The grand ballroom of The Imperial Hotel glittered with chandeliers, their golden light casting an ethereal glow over the opulent gathering. Guests in designer ensembles milled about, sipping champagne, exchanging pleasantries, and watching the unfolding spectacle of the evening the engagement of Abhay Sharma and Avni Kapoor.
Anaya stood near the entrance, a picture of poised indifference, yet every nerve in her body tightened as she watched Abhay and Avni take center stage. The music began—soft strings building into an elegant waltz. Abhay took Avni's hand, guiding her into the first dance of the night. Their steps were graceful, synchronized, yet in Anaya's eyes, it felt like a betrayal carved in rhythm.
She had once danced with Abhay under the same golden lights, in another lifetime when loyalty still meant something. Now, he twirled her enemy with the same ease, as if the past had been erased.
A polite voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Kapoor."
She turned to find Sanjay Sahai extending his hand toward her. "May I have this dance?"
She hesitated only for a moment before placing her fingers in his. If Abhay could waltz with betrayal, she could waltz with calculated indifference.
The moment Anaya and Sanay glided onto the dance floor, another shift in the atmosphere took place. Guests murmured, attention diverting from the newly engaged couple to the pair that effortlessly commanded the room. Sanjay led with practiced finesse, but it was Anaya who made the dance captivating. She moved with a silent challenge, an unspoken declaration that she had not been defeated.
Across the ballroom, Avni stiffened, her smile faltering at the shift in focus. Abhay's grip on her waist unconsciously tightened as his gaze drifted toward Anaya, who twirled with effortless grace.
And then, the doors to the ballroom parted once more.
Aryan Rathore entered, exuding power and command with every step. Clad in a tailored black tuxedo, his striking features sharpened under the chandeliers, drawing attention like a storm sweeping through a calm night. His mere presence sent a ripple through the room, curiosity and admiration mingling in hushed whispers.
He stopped at the edge of the dance floor, his intense gaze locking onto Anaya.
Something in her chest tightened, but she did not falter. Not until the music shifted into a bolder melody, and Sanjay loosened his hold.
"Seems like you have a more compelling partner awaiting," he murmured, stepping back.
Before Anaya could process his words, Aryan extended his hand toward her, his expression unreadable. "Dance with me."
It wasn't a question. It was a command wrapped in velvet, impossible to refuse.
With measured calm, Anaya placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her close. The moment their bodies aligned, the world around them blurred. His touch was firm yet careful, a contrast to the storm brewing in his dark eyes. They moved together, effortlessly weaving through the steps, each turn and twirl intensifying the charged silence between them.
Aryan's lips brushed near her ear. "Did you miss me?"
Anaya met his gaze with a smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
A low chuckle escaped him. "You dance well, but you play even better."
Their dance was not just movement—it was a conversation, a battle of wills beneath the surface. And in that moment, Anaya knew one thing for certain.
Aryan Rathore was back, and he was not here to simply watch.
---
The grand ballroom shimmered with golden chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the elite guests gathered for the engagement of Abhay and Avni. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the space, but for Anaya, the celebration was a cruel reminder of betrayal.
Dressed in an elegant crimson gown, she danced with Aryan. She watched Abhay twirl Avni across the dance floor.
"You look like you're plotting something," a deep, familiar voice murmured behind her.
Anaya stiffened, her pulse quickening. She turned slowly, meeting the sharp gaze of Aryan Rathore. Clad in a tailored black suit, he exuded power and effortless charm, yet his smirk carried a knowing edge.
She inhaled sharply. "And if I am?"
Aryan stepped closer, invading her space just enough to make her aware of his presence. "Then I'd say it's about time. You were never one to sit back and watch."
Anaya's lips curled into a mirthless smile. "You think you know me, Aryan?"
His dark eyes studied her, unreadable yet intense. "I did once."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "That was a lifetime ago."
Aryan tilted his head, his smirk fading slightly. "And yet, here we are again. You, standing alone, watching the people you once trusted betray you. Doesn't that feel familiar?"
Her grip on the glass tightened, but she refused to let him see the crack in her composure. "You speak as if you understand betrayal, Aryan. But remind me, weren't you the first to leave?"
Something flickered in his gaze—guilt, regret, or something else she couldn't name. He didn't deny it. Instead, he leaned in, his voice lower, more intimate. "I left, but I never stopped watching. I know why you're here, Anaya. And I also know you're not just here for revenge."
She swallowed, her heartbeat betraying her calm exterior. "What do you think I'm here for, then?"
His fingers brushed against the rim of her glass, deliberate and slow. "To take back what's yours. And maybe… to prove to yourself that you're still the same girl who once believed in love."
Anaya's breath hitched. For a moment, the world around them faded—the music, the laughter, the people. It was just them, trapped in a battle neither could win.
She shouldn't care. Not about Abhay. Not about Avni. And certainly not about a past that had long been buried.
Anaya lifted her chin. Two can play this game.
Before she could respond, he spun her into the dance, his movements confident, effortless. The air crackled between them as they glided across the floor, each step a silent challenge. Where Abhay and Avni's dance had been elegant and predictable, theirs was intoxicating—passionate, electric, filled with a tension that neither could ignore.
People whispered. Some watched with envy, others with growing fascination. Even the orchestra seemed to match their intensity, the music swelling as Aryan pulled her closer, their bodies barely apart.
"You still dance like you own the world," she murmured, breathless.
His fingers pressed into the small of her back. "And you still dance like you're running from it."
She sucked in a sharp breath, her control slipping. He still knew how to get under her skin.
Nearby, Avni's expression darkened, and Abhay's grip on her waist tightened. The moment wasn't lost on Anaya.
"You wanted them to see," Aryan whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
Anaya's pulse hammered, but she refused to show weakness. "And what about you, Aryan? What do you want?"
His smirk faded, something unreadable flashing in his gaze. But before he could answer, the music slowed, signaling the end of their dance. Aryan dipped her low, his hold firm, his face mere inches from hers.
For a second, the world held its breath.
Then, he straightened, releasing her with deliberate slowness.
Anaya forced herself to stand tall, ignoring the wild beating of her heart. She turned her gaze toward Abhay and Avni. Avni's nails dug into Abhay's arm, her expression unreadable. But Abhay… he looked at Anaya with something she couldn't decipher. Regret? Longing? Guilt?
Good. Let him feel it.
Without another word, Aryan stepped back, his expression unreadable once more.
But as he walked away, he murmured just loud enough for her to hear—
"This game of yours, Anaya… careful you don't lose yourself in it."
She stood frozen in place, her breath unsteady. Because for the first time tonight, she wasn't sure if she had won—or if Aryan had just turned the game against her.