Surya found himself alone in the hotel lounge, staring absently at the steam curling from a cup of tea he hadn’t touched. His mind wasn’t on the ceremonies. It was on what Badal had confirmed just a day ago. The women Sanyukta had saved during that so-called “incident” hadn’t simply disappeared into the system. They had been moved carefully and quietly to one of Rithik Roy’s private homes. Not orphanages. Not shelters. Homes. Places where girls were trained in self-defence, educated, and taught to fight the world instead of fear it. No headlines. No credits. Just deliberate silence. And Rithik? He was casually joking with Sanyukta as if they shared a private language of humour no one else in the bustling hall could comprehend. Surya traced the rim of his cup slowly. She wasn’t just brave. She was dangerous in a way no one else in that hall understood. And the worst part was, he admired it more than he should.

The morning of the wedding rose quietly and golden, the kind of hush that sits heavy before the drums begin. Somewhere in the upper wing of the hotel, a suite had been transformed into a regal dressing chamber.