The first light of dawn seeped softly through heavy curtains into an unfamiliar room, bathing the wooden floor in a pale, muted glow. Shreya’s eyelids fluttered open, but as consciousness took hold, her heart jolted with a surge of cold panic. She found herself lying on a bed draped with cream linens in a room that was pristine and coldly elegant—yet utterly unknown. The gentle hum of a distant air conditioner mingled with the faint ticking of an old clock mounted on pale blue walls, punctuating the uneasy silence.
Her breath hitched, memories flooding back with merciless clarity—the previous night's chaos, the violent storm that had exploded just hours before. The images of Kabir Roy, his face as calm as marble one moment and then twisted into merciless rage the next, came crashing down.
