004

Morning After

~ANAYA POV~

Morning light stabbed through my closed eyes.

I groaned, turning onto my side as my head throbbed with a low, steady ache.

My hand brushed against the silk pillowcase, and for a split second, I expected to see the gold-leaf ceiling of that luxury hotel suite. I expected to feel Lucien's gray eyes watching me.

But the air smelled wrong. It smelled of expensive air freshener and the weak, lingering scent of Rohan’s cologne.

I opened my eyes and sat up with a jolt.

I was in my own bed. My own room.

The midnight-blue saree was gone, replaced by a simple cotton nightgown I didn't remember putting on. Fear crawled up my spine.

How did I get here?

It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation. A drunken, champagne-fueled hallucination brought on by the trauma of seeing that pink robe. There was no way they were in India after eight years of silence.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand, my hand trembling. My fingers touched something else instead.

A small, stiff piece of cardstock.

I froze.

Slowly, I picked it up. It was a thick, black business card with raised silver lettering:

‘Lucien de Valois’

‘CEO, Valois International’

Below the office number, a private line had been written in dark, bold ink. And under that, one line of handwriting made my eyes burn:

‘Little Rose, call if you need anything.’

‘Anything at all.’

I squeezed the card to my chest, the sharp corners digging into my palm. It wasn't a dream.

They were real.

My chest tightened. They knew where I lived.

A sudden knock at the door made me jump. I shoved the card under my pillow just as the handle turned.

Rohan walked in.

He looked... perfect.

His suit was crisp, his hair was slicked back, and he was whistling a tune I didn't recognize. He looked like a man with nothing to hide.

"Ah, you’re awake," he said, his voice bright. Too bright. "You were quite a mess when the hotel security called me last night. I had to have my driver bring you home. Really, Anaya, getting drunk at a hotel bar? You’re lucky I care about my reputation enough to keep it quiet."

I stared at him, my throat dry. He was acting as if he was the injured party—as if he hadn't insulted me, cheated on me, and mocked me in our home.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked, the words hollow.

Rohan actually smiled, stepping toward the mirror to adjust his silk tie. "Like a baby. Why wouldn't I? It was a productive night."

A dark, hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. He was so smug. So comfortable in his lies.

"I need you to get moving," he said, checking his watch. "I’ve arranged a lunch here. It’s a huge opportunity for the company—the kind of deal that will put the Kapoors on the global map."

He turned to look at me, his eyes cold and demanding.

"Wear something modest but expensive. Put on the diamonds I bought you last Diwali. I want you to look like the perfect, dutiful wife. These guests are high-profile, and they expect a certain level of... tradition."

I didn't move. My eyes caught on something on the sharp edge of his white collar.

A smear of scarlet lipstick stained the fabric. The same shade Camille had been wearing.

He hadn't even bothered to change his shirt.

"Do you hear me, Anaya? I need the table set for five by one o'clock."

"I hear you," I whispered, my gaze fixed on that red stain.

Rohan grabbed his blazer from the chair, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He never looked at my hands. He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame.

"Make sure the wine is chilled," he added. "My business partners are arriving in an hour. They flew in from France specifically for this meeting, and I don't want a single thing out of place."

He winked at me—a move so fake it made my skin crawl—and walked out. I sat there in the silence, the business card still hidden under my pillow.

France.

The air in the room suddenly felt very, very thin.