Kuch raaz khamosh hi rahen toh behtar hai,
kyunki agar yeh khule, toh sirf tabahi ka paigam laayenge."
Samjhe aap?
Some secrets are better left unspoken,
because if they unravel, they bring nothing but destruction."
Do you understand?
✧
PRIYA SHERGILL POV:
It's been 12 years.
They say time heals wounds, mends grief, and fades even the most vivid memories. Thoughts blur, feelings soften, and pain dissolves into the quiet hum of passing days.
But unspoken feelings?
They linger, untouched by time, festering like a secret bruise hidden beneath the surface.
My heels clicked sharply against the marble hallway as I made my way inside, the sound swallowed by the grandiosity of the venue. The sensual notes of a saxophone wrapped around the air, weaving through the glittering chandeliers that hung like frozen raindrops.
The decor was nothing short of regal—a castle-like venue reminiscent of Roman grandeur, bathed in soft golden light. Everywhere I looked, there was beauty, wealth, and power—elegantly dressed individuals from noble lineages and prominent pursuits. Each one was an emblem of influence, invited from every corner of the world to witness the splendor of London's most elite gathering.
The host of the evening was none other than Cyrus Wills, the Prince Charming of London. A name synonymous with power and prestige, he wasn't just a businessman; he was the crown jewel of the city's elite. This grand affair, meticulously curated, reflected his reputation—impeccable, alluring, and untouchable.
Yet, as I stepped further into the opulent room, my heart betrayed a familiar ache. Time had passed, yes, but it hadn't healed everything.
The flashes from the paparazzi cameras lit up the entrance like a starlit sky as I made my way inside. The chatter and excitement in the air shifted the moment I stepped in.
"Ms. Priya Shergill is here!" one of the photographers exclaimed, their lenses now focused entirely on me.
I smiled, a practiced but captivating expression, as the spotlight turned in my direction. The attention was intoxicating, though not unfamiliar. I moved with grace, each step deliberate, commanding the room without uttering a single word.
And the reason for all the media attention was -
As I descended the grand staircase, the sound of murmurs and camera shutters filled the space. It was then that I noticed—the man at the center of all this grandeur, Cyrus Wills.
He stood at the base of the stairs, dressed impeccably in a tailored tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. His blonde hair was perfectly styled, his charm radiating like the chandeliers above. With a poised stride, he closed the distance between us, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that felt almost tangible.
"Good evening, Ms. Shergill," he greeted, extending his hand toward me, his tone smooth and polished.
"Good evening, Mr. Wills," I replied, taking his hand as I reached the last step. His lips brushed lightly over my hand in a courteous kiss.
Typical London behavior, I thought, suppressing a smirk.
"You look beautiful, and utterly elegant, Ms. Shergill," Cyrus remarked, his words dripping with charm.
I tilted my head slightly, meeting his gaze with confidence. "Tell me something I don't already know, Mr. Wills," I quipped. Then, with a sly smile, I added, "And I must say, all the women in London must be burning with jealousy seeing their perfect prince charming greeting me so gracefully."
Cyrus chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Do I look like I care?" he said, his voice carrying a casual arrogance that only added to his allure.
"Take this shot!" one of the paparazzi called out, their cameras clicking furiously.
Cyrus ignored the frenzy and extended his arm toward me. "Come, let me introduce you to some of the most influential people in the room. They're waiting to meet you."
"Lead the way, Mr. Wills," I replied smoothly, looping my hand through his offered arm.
And just like that, we became the center of everyone's attention, the room buzzing as we moved past the admiring crowd.
As the crowd parted like the Red Sea, Cyrus led me toward a circle of influential individuals, each of them exuding wealth and power. They all turned their heads as we approached, their curiosity piqued by my presence.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?" Cyrus's voice rang out, drawing the room's focus to us. "Here she is Ms. Priya Shergill, the prominent businesswoman. And I'm sure her presence has already made its way to your doorstep, so I don't think I need to introduce her any further."
A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I heard him speak. It was almost too easy the way he fawned over me, showcasing my name as if it were a prize. But I didn't mind. This game, I was well-versed in.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Shergill. I've heard so much about you in the news," a woman, Helen one of the wives of the noble pursuits said with a smile that was more rehearsed than warm.
"Likewise, Mrs. Smith," I replied, extending my hand in an elegant, poised handshake. Her grip was firm, but I could tell she was sizing me up, trying to gauge whether I was as untouchable as the headlines suggested.
The exchange was short but laden with unspoken dynamics. In this world of wealth and influence, pleasantries were as essential as the air they breathed. But beneath it all, there was something more—an undercurrent of competition, of proving one's place in the world. And I was more than ready to play the game.
"Have a seat, Ms. Shergill," Davis Marci said, his voice smooth as he gestured toward an empty chair.
"Sure," I replied, my tone cool as I gracefully sat down. The others followed suit, taking their places around the table. Cyrus, of course, sat beside me, his presence a constant reminder of the past few years.
Cyrus and I were business partners, brought together when I came to London to manage the foreign branches of my corporation. The situation here had been far from ideal, the market struggling, but with perseverance, we had turned it around. And along the way, I had crossed paths with Cyrus.
Our partnership was successful, maybe too successful, because it didn't take long before the paparazzi started speculating. They began to ship us, painting stories of us as more than just business partners.
It was ridiculous annoying as hell—but as anyone in this world knows, they'll twist any narrative for a headline.
But of course, things weren't as they seemed. Not that anyone cared to ask.
The clinking of glasses interrupted my thoughts. Cyrus raised his glass of champagne, his eyes meeting mine. I mirrored the gesture, the cold, sparkling liquid reflecting the lights .
As our glasses clicked together, I couldn't help but wonder if that was the only thing we'd ever share. The image the world had of us was nothing more than a glossy exterior, a story they wanted to believe. But underneath, the truth was something far more complicated.
I took a sip of my champagne as we discussed business, the conversation flowing effortlessly, until Celen spoke, her tone casual yet pointed.
"Are you dating someone?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Helen and Cyrus both paused mid-sip, their curious eyes landing on me.
"No," I replied, my voice steady, my answer simple and clear.
Celen let out a low laugh, the sound carrying a mix of amusement and disbelief. "In this peak age, people usually date and get married."
I placed my glass down, fixing her with a polite but firm gaze. "Ms. Celen, I see you're curious about my dating life, but I prefer to keep my personal matters personal."
Her expression softened, an apology flickering in her eyes. "I was just curious. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my questions."
I hummed in acknowledgment, leaving it at that.
The conversation shifted back to business, but moments later, Cyrus's secretary approached, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.
"Alright, I'm coming," Cyrus said with a nod before excusing himself. He strode to the other side of the room, leaving the rest of us to continue the discussion.
Later, I was busy in a discussion when, after a while, Cyrus returned.
"Excuse me, everyone, may I have your attention? And especially yours, Ms. Shergill," he said with a subtle smile.
Everyone turned their focus toward Cyrus, and so did I, though his emphasis on me made my brows knit slightly.
"Especially me? Why, Mr. Wills?" I asked, my tone polite but curious.
Cyrus chuckled lightly. "you'll soon know ."
I made an "oh" face, nodding slightly, unsure where this was going.
What is it ?
I don't have a bit of patience .
I hate suspense!!
Sipping my champagne, I waited for Cyrus to continue. The hum of the party buzzed around us, but my focus remained steady as I calmly glanced his way.
"He's here," Cyrus finally said, his tone carrying a sense of importance.
I turned my attention toward the approaching figure. A man stepped into view, his tailored tuxedo fitting him perfectly, complementing the formal theme of the evening. His hair was meticulously styled, every strand in place, exuding the confidence of someone who commanded the room without trying.
Our eyes met briefly, and I forced myself to remain composed, my expression casual, almost indifferent.
Cyrus's voice cut through the moment. "He's one of the prominent businessmen from India. Meet Mr. Nikhil Kapoor."
The name hit me like a bolt of electricity. The world around me dimmed as the name echoed in my mind, overshadowing everything else Cyrus was saying.
Nikhil tilted his head slightly, his gaze holding mine for a heartbeat longer before breaking the contact. His lips curved into a polite, distant smile as he addressed the room.
"Good evening, everyone," he said, his voice deep, smooth, and utterly captivating.
I took a slow sip of my champagne, hiding the surge of emotions threatening to surface.
He's here.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Kapoor," Celen said with her usual politeness, her voice ringing with a practiced charm.
He simply hummed in response, his acknowledgment curt and dismissive.
I rolled my eyes, the gesture subtle but deliberate, as I sipped my champagne again, pretending to be entirely unaffected.
Cyrus took the seat beside me, and to my quiet annoyance, Nikhil settled into the chair on the other side of him. The proximity made the air around me feel heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.
"Ms. Shergill, I wanted you to meet him because he's from India, your home country. I thought you might feel familiar," Cyrus said with a smile, his tone annoyingly optimistic as he glanced at me.
I let out a quiet scoff, my lips curling slightly into a wry smirk. Familiar, my foot.
"Mr. Wills, what you thought was very generous of you," I said, my voice laced with a mix of sharpness and amusement, "but meeting someone from my home country doesn't automatically mean I'll feel familiar."
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my legs .
"Still you can get to know each other", Celen added , her voice holding a hint of teasing .
I slowly hummed when he spoke.
"Ms. Celen, it's better if we don't force someone if they're not interested," Nikhil said, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the tense air like a blade.
I blinked, momentarily taken aback. This man… what did he just say?
Someone? Oh, so I'm just 'someone' now?
A flicker of annoyance coursed through me, but I masked it well, leaning back in my chair with a faint, almost amused smile. I swirled my champagne absentmindedly .
"Interesting choice of words, Mr. Kapoor," I murmured under my breath.
"Excuse me, I'll be back within minutes ", I said , standing abruptly and walking away .
I pushed opened the washroom door , stepped inside , and closed it behind me , leaning against it as I exhaled sharply.
Wow what a great night to be in .
I didn't knew Cyrus knew him .
And this man also thought to come in my eyes when I already moved on , or so I guess .
After 12 years seriously he's showing up out of nowhere .
Flashback:
I know it's not has I assumed it to be but I can't forget it's hard for me .
Tears left my eyes .
Flashback ended :
I shook my head , griping the edge of the sink . "Anyways it's nothing I've already dealt with all this shit". I said to myself, straightening my posture .
Composed once again I walked out and returned to my table , taking my seat .
But before I could settle and thought the chaos was already done , but no .
A loud crash . A body fell onto our table out of nowhere ,Sprawled across it like a grotesque centrepiece . Blood oozed from every angle , staining the pristine while table cloth .
The sound and buzz of the room died instantly , replaced by a suffocating silence .
Ms . Helen screamed when she saw . "Is this.... a dead body " . She stammered , her face pale.
"Then what does it look like ? A boiled chicken". Celen quipped to Helen , her sarcasm dripping despite the shock .
"What the fuck" . I made a face and looked at celen .
Here a dead body came out of nowhere and this lady is leaving sarcastic reply .
"From where the fuck it came " . Cyrus voice was sharper then I'd ever heard it , his calm demeanor slipping as his eyes darted around .
Until my eyes fell on the dead body and I saw something written on clothes .
Happy birthday .
"What the heck is this" ? . Helen spoke as she saw that message on the clothes .
"A damn Happy birthday on clothes of a dead body , is this a joke or something" . Davis spoke .
"Wait this is not even a dead body" .