Chapter 9: Fell Apart

NEXT MORNING

The sharp sting of sunlight pierced through the heavy velvet curtains, slicing through the darkness of the room like an unwelcome intruder. Ishika groaned softly, her head throbbing with a punishing headache, the aftereffects of the previous night's indulgence. Her parched throat ached for water, and every muscle in her body felt weighed down, as if she had been carrying the burdens of a thousand lifetimes.

She rolled over in bed, her limbs heavy and sluggish, and winced at the sharp pain pounding at her temples. Her eyes fluttered open, the world around her still a blur as she tried to adjust to the brightness. Something felt... off.

The faint metallic tang in the air made her stomach churn. It was sharp and distinct, cutting through the haze of her hangover. Frowning, she rubbed her temples and sat up slowly, her hair disheveled and falling into her face.

And then she saw it.

Her clothes were stained. Dark crimson streaks smeared across the fabric of her once-pristine white blouse. Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as panic set in. She stared at the stains, her mind racing to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Blood? How? What is this?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her hands trembled as she touched the stains, the sticky residue still faintly present on her skin. The vivid red against her pale fingers sent a wave of nausea crashing over her. Her heart pounded wildly, the sound echoing in her ears as she swung her legs off the bed.

Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and her body froze.

Lying there, mere feet away from her, was a sight that ripped the air from her lungs. The lifeless body of Mr. Mehta lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes wide open, unseeing. His suit was soaked in blood, the dark liquid pooling around him and staining the once-immaculate marble floor.

Ishika staggered back, her legs giving out as she hit the edge of the bed and collapsed onto it. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps, her chest heaving as she tried to process the horrific scene before her.

"No. No, no, no," she muttered under her breath, her voice shaky and barely audible. She clutched her head, her fingers digging into her scalp as if trying to pull herself out of the nightmare. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

Her mind raced, fragments of the previous night flashing before her eyes. The drinking. The crying. The overwhelming despair. But no memory-none-that explained this.

"I was alone. Wasn't I?" she thought, her hands shaking as she pushed herself off the bed. She took hesitant steps toward the body, her breath hitching with each movement.

The smell of blood grew stronger as she approached, the sight of Mehta's lifeless form becoming clearer. His chest was marred with deep, jagged wounds, and his face, once composed and confident, was frozen in a mask of terror.

Her knees buckled, and she dropped to the floor, tears streaming down her face. "What happened? How did this happen? I... I didn't-"

She couldn't even complete the thought. The idea that she might have been responsible was too much to bear. But then, how else had he ended up here? Why was he in her room?

Her mind spiraled further into chaos. The blood on her clothes. The body on the floor. The pieces didn't fit, yet they painted a damning picture.

A shrill sound jolted her out of her thoughts. Her phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with missed calls and messages. She crawled toward it, her hands trembling so violently that she struggled to pick it up.

As soon as she unlocked it, a torrent of notifications greeted her. Missed calls from Tara. Messages from investors. News alerts. Her hands tightened around the device as she tried to focus on the words.

But before she could make sense of them, a loud commotion erupted from downstairs. Shouts, footsteps, the sound of doors being thrown open.

Her blood turned cold.

She stumbled to her feet, her legs barely able to support her weight, and made her way to the door. Peeking out cautiously, she saw flashes of cameras and heard the unmistakable chaos of reporters shouting over one another.

Panic seized her as the realization dawned.

They knew.

The media had broken through her security, and they were here. For her. For this. For the blood-stained story that would undoubtedly ruin her forever.

Her eyes darted back to the body on the floor, and her heart sank deeper into despair. She clutched the doorframe for support, her knees threatening to give way again.

She was trapped in a nightmare, and there was no waking up.

The Sehgal Mansion, once a symbol of grandeur and power, was now surrounded by chaos. News vans crowded the gates, their satellite dishes pointed to the sky. Reporters jostled for position, microphones in hand, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of questions and accusations.

Inside the mansion, Ishika stood at the center of her living room, trembling. The air was heavy with the weight of judgment. The bloodstains on her clothes from the morning had been hastily cleaned, but the panic in her eyes and the disarray of her appearance told a story the media couldn't ignore.

The police had arrived, their stern faces and firm voices leaving no room for argument. They carried official papers that sealed her fate for the time being.

"This is an official notice," the officer said, his tone devoid of empathy. "Sehgal Mansion and Sehgal Enterprises are to be seized pending investigation into the murder of Mr. Mehta and allegations of financial fraud."

Ishika felt her knees weaken, her vision blurring at the edges. She tried to respond, to say something, but her voice betrayed her.

"Madam, you need to vacate the premises immediately," another officer added, his words slicing through her like a blade.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "This is my home!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "You can't just-just take it away! I didn't do anything!"

The officer's face remained stoic. "You are a suspect in an ongoing investigation. Your assets are frozen, your accounts under scrutiny. Until further notice, this property is under government control."

The words hit her like a death sentence. She stumbled back, her breath hitching as tears streamed down her face. The mansion, her sanctuary, her empire-everything she had built was slipping through her fingers.

The media wasted no time. Cameras flashed incessantly through the windows, reporters shouting into microphones.

"Ms. Sehgal! Did you murder Mr. Mehta?"
"Was it revenge for the deal he refused to sign?"
"What do you have to say about the fraud allegations?"
"Is this the end of Sehgal Enterprises?"

Ishika pressed her hands to her ears, trying to block out the noise, but it was everywhere. Their words cut deep, each question twisting the knife of her despair.

She glanced around the room, her heart shattering as officers began sealing her home. The family portraits, the antique furniture, the chandeliers-everything that once symbolized her legacy was now evidence of her downfall.

Her assistant, Tara, stood at a distance, tears in her eyes but powerless to help. Tara's whispered apologies did little to ease Ishika's pain.

"Ma'am," Tara said, her voice shaking, "please let's go. Staying here won't help."

Ishika ignored her, her eyes fixed on the large, bold "SEIZED" notice being pasted onto the front doors of her mansion. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to suppress the scream building in her throat.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she couldn't bring herself to check it. She already knew the messages and calls would be more of the same-accusations, demands for answers, and people cutting ties to protect their own reputations.

The media grew bolder, some reporters pushing past the security barriers to get closer.

"Ms. Sehgal! Do you have anything to say to the public?"
"Will you be resigning as CEO?"
"Do you admit to the allegations?"

Ishika finally snapped. "GET OUT!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and filled with raw emotion. "I didn't kill him! I didn't do anything!"

Her outburst only fueled their frenzy. Cameras clicked faster, reporters scribbled furiously, and the headlines began writing themselves: "Ishika Sehgal's Public Breakdown", "CEO Accused of Murder Loses Everything", "The Fall of Sehgal Enterprises."

As the officers escorted her out of the mansion, she glanced back one last time. The home that had once been her pride now stood as a symbol of her humiliation. Her tears blurred the sight of the gates closing behind her, shutting her out of a world that was no longer hers.

━━༻❁༺━━

WITH YASH

Yash sat in his dimly lit study, the sharp glow of his laptop screen casting a cold light across his face. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he watched the live news broadcast, the camera zooming in on the scene unfolding outside the gates of the Sehgal Mansion.

Ishika. He watched her-eyes wide, a blank expression of disbelief etched on her features as the officers escorted her from the mansion. His jaw tightened, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess, confusing even him.

This wasn't her.

His mind couldn't grasp the image before him. The woman who had spent months battling him, holding her ground, and fiercely protecting what was hers-this woman couldn't have done what they were accusing her of.

"No... she didn't," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. There was no way she was capable of murder. Even after everything that had happened between them-the rivalry, the harsh words, the scheming-he never truly believed she could go this far.

His fingers gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. The screen showed Ishika, her shoulders slumped in defeat, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, surrounded by flashing cameras and taunting reporters. The same woman who had once stood tall, full of arrogance and ambition, was now brought to her knees.

How did it come to this?

He clenched his jaw, staring intently at her face. His mind raced through everything that had led them here. The burning of his library, the schemes, the public humiliation-was it truly possible that she had done this?

But something didn't sit right with him. This felt wrong. The way she'd looked earlier-vulnerable, broken, and alone-wasn't the Ishika he knew. It was too far. Too much.

His thoughts swirled as the news anchor's voice rang out, detailing the charges and the ongoing investigation. They spoke of financial fraud, a murder that had yet to be fully explained, and the massive fall of the once-glorious Sehgal Enterprises.

Yash, who had been watching with his usual steely composure, now found himself feeling... uneasy.

"I never thought... she'd be brought down like this," he whispered, almost to himself.

Despite everything-despite the hatred, the rivalry, the ways she had schemed to pull him down-he couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't deserve this. This wasn't the end he had anticipated for her.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, almost as though his body rejected the idea that it had all led to this. She didn't deserve this, he thought, his fists clenching at his sides. She's tough. She's always been tough. She couldn't have done this. Not... not like this.

The internal conflict was gnawing at him. The victory he'd been so sure of now felt... empty. Hollow.

He couldn't tear his gaze from the screen as the reporters shouted questions, their voices growing louder, their accusations sharper. He heard her response-a frantic, desperate plea for her innocence.

"Get away from me! I didn't kill him!" Her voice was hoarse, cracking under the pressure, but Yash could feel the pain in those words. The way she said it-desperation, brokenness-it made him pause.

Ishika, he thought. What have you done?

His chest tightened as he watched her being shoved into a car, the doors slamming shut. For a split second, he saw her face again. This time, it was hollow. Empty. The fire that had always burned in her eyes was gone, replaced by something he couldn't name.

He leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the laptop screen as the camera zoomed in on her once-proud mansion, now sealed off. His mind raced, but one thing was crystal clear: He had been wrong. She can't have done this.

Despite everything they had gone through-despite the fights, the insults, the way they had torn each other apart-he couldn't believe she was capable of murder. His stomach churned. He wasn't happy about this.

In fact, he felt a knot in his chest, and it had nothing to do with victory.

His thoughts wandered back to that moment when he'd last seen her. The fire in her eyes, the way she had always fought for what she believed in. She could never be this desperate. This felt like something else-a setup, a manipulation. But who could have orchestrated this? He didn't know, but something didn't sit right.

I can't believe this...

His hands gripped the edge of the desk again as he whispered one last time, "No. She didn't do this."

And yet, deep down, he knew that no matter how much he wanted to deny it, the evidence was undeniable.

As the reporters continued their onslaught of questions, Yash's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his gaze cold and unfazed, but inside, something shifted. His thumb hovered over the message notification-his instincts telling him he needed to act, but his mind conflicted, still unable to shake off the image of Ishika's broken face.

He exhaled slowly, sitting back and running his fingers through his hair.

I'll find out the truth, he promised himself. I won't let her fall like this. Not like this.

But as he stared at her image on the screen, the truth felt further away than ever.

━━༻❁༺━━

As Ishika stood there, the weight of the world pressing down on her, she could hardly process what had happened. The media had painted her as the villain, the one responsible for the death of Mr. Mehta, and the very fabric of her existence-the empire she had painstakingly built-was crumbling. Her mind was clouded, disoriented, and every passing second felt like it was pulling her deeper into a bottomless abyss.

Her thoughts were a jumbled mess. How did it come to this? She replayed the events over and over, trying to make sense of it all, but there was no clarity. No logic. The more she tried to piece together the shattered fragments of her life, the further they slipped through her fingers.

She reached for her phone, trembling, barely able to control the shaking in her hands. The first number that popped into her mind was a friend-a close one, or so she thought. Maybe they can help. Maybe someone will help. But as the call connected and the line rang, she knew, deep down, it would be another rejection.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was hesitant, but she recognized the coldness in it.

"I... I need you," Ishika whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. "Please... can I come over? I can't do this alone."

There was a long pause before the response came, and it felt like a knife to her heart.

"Ishika, I can't. You know I can't. This... this whole situation-it's damaging my reputation. I'm sorry. I can't risk it." The words were blunt, almost emotionless.

She didn't argue. She didn't beg. She knew, in that moment, that she had already been abandoned.

How could I have been so foolish to trust anyone but myself?

The phone call ended, and she felt her resolve crumble even further. There was no one left. She had built walls around herself, but now those walls were closing in on her. She needed someone. But who?

Without thinking, she walked to Tara's apartment, with her. It wasn't far-only a few blocks away. Tara had always been there for her, the one person she could count on, or so she thought. Tara would understand. Tara would take her in.

But as Ishika arrived, her heart sank. The apartment owner, a gruff man she had never met before, blocked her way at the door. The moment his eyes landed on her, his expression soured.

"I can't let you in" he said, his tone sharp. "If you stay here, both of you are out. I'm not risking my business with all this media frenzy. You're on your own."

It was like the ground had been pulled out from beneath her. The last shred of hope she had clung to evaporated in that instant. The rejection was cold and final. She stood there for a moment, numb, as the harsh reality of her situation set in.

She didn't even bother to respond. She turned away, walking down the stairs, and then out into the streets. The rain had started to pour heavily, the dark clouds above mirroring the storm inside her. It wasn't just the downpour of rain that soaked her skin-it was the downpour of emotions, of loss, of humiliation. She was drenched, not just in the rain, but in the bitterness of her own failure.

Her steps were slow and unsteady, her body weighed down by exhaustion, both physical and mental. Each step felt like it took more effort than the last. The world around her blurred, the streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement, making everything seem like a distorted dream.

She was lost. Broken. No longer the powerful, self-assured woman who had once commanded respect. The sound of the rain drowned out her thoughts, but it couldn't wash away the ache inside her. Where do I go now? she thought. Who can I turn to?

As she wandered aimlessly, the streets deserted, the only company her own echoing footsteps and the relentless downpour, a thought struck her with the force of a slap.

Yash Singhania.

The name appeared in her mind like a lifeline, sharp and clear. He was her enemy, her biggest rival. The man who had bested her at every turn, the one who had humiliated her with his success. But he was also the only person left who could help her now.

For a fleeting moment, she questioned herself. Why would I go to him? After everything, why?

But deep down, she knew. Yash was ruthless, cold, calculating, but he wasn't heartless. He understood power, and more than anything, he understood what it meant to lose. She trusted him enough to know that if anyone could pull strings to get her out of this hell, it would be him.

So, with nothing left but her broken pride, she turned on her heels. Her body felt like it was moving on its own, propelled by sheer desperation. Every step toward the Singhania Mansion felt like a painful reminder of how far she had fallen. The weight of everything-the scandal, the accusations, the ruined empire-was heavy on her chest, but she couldn't stop.

I have no choice. He's the only one who can help.

The rain lashed against her skin as she trudged forward, soaked to the bone. Her clothes clung to her, heavy and uncomfortable, her hair plastered to her face. But she barely noticed. Her mind was numb, her heart heavy with the burden of everything she had lost.

The Singhania Mansion loomed ahead, dark and imposing. She stopped at the gates, staring up at the structure that had always symbolized everything she had fought against. Her greatest rival lived there, but right now, he was her only chance.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breaths shallow as she stood before the mansion. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know what she expected to find. All she knew was that she had no other choice.

And so, with trembling hands, she pressed the buzzer.

The door to the Singhania Mansion opened with a soft creak, and Yash stepped forward, his gaze shifting immediately to the drenched figure standing before him. His heart skipped a beat.

Ishika.

Her face, once the picture of fierce confidence, was now completely shattered. Her clothes clung to her body, dripping with rain, her eyes swollen from crying. The woman who had been his most formidable rival, the one who never backed down, the one who always had a plan, was now standing before him completely broken, on the edge of a complete collapse.

Yash's mind raced, but his body acted before he could think. Without saying a word, he reached out, his hands gripping her arms, pulling her inside. The door slammed shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the emptiness of the mansion. She didn't resist, she barely seemed to register his touch. She was like a ghost, lost in her own world of despair.

His eyes didn't leave hers as he held her, watching the exhaustion and pain etched into every line of her face. He tried to speak, but the words came out tight, filled with a tension he couldn't shake. "Ishika?"

She didn't respond immediately. Her eyes were vacant, as though she hadn't even noticed she was standing in front of him. It was only when he repeated her name, a bit more softly this time, that her gaze flickered to him. And in that instant, something shifted in her.

She broke.

Her knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the floor with a soft sob, as though the weight of everything had finally caught up to her. Yash's heart lurched as he watched her, helpless, unable to do anything but stare in disbelief at the woman who had always seemed unbreakable.

"I didn't... I didn't kill him," she gasped, her voice raw with emotion. "I didn't do anything. I'm innocent, Yash. Please, please believe me. I didn't-"

Her words turned into a frantic, desperate stream of pleading. Yash crouched down to her level, unable to look away from the woman he'd spent years fighting. She was no longer the sharp, calculating competitor. She was just a broken, fragile soul, lost in the storm of her own guilt and confusion.

Without thinking, his hands moved to her head, cradling it gently, as though trying to protect her from the world that had turned its back on her. His voice was low, steady, as if trying to reassure both her and himself. "I believe you," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. "You didn't do this. I know you didn't."

Her sobs became more violent, her body shaking as she clung to him. She reached out, her hands grasping at his shirt, pulling him closer. Her face buried itself into his chest, the sound of her broken sobs filling the air. Yash's heart beat erratically in his chest. For a moment, he hesitated.

She needed comfort. She needed someone.

And despite everything-despite their rivalry, despite all the hatred-they both knew that at this moment, they needed each other.

His arms came around her, unsure at first, but then he tightened his grip. She wasn't alone anymore. He wouldn't let her be.

As she cried, her voice muffled against his chest, she kept repeating, "Why me, Yash? Why does everything have to be so hard? Why do I have to fight for everything? Why am I always cursed?"

Her words echoed in his mind, and for the first time in a long while, Yash felt something shift deep within him. The rawness of her pain, the depth of her brokenness-it was all too much for him to ignore. He stroked her hair, his fingers trembling slightly as he tried to offer her some semblance of comfort, even though his own heart felt heavy with confusion.

"Shh..." he whispered, the words coming out gentler than he intended. "You're not cursed, Ishika. You're just... lost. But you're not alone."

Her sobs eventually slowed, and Yash, seeing how soaked she was, pulled away just enough to grab a thick towel from the nearby cabinet. He dried her hair carefully, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to preserve the fragile moment of peace they had. His mind, however, was racing.

"Khanna!" he called, his voice firm and commanding. "Get her a new set of clothes. Something warm." His guard nodded and rushed off, and Yash turned back to Ishika. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen from the crying, but she was no longer trembling quite as violently.

He noticed she hadn't eaten. The thought seemed to slip into his mind like an afterthought, but it was there now. "When's the last time you ate?" he asked, his tone still soft but tinged with the same authority he always carried.

She shook her head slightly, not answering.

"Alright," he said, his voice steady. "You haven't eaten. I'll have the maid make you something. Pasta. You'll eat. You need to eat."

Ishika barely acknowledged him, but he didn't care. She was in no condition to argue, and he wasn't about to let her go without eating something.

He motioned for Khanna again, and the guard quickly returned with a change of clothes for Ishika. Yash didn't even look at him, his focus entirely on Ishika.

"I want you to stay here," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I know things are... complicated right now. But you're not going anywhere. You'll stay here until we figure out who did this. We'll find the real murderer. You're not alone in this."

Ishika didn't respond, but she didn't pull away either. She just stared at him with those same empty, broken eyes. Yash's jaw clenched, but he didn't say another word. He watched as she changed into the dry clothes, her movements slow and weary, as though she had no energy left to resist the world's cruelty.

It was strange, seeing her like this-so vulnerable, so human. And yet, Yash couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that something had shifted between them. Something deep. Something he couldn't ignore anymore.

But for now, all he could do was help her. She was his enemy, yes. But in this moment, she was something more. She was someone who needed him. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he couldn't walk away. Not now.

He had to protect her. Even if it meant going against everything he'd ever believed about her. Even if it meant protecting the one person he had fought against for so long.

━━༻❁༺━━

Yash stood in the doorway of the guest room, watching Ishika's fragile form lying on the bed. Her face was pale, her eyes closed in a state of exhaustion. The towel he had used to dry her hair was now neatly placed beside her on the bedside table. He had made sure she was comfortable, but the moment she had eaten and gotten some rest, he realized just how drained he felt too.

As the door clicked softly shut behind him, Yash's steps were measured and heavy, his mind still reeling from the sight of Ishika, drenched, broken, and vulnerable. He walked over to his desk, his fingers grazing the cold surface of his phone before he dialed Dhruv's number, unable to shake off the lingering thoughts of her tear-filled eyes.

The line clicked as Dhruv answered.

"Yo, what's going on? I thought you were working on something," Dhruv's voice was light, almost mocking, but that's how he always was.

"Not now, Dhruv. We need to talk," Yash's voice was sharp, cutting through the casual tone. There was no room for jokes right now.

A beat of silence passed before Dhruv, sensing the seriousness in Yash's tone, responded, "What happened?"

Yash leaned against the window, staring out into the night. "Ishika's been framed... for murder. Mr. Mehta, the investor, is dead. The media is all over it. Her life is falling apart, and she's convinced she didn't do it. She's completely shattered, Dhruv. She doesn't deserve this. I had to help her."

Dhruv was quiet for a moment, processing the gravity of the situation. Then, in his usual way, he cracked a joke to lighten the mood. "Wait. You're telling me the fierce rival is now your responsibility?"

Yash felt his teeth grit. "Not like that, Dhruv. This is serious. I'm not playing games. She needs help."

Dhruv said with a bit of uncertainty "but..."

"She's here," Yash said, his voice low, almost harsh. "I don't know what to do with her. I can't just leave her out there like this."

Dhruv let out a short laugh, but Yash could hear the slight concern under it. "What do you mean, 'leave her out there'? She's your rival. You've made it clear you'd step over her to win."

Yash clenched his jaw, frustration seeping into his words. "I didn't plan for this. This... this mess she's in."

"Yash, are you hearing yourself? You sound like you actually care." Dhruv paused, the playful tone gone now, replaced by something sharper. "Come on, man. What's happening? You've never given a damn about anyone before."

Yash didn't respond at first. His gaze flickered back to the scene where Ishika had broken down in front of him, her words echoing in his mind.

I didn't kill him. Please, I didn't...

He cursed under his breath. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Ishika was a rival-nothing more. He had to remind himself that. She was a complication, not a person he needed to care about.

But... damn it. He didn't want her to fall apart. Not like this.

"I can't let her go down for this" Yash muttered, more to himself than to Dhruv.

There was a long pause on the other end before Dhruv's voice came back, now softer. "You've really got yourself tangled up, haven't you?"

Yash gritted his teeth, ignoring the feeling creeping in. "I'm not doing this for her. I'm doing it because if she goes down, everyone will be affected. Especially me."

"Right. Sure, Yash" Dhruv said, his voice now laced with amusement. "Whatever you say. But deep down, you know she's not the same person you've been treating her as. You've spent too much time thinking about her."

Yash's mind was already elsewhere. He had heard enough of Dhruv's taunts. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure she doesn't bring everything down. But I'm done talking about her right now."

With that, Yash ended the call abruptly, slamming his phone on the desk. He stared at it, the sudden silence in the room feeling almost suffocating. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but he felt like he was sinking deeper into something he couldn't control. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog in his mind.

He wasn't supposed to care. He wasn't supposed to feel this tangled up in her mess. But for some reason, he couldn't stop himself.

Yash walked over to the window, the steady rhythm of the rain outside only amplifying the chaos in his mind. He needed to focus. He had made it clear to Ishika, to everyone, that he didn't let emotions cloud his judgment. He had to maintain control. But as he stood there, staring into the storm, his thoughts drifted right back to her.

I didn't push her away like I should have. And now this.

He clenched his fists, the frustration rising again, more potent this time. I'm not doing this for her, he repeated, trying to convince himself. This is just... damage control. That's all.

But deep down, a part of him wasn't as sure as he'd like to be.

━━༻❁༺━━

As the night drew in, the house felt unusually quiet. Yash couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, like the weight of a decision he had yet to fully understand. He paced back and forth in his study, the flickering light from his desk lamp the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark room. His thoughts churned like a storm that refused to die down, and every time he tried to focus on his work, his mind would drift back to her.

Ishika.

She was in the guest room, lying in a bed he'd arranged for her to rest in, after her frantic breakdown earlier. But no matter how much he tried to push the thought of her from his mind, he couldn't escape it.

What was she doing here?

He had brought her in because he couldn't let her face the world in that condition. The storm had almost mirrored her shattered state-broken, lost, and drenched in guilt and confusion. But that wasn't his problem. She had put herself in this mess. She was a rival, someone who had caused him far more trouble than he cared to admit.

Still, when she had collapsed in front of him-crying, pleading-something inside of him had snapped.

This is wrong, Yash thought, running his hands through his hair in frustration. She's just another enemy. Just another obstacle.

He wasn't supposed to feel guilty. He wasn't supposed to care that she had looked so... broken. So completely beyond help. But he had seen something in her, something that he hadn't expected to see.

Her vulnerability.

The thought sent a jolt through him, one that made him angry with himself for even entertaining the idea. But it was there, no denying it now. Her pain had hit something inside of him. Her breakdown hadn't been an act. It had been raw. Real.

He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. Focus on the facts. She's not your responsibility. You can't let her ruin everything you've built.

But as he walked toward the window, looking out at the rain-slicked streets, he couldn't help but replay the scene in his mind.

Her broken words.

Her shaking hands gripping his shirt.

The desperation in her eyes as she begged him to believe her.

His hands tightened around the edge of the windowsill as he looked down at the city, everything he had worked for laid out beneath him. But inside, a war was raging. He could ignore the feeling, push it down, but it wouldn't go away.

His phone buzzed on his desk, a reminder of the business waiting for him. The call was from one of his investors, pressing for answers about the next steps for the company. He'd been postponing meetings all day, trying to process everything, but now there was no way out.

He picked up the phone and answered without thinking.

"Yash, what's going on? You've been avoiding our calls all day," the investor's voice crackled through.

Yash cleared his throat, his voice cold and professional. "Everything's under control. I'll get the reports to you by tomorrow."

He disconnected the call almost immediately, his mind still elsewhere. He turned toward the hallway, where Ishika's room was. She was still there. He could hear the faint rustling of sheets from the distance, as though she was still awake, though it was well past midnight.

He exhaled sharply, the weight of his decision settling in once more. He couldn't leave her alone. She wasn't his responsibility, but he couldn't simply push her away, not when she was vulnerable and broken in a way he had never seen before.

He made his way down the hallway to her room. The door was slightly ajar, and he paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Was this really necessary? Was he doing this for the right reasons? His instincts told him to walk away, to let her fend for herself. She had caused him enough trouble.

But as the faint sounds of her sobs drifted through the crack in the door, his heart betrayed him.

He pushed the door open and entered.

There she was, curled up in a ball on the bed, her body shaking with silent sobs. Her hair, still damp from the rain, clung to her face. Yash's heart clenched as he watched her, but he quickly shook the feeling off.

I'm not doing this because I care, he reminded himself. I'm doing this because I can't let her crumble completely. She's a threat, and I'm not letting her take me down with her.

"Ishika," Yash's voice was low as he stepped closer. "You should be sleeping."

She looked up, her face streaked with tears, eyes red and swollen. For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. Then, she sat up, her hands fumbling with the blanket, trying to wipe her tears away.

"I didn't kill him... Yash, I didn't..." Her voice broke, and the desperation in her words hit him harder than he expected.

Yash took a breath, walking closer to her. He crouched down to her level, forcing himself to look at her. "I believe you. I know you didn't."

The words came out easier than he had expected, though the sentiment didn't quite match the cold logic of his mind. She was staring up at him, as though searching for something in his face. For reassurance? Or perhaps validation that she wasn't the monster everyone was painting her to be?

His gaze softened slightly, despite the turmoil inside him. "I'm not doing this for you," he reminded himself under his breath, but the words didn't come out with the same certainty.

Without another word, he turned, calling for the staff to bring her something to eat. As she lay back down on the bed, Yash felt a sense of finality settle in. He would help her-just until this whole mess was over.

He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. And as he stood in the hallway, the storm outside seeming to echo his internal conflict, Yash couldn't help but wonder if he was doing the right thing.

I can't let her break me. I won't let her. But why does this feel so... wrong?