth's fists clenched tightly inside his pockets as he fought hard to suppress his instinct to care for her. He cursed under his breath, "Damn it!" The struggle to maintain his icy facade was evident.
Siddharth exhaled sharply, his frustration melting into resignation. Without another word, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and gently but firmly pulled her to her feet. Shruti staggered, pain rippling through her body like a jolt of electricity.
The elevator doors parted with a mechanical chime. He tried to support her as they moved, but each step was an agony she couldn’t hide.
“Ahh!” she gasped, her knees buckling slightly.
Without hesitation, Siddharth scooped her up into his arms.
Shruti's breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected that—not the warmth of his body pressed against hers, not the strength in his arms, nor the familiar scent that still managed to unsettle her. She looked up, wide-eyed, to find his expression unreadable, his jaw clenched and eyes focused straight ahead.
“What’s your room number?” he asked, not bothering to meet her gaze.
“Uh… it’s… 608,” she stammered, still reeling from the intimacy of the moment.
“That’s two floors up,” he muttered, glancing toward the elevator panel. A flicker of irritation passed his face. “The lift’s not working.”
His eyes moved to the stairwell. A low curse escaped his lips. “Damn it. Guess there’s no other option.”
Without waiting for a response, he adjusted her weight in his arms and began ascending the stairs.
Shruti remained silent, her eyes tracing the sweat beading on his forehead, the taut line of his jaw, the tension in his arms as he carried her without complaint. Her heart ached, not from injury, but from the storm of memories unraveling within her.
Why is he doing this? she wondered, her thoughts spiraling. Why is he helping me after everything I did? After I shattered every promise I made, after I tore apart everything we had... Why does he still care? Or does he?
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, blurring the face of the man who had once held her heart so completely.
They finally reached her floor. Her hands trembled as she retrieved the key card from her purse and opened the door. Siddharth stepped inside and carefully laid her down on the bed, his touch as gentle as it was distant.
Without another word, he took out his phone and made a quick call.
“I’ve called for medical assistance,” he said after ending the call, his voice flat and impassive. “They’ll be here shortly.”
He turned toward the door.
“Thank you,” Shruti whispered.
He paused. His hand rested on the doorknob, but he didn’t look back.
“Don’t misunderstand,” he said, his tone like ice. “I would’ve done the same for anyone.”
There was a pause—a breath, a heartbeat. Then he added, voice bitter with restrained emotion, “After all… I’m not as heartless as you.”
And with that, he walked out, leaving the door gently swinging behind him.
Shruti stared at the empty doorway, her chest tightening with every beat of silence.
Why… why did you come back into my life? she thought, clutching at the fabric of her dress as if it could somehow hold her together. I was certain I had forgotten you. I thought I had finally moved on.
A sob slipped past her lips. She curled into herself as tears slid down her cheeks—silent, relentless, and aching with all the words left unsaid.
Siddharth closed the door of the room and leaned against the wall. He sighed." I can never forgive you, Shruti." He murmured.
He remembered the bitter and painful memory from the past.
FLASHBACK
The grand Rai mansion stood in stunned silence.
The wedding mandap had long been abandoned — marigolds strewn, candles half-burnt, the scent of sandalwood and betrayal still lingering in the air. Guests had left in whispers, scandal buzzing like static between them.
Inside the drawing room, Siddharth stood still.
Not a single word.
Not a single tear.
Still in his sherwani, his hands clenched into fists. His eyes—fixed on nothing.
Roohi sat beside him, her makeup smudged, trying to hold herself together.
Across the room, Mr. Rai, his father, paced erratically—his breath shallow, hand clutched to his chest. The humiliation of the wedding being called off — by Shruti Singh, the daughter of his rival — had cut deeper than any business blow ever could.
Suddenly, he collapsed.
"Dad!"
They both rushed towards him. "Roohi, call the ambulance!"
The arrival of ambulance and the hospital formalities went in a blur.
Siddharth sat on a cold bench under flickering fluorescent lights. The stark white of the hospital walls made the silence deafening. His sherwani was still on, stained slightly where Roohi had buried her face and sobbed.
She sat beside him now, crying again.
“Why would she do this…?” she mumbled into his shoulder. “Why, bhaiya? You loved her so much… We all trusted her…”
Siddharth didn’t respond. His arms were around his sister, but his eyes were elsewhere — locked in a faraway place where the betrayal was still fresh and unreal.
It didn’t make sense. But it had happened.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening.
His father was in the ICU. Roohi was shattered. And he—
He was numb.
But behind that numbness, rage simmered.
He stared down at the floor, and a single thought echoed in his mind like a vow:
“I’ll never forgive you for this.”
PRESENT
On the day of conference, Shruti entered the hall. The hall was lined with soft velvet drapes and glinting chandeliers, but none of it distracted Shruti. Her palms were cold despite her carefully chosen power suit, a deep sapphire blue that mirrored confidence she hoped would carry her through.
Claire Duvall sat at the center table, flanked by the CEOs of some of the most powerful companies in the cosmetic and pharmaceutical industries. Among them sat Siddharth Rai, dressed immaculately in charcoal grey, eyes unreadable, posture straight and unmoving.
Shruti’s eyes skimmed over him quickly and locked onto Claire.
Focus, Shruti. This is your moment.
The screen behind her lit up with the name of her latest innovation—“ReviveCell: Organic Bio-Regen Formula.”
She took a deep breath and began.
“With ReviveCell, we’ve bridged traditional Organic wisdom and modern biotechnology to create a skin regeneration line that heals, protects, and revives. It’s not just a product. It’s a philosophy—to heal deeper than the skin…”
She spoke with calm assurance, her voice smooth, her eyes bright. The audience leaned in, intrigued. Claire nodded faintly, impressed. Shruti felt the tide slowly turning in her favor.
And then—
A voice from the audience. Crisp. Cool.
“And what about your previous venture with PharmaCorp?”
Shruti’s breath caught.
Siddharth leaned slightly forward in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him.
“From what I heard, that collaboration ended in significant losses. Market trust was damaged. Investors pulled out. Shouldn’t we factor that in before trusting this new… philosophy?”
The room fell quiet.
Shruti blinked, the sudden burn behind her eyes completely unexpected. She met his gaze. It was sharp, measured. Detached. Like he was simply raising a business point.
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what Vikram did.
But she couldn’t say that here. Not in front of all these people.
Claire’s gaze remained calmly inquisitive as Shruti addressed the room.
“Yes, the PharmaCorp project did fail. And yes, my company bore the brunt of it. What most people don’t know is that the failure didn’t stem from a flawed formula—it stemmed from a flaw in loyalty. I trusted the wrong people to lead it. I’ve since corrected that mistake.”
She kept her voice level, her chin high. Silence followed—respectful, contemplative.
Then Siddharth’s voice came again.
“Betrayal does tend to leave a deeper mark than failure.”
The words were delivered with calculated neutrality—he didn’t look at her, didn’t raise his voice. But they sliced through the room like a whisper through glass.
Shruti’s breath faltered for just a second.
Their eyes met. Just a flicker.
She knew that wasn’t about project.
The corner of her mouth lifted—not quite a smile. More like a silent acknowledgment of the blow.
“Yes,” she said softly, “but sometimes betrayal teaches you more than loyalty ever could.”
Siddharth’s jaw tensed. Just slightly. But he said nothing.
Claire, unaware of the storm swirling just beneath the polished surface, nodded.
"Well,” she said, rising gracefully to her feet, “it seems your setbacks have sculpted your strengths, Miss Singh. That’s the kind of resilience we like to invest in.”
A polite wave of applause followed. But as Shruti returned to her seat, her heart beat loudly in her ears.
She didn’t look at Siddharth again. She didn’t have to.
Because she knew he was watching.
And this time, it wasn’t just business.
After the conference, Claire stood up, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Everyone, I loved your ideas about the new project," she said, her voice filled with genuine appreciation. "I would like to thank you all for attending the conference and presenting your brilliant ideas. I'll declare the results about the deal yesterday," she added, pausing for a moment to let the anticipation sink in.
"But the events haven't ended yet," Claire continued, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I invite you all to the after-party. Consider this as a thank-you token," she said, her words met with a murmur of appreciation and excitement from the attendees. The room was filled with a sense of camaraderie and anticipation as everyone looked forward to unwinding and celebrating their hard work.
Shruti made a quick detour to her hotel room, where she swiftly changed into a outfit more suitable for the party. She freshened up and got ready, feeling a mix of excitement and relief after the long conference.
As she arrived at the venue where the party was being held, she was greeted by the sound of music and the hum of conversation.
The Belle Éclat after-party shimmered with candlelight, jazz, and champagne flutes. The rooftop was draped in sheer gold, stars overhead winking over Paris, and every powerful name in the room moved with effortless charm.
Shruti stood near the bar in a sleek, ivory satin gown that hugged her silhouette like it was made only for her. Laughter sparkled around her as a group of international CEOs leaned in, their smiles widening every time she spoke.
One leaned a little too close. Another complimented her perfume. She smiled politely, swirled her drink, her eyes occasionally flicking—almost involuntarily—towards the far end of the room.
Where he stood.
Siddharth.
Tall. Silent. Watching.
His hand held a half-empty glass of whiskey, but his jaw was locked. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes had been following her for a while now, tracking the way the men surrounded her like moths to a flame.
He finally moved, walking toward the bar as if it were casual.
He stopped beside her, his voice low. Measured.
“Quite the crowd you’ve drawn tonight.”
Shruti turned, caught off guard by the sharpness in his tone. “They’re just being polite.”
He raised an eyebrow, gaze sweeping toward the men still glancing at her. “That’s one word for it.”
She frowned slightly. “Are you really here to talk about this?”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
“Just curious.” He sipped his drink. “Calling off a wedding publicly, flying solo into the business world, becoming the tragic heroine of every boardroom—it does make sense now.” His voice dropped lower. “Maybe the spotlight was always the goal.”
The words landed like a slap.
Shruti stiffened. Her throat burned.
“You think I did it for attention?”
Siddharth didn’t answer immediately. His silence was the answer.
She took a step closer, voice barely above a whisper.
“I know I hurt you. I’ve lived with that every single day. I’ve never asked you to understand why... but I never thought—” her voice broke, “—that you’d ever question who I am.”
Their eyes locked. The crowd around them dissolved into background noise.
Siddharth’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. His silence was colder than any insult.
She swallowed her pride.
“I can take your anger. Your silence. Even your hate. But not this,” she said quietly. “Not this version of me that lives in your head now.”
Siddharth looked away first.
Then he turned and walked off into the glittering crowd, his shoulders stiff, leaving her alone in the halo of fairy lights and hollow laughter.
Shruti stared at his back until he disappeared.
Her breath came out shaky. She reached for her drink again.
This time, she didn’t stop at one.
