The bedroom still smelled like smoke when Meher packed her gun.
Kabir stood in the doorway, arms crossed, but there was no fury in his face—only something worse:
Acceptance.
“You’re leaving,” he said.
She didn’t pause. “I’m not your wife anymore.”
“You were never just my wife,” he said. “You were everything.”
She looked up sharply. “No. I was an operation. A target with a pulse.”
“Until you became something else.”
“And what was that, Kabir? Another weakness to hide behind?”
He stepped forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
“No. You became the only thing I feared losing.”
Meher slipped the safety off the gun and holstered it.
“You don’t get to miss what you manipulated.”
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
She smirked bitterly. “And yet, here we are. Married in fire. Sleeping on a bed of lies.”
Kabir’s voice dropped. “Rehan’s out there. He’ll come for you next.”
“Let him,” she said, standing tall. “I’m not your leverage anymore.”
He flinched.
“Where will you go?” he asked.
She met his eyes. “Somewhere you don’t have cameras. Somewhere I can find myself without you writing the script.”
She walked past him, slow and deliberate.
But before she stepped through the door, she turned.
“You once asked me if I’d ever kill you,” she whispered. “Now I’m not sure if I won’t.”
And with that—
The queen left her king.
But not the war.
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