The next morning dawned heavy with unspoken pain in the Roy mansion. The air felt thick, charged with the remnants of yesterday’s devastation—the revelations, the slaps, the tears, the unconscious collapse. Ishani stirred slowly on the bed where Virat had laid her, her body aching not just from the emotional shock but from the lingering tenderness of their once-passionate nights. Her cheek still bore the faint red mark from Saroj’s slap, a physical reminder of the betrayal exposed. She opened her eyes to find Virat already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his broad back to her, shoulders tense. He held a glass of nimbu paani, prepared no doubt by Anu Mavshi, but his hand extended it toward her without meeting her gaze—eyes fixed on the floor, jaw clenched.