he chandelier flickered as the wind shifted outside, casting long, broken shadows on the walls of the study.

Taniskh Chandravanshi stood in silence, his tall frame still as stone, fingers resting on the edge of the mahogany desk. The whiskey glass near his hand remained untouched.

He hadn't slept.

Not properly, not in years.

His world had become a series of meetings, alliances, and silences too loud to bear. But last night... last night had been different.

The stench still clung to him. Perfume, sweat, desperation—air thick with the transactional rot of a brothel dressed as a business deal. It was supposed to be a routine visit, nothing more. A formality for one of his international partners who had insisted on "showing him the real assets."

He had refused.

But curiosity—or perhaps guilt—had dragged him through those doors.

And then, in the haze of music and laughter, he saw her.

Shree.

She hadn’t been displayed like the others. No makeup. No smiles. Just a girl shoved into a corner like an afterthought. Her clothes hung loosely over her frail frame, her eyes locked to the floor.

Until she looked up.

And something in Taniskh stopped.

It wasn’t beauty. It wasn’t desire.

It was recognition.

Not of her face, but of something far more dangerous.

Her eyes.

They were filled with the same raw, untouched innocence he had once seen in Kashish’s eyes—before everything broke.

Before the silence. Before the cold walls.

Before their friendship was turned into a marriage neither of them had asked for.

Taniskh turned toward the glass window, the night pressing against it like a ghost. He closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts flickering—like a scratched film reel—back to the day of the wedding.

Three years ago.

He had stood at the mandap, numb. Surrounded by tradition, music, and the echo of vows he never wanted to make.

Kashish had looked radiant.

But he hadn’t looked at her properly that day. Not once.

Because she reminded him of everything he had lost.

She was his best friend. His childhood laughter. His partner in mischief. The girl who climbed trees with him and tied rakhi on his wrist when they were five just because she thought "all good boys deserve protection too."

He immediately removed it and threw it away.

Kashish looked at him.Then Tanisks replied that only his elder sister has the right to tie Rakshi around his wrist and no one else. 

And yet, when her father and his family pushed the marriage forward—after the tragedy, after the betrayal—Taniskh had said nothing. He had stood still, buried under a mountain of unspoken grief.

Since then, he hadn’t spoken to Kashish much. They shared a home. A routine. A silence.

But not a life.

And now, three years later, a pair of orphaned eyes in a filthy brothel had cracked something in him.

So he had done the only thing he knew how to do.

He bought her freedom.

He didn’t want her. Not in that way.

But he couldn’t leave those eyes behind.

Now she was, probably terrified of him. And he didn’t blame her.

Everyone feared him.

Because he let them.

Because it was easier than feeling anything.

Taniskh ran a hand over his face, the scruff on his jaw rough against his palm. The whiskey glass finally touched his lips, but he didn’t taste it.

He was thinking of Kashish now.

Felt it, like a punch to the gut.

And yet, he had said nothing.

Just like always.

Taniskh exhaled, his breath fogging up the glass.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint spill of moonlight pushing through the half-closed curtains. The silence was heavy—too still to be comforting. Shree sat curled in the corner, her thin cotton kurta wrinkled, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.

She hadn't slept.

She couldn't.

Every creak of the hallway made her heart lurch. Every whisper of wind felt like breath on her neck. Her nails dug into her skin—not out of pain, but to remind herself she was still here… still in control, if only barely.

And then—

The door opened.

Soft. Controlled.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat as her wide eyes snapped to the figure that entered. Tall. Dressed in black. Shadowed.

Taniskh Chandravanshi.

The man who had pulled her from the brothel without a word of explanation. The man whose silence was louder than anything she had ever heard.

Her limbs trembled instinctively.

Without thinking, she backed further into the corner, like a wounded animal. Her head dropped, her shoulders shaking.

No please…

But what came next wasn’t a touch.

It wasn’t a demand.

It was a voice—low, gravelly, tired.

“Sleep on the bed,” he said, without looking at her. “You don’t have to sit like that.”

His tone held no edge. No threat. Just exhaustion, as if speaking at all cost him something.

Shree didn’t respond.

She couldn’t.

Her body remained curled tightly in the corner, unmoving. Her mind raced with warnings learned the hard way: Don’t trust. Don’t relax. Don’t believe softness from men. It never stays soft.

When she didn’t move, his head turned toward her—just slightly.

And then she saw them.

His eyes.

They weren’t like the others.

Not like the men who came to the brothel with polished shoes and dirty hearts. Men who smelled of expensive whiskey and entitlement. Men who looked at her as though she were a product on a shelf—something to be owned, used, broken, forgotten.

But his eyes… held something strange.

Not desire.

Not pity.

But gentleness.
Like he saw the fear in her and didn’t want to add to it.

Shree’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded, confused by what she saw.
Men didn’t look at her like that.

Not even the kind ones.

Especially not the rich ones.

Taniskh stepped back, his shadow retreating from the bed. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t try to coax her or reach for her. He simply said, “The bed is yours. I don’t want anything from you.”

The words should’ve felt like a lie—but they didn’t.

And that terrified her even more.

She watched him, her dusky face glistening with silent tears she hadn’t realized were falling. Even in fear, even in trauma, she noticed the difference. How he spoke to her like she was a person—not property.

But still… she didn’t move.

He exhaled through his nose. Then, without another word, Taniskh turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.

The room was silent again.

But it felt different now.

Shree stared at the bed, the crisp white sheets glowing faintly in the moonlight. It looked warm. Too warm. Too kind. She stayed on the cold floor, knees still tucked into her chest.

But something inside her had shifted.

Just a little.

A seed.

Of trust?
No. Not yet.

But maybe… possibility.

She wiped her tears, slowly loosened her grip on her legs, and whispered into the stillness:

“I just wanted a normal life… that’s all I ever wanted. A job. A room of my own. No hands. No stares. Just… peace.”

The room didn’t respond.

But her voice had finally found air.

And maybe, that was the first step toward something she’d never dared to hope for:

Freedom.

Sneak peek- chapter 7

You’re not that girl, she told herself.
You’re not the one who waits.

But she was waiting.

Not just for him to return—but for him to choose her.

Even when she knew… deep down… that he might never do that.