Meera doesn't knock.
She barges in like she owns the lease.
"I saw her car downstairs," she announces before I even reach the door. "Is she still here? Should I wear armor?"
"She left," I say.
Meera steps inside anyway, scanning the apartment like she expects Nandini Malhotra to materialize from behind a curtain.
She exhales. "Good. I am not emotionally prepared to duel in silk."
Despite everything, I laugh.
And that's the first time today the apartment feels normal.
She drops her bag on the couch and looks at me properly.
"Okay," she says. "Tell me everything."
"It wasn't dramatic."
"That's worse."
I sit beside her. "She's… controlled."
Meera groans. "Ah. The dangerous kind."
"She didn't threaten me."
"She doesn't need to."
I stare at the coffee table. "She said she's observing."
Meera leans back. "Of course she is. You married into a legacy empire, Lyra. They don't scream. They strategize."
There's no judgment in her voice.
Just experience.
"You don't think I fit here," I say quietly.
She looks at me sharply. "That's not what I said."
"But it's what you're thinking."
Meera sighs and softens.
"I think you're walking into a world where feelings come second to reputation," she says. "And you feel deeply. That's not a flaw. It's just… incompatible with some rooms."
"That's not very reassuring."
"I'm not here to reassure you," she replies gently. "I'm here to protect you."
There it is.
The real reason she came.
"You love him," she says.
I don't answer immediately.
"Yes," I admit.
"And does he love you?"
The question is simple.
The answer is not.
"I think he's learning how," I say.
Meera studies my face.
"That's not the same thing."
"I know."
Silence settles between us — but not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
"You know what happened with me," she says suddenly.
I glance at her.
Her marriage isn't a topic we revisit often. It sits in the background of our lives like an old scar.
"I thought I could love someone into being softer," she continues. "I thought patience was enough."
Her voice doesn't shake.
She's past that stage.
"But you can't be the only one bending," she says. "Eventually you snap."
I swallow.
"I'm not bending," I protest weakly.
She raises an eyebrow.
"You moved into his world."
"We agreed."
"You stopped posting freely."
"That was mutual."
"You're calculating your reactions now."
That one lands.
"I don't want to ruin this," I say quietly.
"You won't ruin it," Meera replies. "But don't disappear inside it."
Her tone isn't dramatic. It's steady.
"That family will test you," she adds. "Not because they hate you. Because they want to see if you survive pressure."
"I'm not fragile."
"I know," she says. "But love makes even strong women quieter."
That sentence sits in my chest.
The door to the study opens.
Darian steps out, hesitant when he sees Meera.
She doesn't stand.
She doesn't smile politely.
She crosses her arms.
"Malhotra," she says.
"Meera."
The temperature drops five degrees.
"I assume your mother just assessed my sister like an acquisition target," Meera says.
Darian doesn't flinch. "She was curious."
"She was measuring risk."
"She always does."
"And you?"
His gaze shifts to me briefly, then back to her.
"I'm not measuring," he says.
Meera studies him carefully.
"Good," she replies. "Because if she gets hurt, I won't strategize. I'll destroy."
The room goes very quiet.
Not dramatic.
Just honest.
Darian nods once.
"That's fair," he says.
Meera wasn't expecting that.
Neither was I.
She uncrosses her arms slightly.
"Take care of her," she says.
"I am," he replies.
"Better," she corrects.
He doesn't argue.
Later, when Meera leaves, I stand on the balcony alone.
The city hums below.
Darian joins me after a moment.
"She doesn't trust me," he says.
"She trusts me," I reply. "That's the point."
He rests his elbows on the railing.
"Your sister thinks I'll turn into my father."
I glance at him. "Will you?"
A long pause.
"I don't know," he says honestly.
That answer scares me more than arrogance would have.
"Lyra," he says quietly, "if you ever feel like you're shrinking here… tell me."
I look at him.
"I won't shrink," I say.
He nods.
But neither of us sounds completely certain.
The wind moves between us, soft and restless.
Somewhere below, a car horn blares.
Life continues.
But something has shifted.
The storm isn't loud anymore.
It's structural.
And we're only just beginning to understand the foundation we're standing on.