003

The Men I Left Behind

~ANAYA POV~

The first thing I felt was the softness.

I was resting on bedding that felt like smooth silk. The air smelled of sandalwood, roasted coffee, and a faint scent of winter pine.

I kept my eyes closed for a moment, my head throbbing with a champagne hangover. The memories of the night before returned in sharp, painful pieces.

The rain. The bar. The breaking glass.

The arms that caught me.

My eyes snapped open.

I was in a luxury hotel suite—the kind that occupied the top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a Mumbai skyline bathed in harsh morning light.

I sat up too quickly, a groan escaping my lips as the room spun.

I wasn’t alone.

Lucien stood by the window. Théo leaned against the desk. Raphaël sat in a leather armchair directly across from the bed.

Eight years had changed them. None of them looked like the boys I’d left behind.

They watched me without a word.

Finally, Théo broke it. His lips curled into a sharp, bitter smile.

"So," he said, his voice rough. "You didn't die."

The words struck like a slap. I tried to speak, but my throat felt dry. I pulled the blanket to my chest.

"I..."

"We searched for you, Anaya," Raphaël interrupted, his voice freezing cold. He didn't move a muscle, but his presence filled the room. "For months. Then for years. You didn't just leave. You vanished."

"Eight years," Lucien said quietly. He finally turned away from the window.

The heartbreak in his gray eyes made my chest ache.

"Eight years, and the first time we see you, you’re drowning yourself in a hotel bar halfway across the world. Why, Anaya? Why did you do it?"

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

To them, I was the girl who disappeared.

To me, I was the girl who never made it home.

How could I tell them I’d been framed at eighteen? That I’d been forced onto a plane and warned my father would rot in prison if I ever contacted them again?

"I couldn't stay," I whispered. "It wasn't... it wasn't what you think."

"We don't know what to think," Théo snapped, taking a step toward the bed. "Because you gave us nothing. Just an empty room and a stolen family secret everyone blamed you for."

The air in the room grew suffocating. Nervous, I raised my hand to brush a stray hair from my face.

That was when the light caught it.

Théo’s eyes dropped to my hand. He went completely still.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Raphaël’s gaze followed Théo’s. His entire body went rigid, his hands clenching into fists on the leather armrests.

Lucien’s face drained of color. His fingers curled so tightly against the windowsill that his knuckles turned white, as if he might stop breathing.

"You're married?" Lucien asked, the words dragged out of him.

My fingers curled against the blanket. Nobody breathed. Lucien never looked away.

I looked down at my hand. The ring was gone, but the pale, indented skin where it had sat for three years was unmistakable.

"I am."

Théo let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing away. "Of course. Eight years later, and she’s someone else’s property. Why did I expect anything different?"

Raphaël didn't move. He just watched me with dark, piercing eyes.

"Are you happy, Anaya?" he asked quietly.

I thought of Rohan’s mocking laughter. I thought of the woman in my grandmother’s robe. I thought of the lonely nights spent waiting for a man who viewed me as furniture.

I tried to lie. I tried to save whatever dignity I had left.

My lower lip trembled. I looked down at the silk sheets.

My silence answered for me.

Raphaël stood up abruptly. I flinched, pulling the duvet tighter.

He walked to the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched tight. He looked down at the pale mark on my finger, then up at my face—scanning the dark shadows under my eyes and the way I shrank back.

"You're not just married," Raphaël said, his voice dangerously low. "You're broken."

He took another step, looming over me.

"Who did this to you?" he demanded, wild rage vibrating in his voice. "Anaya. Tell me his name. Who did this to you?"