“I don’t love him.”
Meher said it into the silence of her room, like a prayer she didn’t believe in.
She repeated it again—louder this time.
“I don’t love him.”
But the lie hung in the air, thick and heavy, like gun smoke after a shot that hit the wrong heart.
Kabir had been gone three days. Out on a mission. Hunting Rehan. Fixing a world that kept breaking.
And Meher… had started missing him like a fool.
His voice. His chaos. Even his darkness.
She hated it.
Because she wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Not for the man who took her name, her body, her freedom.
And yet…
The silence he left behind was the loudest thing in her chest.
Vikrant knocked once before entering. “You should see this.”
He tossed a folder on her table. Confidential. Blood-stained.
Inside: reports of attacks on Kabir’s trade routes. Photos of men executed. All signed by Rehan.
But one picture stopped her breath.
It was her.
Leaving the safehouse. Alone. Marked in red ink.
Next.
“He’s watching me,” she whispered.
“He’s coming for you,” Vikrant said.
She closed the file slowly. Then looked at the mirror again.
“I don’t love him,” she repeated.
But this time… her hands shook.
Because loving Kabir was dangerous.
But lying about it?
That was the beginning of her own destruction.
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