Smoke greeted Kabir at the front door.
Not an ambush. Not a bomb.
But the scent of something more personal—
Burned fabric. Singed memory. Scorched trust.
He found her standing in the center of their bedroom, calm as death.
The bed behind her still crackled, half-consumed by fire. Ash floated like black snow.
“What did you do?” he asked, voice low.
“I burned the place where you lied to me,” Meher said coldly. “Thought it deserved a proper funeral.”
Kabir stepped forward. “Meher—”
She tossed the flash drive at his feet.
He didn’t pick it up.
“You watched me for years,” she said. “You studied me. Predicted me. And then you married me.”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“It was exactly like that,” she snapped. “You didn’t fall in love. You built it. Controlled it. Like one of your empires.”
Kabir’s jaw clenched. “At first, yes. But then—”
“No,” she said, voice trembling now. “Don’t twist this into something soft. You don’t get to romanticize control.”
Silence.
“You wanted a woman who wouldn’t leave you,” she whispered. “So you made sure I didn’t know I could.”
Kabir’s voice cracked. “But you stayed.”
“I didn’t know the truth.”
He looked at her, and in that moment—he knew.
He hadn’t just lost her.
He had designed his own heartbreak.
Because love built on lies doesn’t die in betrayal—
It kills itself.
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