As Shreya left, Karan turned to me and said, "You can drop this act now."
He smiled, almost amused. "Your personality has changed."
"Don't worry," he added, lifting his glass. "She can't take me away from you."
"Really?" I asked. "Then why did you hold her hand?"
"Just to reassure her," he said calmly. "That I have a great wife. Nothing out of lust. Nothing out of love."
But I am a woman.
I know how things shift-quietly.
It starts with hands brushing.
Then hands holding.
Then hugs that last a second too long.
A kiss on the cheek.
On the lips.
A hand at the waist, fingers slipping lower-
until explanations are no longer needed, and a bed is shared.
He stepped away from me, breaking the closeness, the glass clicking softly in his hand.
"You're overthinking."
"Was she your first love?" I asked.
His eyes stayed on the wine as he shook his head.
"When someone speaks against your partner," I said slowly, "you defend her harder. Otherwise, people assume silence is agreement."
I drew in a breath. "I have three husbands. Building something with each of you will take time. Patience is the only way this survives."
He let out a long breath. "I know," he said, finally looking at me.
"Yesterday you said you thought you were closest to me," I continued. "The truth is-we could've been good friends, maybe even great ones, if I weren't married."
"Three husbands weren't my choice either," I said. "But I decided to give my best. That's why, when I was with Varun, I moved so fast."
I hesitated.
"I smiled after months with you. And if you had won instead... I would never have fit into this system."
My voice cracked. "I would've hated your brothers. This marriage of three would never work-because you don't like sharing, and I've never been shared."
The tear escaped before I could stop it.
He pulled me into him immediately, my face pressed against his chest. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have asked those questions."
I wiped my tears as he lifted my chin, resting his forehead against mine. Our eyes closed-not in peace, but in exhaustion. We breathed together. Then his lips brushed my cheek.
"I'll try to do better," he said.
A tear slid down his face.
"Me too," I whispered.
"We're both imperfect," I said.
Our laughter came quietly, dampened by tears-more fragile than relief.
He stepped back, fanning himself, as if the air had suddenly grown thin.
"You're not a good wife," he said lightly. "You made your husband cry."
I walked out to the balcony, letting the night air steady me, and smiled without turning back.
"And you," I said softly, "aren't very good either."
Why did I tell him all of that?
Why did I cry?
Why did I let myself become so vulnerable?
I don't know.
Maybe my mind is tired of trying to fit into a shape it was never meant for.
Maybe I'm exhausted from living a life built on choices that were never mine.
Maybe my parents are real criminals.
Or maybe the truth is worse-
maybe my hunger for their wealth overpowered my courage, and I am more guilty than they are.
Why couldn't I have said no?
Why couldn't I have told them I didn't want their money and chosen a life that belonged to me?
I have seen the cruelty of this world through Divya.
My parents were powerful, loaded with money-one call from them could solve her problems in seconds.
But before that call, she was treated like nothing.
Because she had no parents.
And the world shows its sharpest teeth to those without protection.
I was afraid that without wealth, the world would treat me the same way.
Fear made obedience feel like safety.
So I listened.
And I mistook survival for choice.
That fear trapped me in this system-
where everyone is trying their best,
yet nothing feels like heaven.
Only compromise.
Only endurance.
Only learning how to breathe inside a life that was decided for me.
Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed the knock at the door.
Varun and Arun walked in. I stayed on the balcony, my fingers resting on the railing, while Karan sat back in his chair, slowly sipping his wine.
Karan turned his head. "Come in."
"Karan, you need to look at this," Arun said.
He stepped forward and showed him a few articles-names, photographs, headlines about financial fraud and medical scams.
Karan skimmed through them, unimpressed. "I'm not a police officer," he said. "Why are you showing me this?"
Varun didn't answer immediately. He swiped the screen and held it up again.
"This doctor," he said, "is Shreya's doctor."
Something inside me tightened, though I said nothing.
"He claims to be a cardiologist," Varun continued. "But he isn't. He's only completed his MBBS. Two years ago, he didn't even have a license to practice."
"What?" Karan said sharply.
"We thought this was just another scam," Arun said. "So we hired a few private detectives."
He paused.
"And they confirmed it. We were right."
"It's not just you," Arun continued. "Sameer-your friend-is a victim too."
Karan's expression hardened.
"And Mr. Rakesh," Varun added. "Married. Owns an automobile company. He's also a victim of Shreya's scam."
The room went quiet.
Karan set his glass down slowly. "Call the police," he said. "We don't want scammers here for the night stay."
He stood, the chair scraping softly against the floor.
"I'll give you the transaction records with this doctor," Karan added. "Make sure his license is cancelled-and that he ends up behind bars."
From the balcony, I watched the shift happen-the ease gone, the authority settling in its place.
This wasn't just a misunderstanding anymore.
It was exposure.
And there was no going back from it.
I could hear the police sirens now as I sat in Karan's room.
His expression didn't change.
No panic.
No regret.
No questions like why him or how could this happen.
He accepted what was unfolding-quietly, without resistance.
I watched him and understood something I hadn't done before.
I was still clinging to the past-
my parents did this,
I didn't want this,
I wasn't made for this.
As if holding on to those thoughts would somehow free me.
Karan didn't erase the situation.
He simply didn't fight reality.
And in that calm acceptance, I realized something important:
Acceptance wasn't weakness.
It wasn't giving up.
It was choosing peace when chaos no longer served you.
Maybe learning to accept my life didn't mean I had lost.
Maybe it meant I was finally learning how to live within it.
Arun and Varun led the police to Shreya's room.
She panicked.
"Karan-how can you do this to me?" she cried, clinging to the most obvious line a person like her could find.
Karan didn't flinch.
"You're a scammer," he said calmly. "Act like one. You can't possibly love three people at once-so drop the act."
She did.
Her face shifted. Then she laughed.
"Fine," she said. "But you know what? You were the easiest target of all."
She tilted her head, enjoying it now.
"I just had to fake faint a few times. You *loved* picking me up-playing the protector. That guilt suits you, doesn't it?"
She smirked. "When Varun was almost killed because of your rivalry... when people nearly died because of you. At least I only scammed."
She turned toward Varun.
"You should've let him be scammed," she said lightly. "That could've been your revenge for being tortured for ten days."
"Stop it," I finally said.
"Oh-sorry," she laughed. "Did I say something about the only husband you're sleeping with? Day, night, afternoon- even this afternoon."
By then, no one was really listening to her words anymore.
She wasn't speaking to defend herself.
She was desperate-to wound.
Desperation takes many forms.
Sometimes it makes you hurt people, like Divya.
Sometimes it makes you cling to someone, like I did six months ago.
Arun couldn't take it anymore.
He grabbed her by the arm and threw her out of our house.
The door slammed shut.
She left behind more than noise.
She had reopened every wound-
mine,
Karan's,
Arun's,
and Varun's.
And she knew exactly where to cut.