Maya Pov:

The sun came up, but it brought no peace. It meant the chaos of the powerful Rathore family was starting. I woke up fast, pulled from a bad sleep by my loud alarm. I looked at the wall where my dead husband, Raj, smiled in a framed photo, wearing a dying flower necklace. He had been gone for two weeks.

We were married for only two months. It was a duty marriage—a deal. My parents simply said it was time for me to "settle down." I went along with it, even though my heart felt heavy and did not want to.

Raj was okay, good at his job, but he never showed me even a tiny flash of real love. We were like two people who passed each other on the street, not a husband and wife.

I remember the wedding night. He smashed my young dreamswith his cruel, cold words. "I don't want you, Maya," he said, his voice flat like a stone. "I love another woman, but my family said no to her."

My heart did not just crack; it burst into a million pieces inside me. I had entered this house full of hopes for a warm, loving life. Instead, my reality was the sharp smell of another woman's sweet perfume on his shirt when he came home late. He spent his nights with her, leaving me to cry quietly into my pillow until it was damp and cold.

A sudden, sharp knock pulled me out of the sad memories. A servant girl stood outside.

"Bhabhi," she whispered, bowing slightly. "Your mother-in-law wants you to come downstairs."

I felt the heavy, familiar weight of my duty drop onto my shoulders. "Tell her I will come once I am ready."

I went to my closet and chose my clothes: a low-cut blouse with a deep neck and a very thin, sheer blue saree.

As I put them on the bed, I knew some people would talk about why I was still here. But tradition was a heavy chain. My parents said I belonged to the Rathores now.

After a fast, cool shower, I dressed. The thin, silky saree fell perfectly and hugged the curves of my body like a second skin. The deep-cut blouse showed the round swell of my chest, maybe inviting eyes I should not look for.

But I pushed the thought away. I dressed like this for me—to feel beautiful and strong, even when my new world was sad and ugly. A little black eyeliner, some pink lip gloss, and my hair pulled back simply. I was ready.

As I walked down the heavy marble steps, the house was quiet, broken only by the stiff sound of paper. My father-in-law was reading. I bowed quickly and walked toward the kitchen.

My mother-in-law was cooking a huge feast, many dishes.

"Maa-ji, why all this food?" I asked, surprised.

She smiled, a rare, real warm light in her eyes. "I am making all of Arjun's most loved dishes! He is coming home for good. He is finished running the business in Europe."

Arjun. Raj’s older brother. The serious one.

"Even though Raj is gone, my Arjun is strong and here for me," she went on, her voice shaking with sadness and relief. "I will always take care of him."

I reached out and held her hand tight in silent support. "We are all here for you, Maa-ji."

A sharp, loud car horn cut the air from the driveway.

"That must be Arjun ji," I said, feeling a strange, sudden heat of excitement run through me.

We hurried out together to the front door to greet him.

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