The air in the ballroom was thick with tension, the echoes of the dance lingering long after the music had faded. Anaya felt the weight of countless stares, but none pierced her more than the one from across the room—Abhay.
He had abandoned Avni mid-conversation, his steps slow but determined as he approached. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held too many emotions at once.
"Anaya." His voice was low, careful.
She lifted a brow, tilting her chin slightly. "Abhay."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second before glancing toward Aryan, who had taken a drink from a waiter's tray, watching them with unsettling amusement.
"That was quite a performance," Abhay said, turning back to her.
Anaya gave a small, detached smile. "You and Avni seemed to enjoy putting on one of your own."
His expression darkened. "It's not what you think."
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Oh? Then explain it to me, Abhay. Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like what I think it is—betrayal."
His fingers flexed at his side, his voice softer now. "You know it's not that simple."
Anaya took a step closer, her voice sharp. "You were the one person I trusted when my world fell apart. And the moment she entered our lives, everything changed. You changed."
Abhay opened his mouth as if to protest, but the words never came. His silence was more damning than any excuse he could offer.
She shook her head, stepping back. "Enjoy your engagement, Abhay. You made your choice. I've made mine."
Before he could say another word, she turned on her heel, walking away without looking back.
But as she passed through the crowd, she felt the weight of another gaze. Aryan.
He stood by the bar, watching her with that same infuriating smirk. As if he had expected this. As if he had planned this.
She didn't stop. Didn't falter. But she knew one thing for certain—whatever game she had started tonight was far from over.
And neither was Aryan Rathore's role in it.
An Unfinished Dance
Anaya could still feel the heat of Aryan's gaze as she strode toward the exit, her pulse hammering against her skin. The grand chandeliers shimmered overhead, casting golden hues across the lavish ballroom, but she had no interest in its beauty. Not when her past had resurfaced in the most cruel of ways.
Before she could slip away, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist.
"Leaving already?" Aryan's voice was smooth, laced with something unreadable.
She yanked her hand free, spinning around to face him. "Haven't you had enough fun for one night?"
His lips curled in amusement. "I don't think the night's over yet."
Her jaw tightened. "What do you want, Aryan?"
He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "A dance."
She scoffed. "You had your moment. I don't see a need to repeat it."
Aryan's eyes darkened with something almost dangerous. "Are you afraid, Anaya?"
She stiffened. "Of you? Never."
"Then dance with me," he murmured, extending his hand.
The murmurs around them grew louder. Guests turned their heads, intrigued by the unfolding tension. Even Avni and Abhay had stopped their conversation, their expressions shifting.
Anaya hated the power he had over the room. Over her. But she refused to let him win.
With a slow, deliberate movement, she placed her hand in his.
The music swelled again as Aryan pulled her onto the dance floor. His grip was firm, his steps effortlessly guiding hers. The space between them was too little, the air too charged.
"You looked… affected back there," Aryan murmured against her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "Was it Abhay? Or was it seeing him with her?"
Anaya's fingers tightened against his shoulder. "You must be enjoying this. Watching me unravel."
His smirk deepened. "I enjoy many things, but watching you fight—now, that's something else entirely."
"You think this is a game?" she hissed.
Aryan's grip tightened around her waist as he spun her, pressing her closer as the music reached its crescendo. "No, princess. I think this is just the beginning."
Their dance had stolen the attention of the entire room. And as Aryan twirled her one last time, dipping her low, she caught sight of Avni's clenched fists and Abhay's conflicted stare.
Good.
Let them watch.
Because if Aryan thought he had the upper hand, he was sorely mistaken.
The dance ended, but the fire between them still burned. Aryan pulled Anaya upright, his grip lingering on her waist for a second too long. Her breath was unsteady, but she masked it well, lifting her chin defiantly.
A smirk tugged at Aryan's lips as he leaned in. "You're still as stubborn as ever."
"And you're still as insufferable," she shot back, stepping away.
As she turned, applause rippled through the ballroom, but it wasn't for the engagement couple—it was for them. Murmurs and whispers filled the space, eyes shifting between Anaya, Aryan, Abhay, and Avni.
As the music swirled around them, Anaya felt the intensity of Aryan's gaze on her. Each step of the dance was a battle, a silent war fought under the grand chandeliers of the Imperial Palace. The orchestra played a melody rich with tension, and she could feel every pair of eyes on them, watching, speculating.
She had spent years preparing herself to face the Kapoor family, to stand against Avni and Raghav. But Aryan Rathore? He was the one variable she hadn't accounted for. He was supposed to be a part of her past, a memory left behind with the remnants of her childhood innocence. And yet, here he was, holding her close in the middle of the ballroom, reigniting something she had long buried.
"You still dance like you're afraid to lose," Aryan murmured, his voice sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine.
Anaya lifted her chin, matching his smirk with a defiant glare. "And you still talk like you own the world."
His grip on her waist tightened, just slightly. "Some things never change."
Their conversation was veiled, each word layered with meanings deeper than what the spectators could perceive. Around them, murmurs rose, some intrigued, some scandalized. Avni's carefully composed expression faltered for a split second, and Raghav watched with an unreadable gaze. Abhay, however, was visibly unsettled, his grip tightening around his champagne glass.
Aryan twirled her gracefully, leading her into an effortless spin before pulling her back against him. "Why didn't you tell me you were back, Anaya?"
She scoffed. "I didn't think it mattered."
His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable. "You always mattered."
Her breath caught. She had to remind herself that this was Aryan—the same boy who had once been her haven, but also the man who had left without a word. She couldn't afford to let him back in, not now. Not when she was on the verge of reclaiming everything that had been stolen from her.
"You should stay out of this," she warned, her voice quieter now, meant only for him.
"Out of what?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, feigning innocence. "Your war? Your revenge?" He leaned in just enough for her to hear his next words. "Or the secret you're hiding?"
Anaya froze for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Aryan to notice. He smirked as if confirming his suspicion.
Before she could respond, the dance came to an end. The applause was deafening, but Anaya barely heard it. Her mind was spinning faster than the waltz she had just danced. Aryan released her hand with deliberate slowness, his thumb brushing against her skin as he stepped back.
"We'll talk soon," he murmured, before turning and walking away, leaving her standing in the center of the ballroom with too many unanswered questions and a heart that refused to settle.
From across the room, Avni watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. And in the shadows, Raghav Kapoor's smirk deepened.
The game had only just begun.