All Chapters of The Other Woman : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Natasha’s Point of View The elevator ride to Raghav's apartment felt like an eternity. The cold metallic walls reflected a version of me I barely recognized, wild eyes, trembling lips, hands clenched into fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms. But that pain was nothing compared to what was clawing inside me. I had spent months in silence after the divorce. Months convincing myself I could move on. But the heart doesn’t listen to logic, and mine still beat for the man who had already signed me away. Raghav Kashyap. Even his name still hurt. He had moved on, everyone said. Found peace, found love, found her. Kiyara. The name itself tasted like poison. The woman who had taken everything, my husband, my home, my place beside him. And now, she carried his child. The day I found out, something inside me broke beyond repair. I had cried until there were no tears left. Until I was nothing but a hollow echo of what I used to be. And still… I came back. I wasn’t alone th

THIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEW Pushed kiyara. From the main staircase of the mansion. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. It was desperate, wild, the kind of motion born from years of heartbreak and hatred. Kiyara’s gasp cut through the air like a scream in a nightmare. Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering against the marble. For one fleeting second, she hung in the air.. her eyes wide, terrified, before the world tilted. Her scream tore through the mansion. “RAGHAVVVV!!” Her hands flew to her belly as she fell. The sound that followed was unbearable, a sickening thud as her body hit the marble floor. A red bloom spread beneath her, staining her white dress. Silence. Time stopped. Natasha stood frozen, her heart hammering, her breath ragged. Her hands shook violently as she stared down. Kiyara lay there, screaming in pain, her fingers clutching her stomach, blood pooling around her. “What have I done…” Natasha whispered, her voice trembling... As

NATASHA'S POINT OF VIEW I am not weak.I am not disposable.I take a deep breath, straightening my posture, my hands steady.My father's men arrived swiftly, handling the situation just as I had instructed. Made sure to take me away from the guards by raghav.The moment I stepped into the car, my father's sharp eyes flicked toward me, analyzing me like I was nothing more than a chess piece in his empire."You really let yourself become this desperate?" His voice was laced with disappointment, but I knew better than to take it to heart. My father never cared about my personal life, only what could be leveraged.This is what love has done to me.No...this is what he made me become.No. The real question was, what had he made me do?Yet when I looked at him, I saw more. I saw forever. And he ruined it. He ruined me.I wiped my tears away roughly. Enough.The room was suffocating. The air thick with the scent of leather and whiskey, a testament to the man sitting across from me, my fathe

Prison (RAGHAV POINT OF VIEW) The walls of the prison cell closed in on me, suffocating, taunting, reminding me of everything I had lost. My legs were folded against my chest, my arms resting over my knees as my head hung low. My eyes burned, rimmed red from exhaustion, grief, and something far worse, fear. Not fear for myself. Not for the bruises scattered across my skin, not for the cold cement beneath me, not even for the suffocating silence of the jail. No. I was afraid for her. Kiyara. Her face haunted me like a cruel ghost, slipping through my mind in flashes, her soft laughter, her teary eyes, the way she used to tuck her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. And now... now she was out there, alone, defenseless, fighting a battle she never should have had to face. The photos. The rumors. The whispers of her being a mistress, of her being the reason for this goddamn mess. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palm. The thought of her being humi

The Truth Flashback - 3 Years AgoRAGHAV'S POINT OF VIEW The prison smelled of rust, dampness, and blood. The dim, flickering lights barely lighted the filth-stained floors, and the walls were painted with the rustics and blood stains of the prisoners. Distant voices of laughing, metal clanking, and harsh voices mixed with the suffocating silence, creating an silent atmosphere. I had seen hell before. But nothing compared to this. Kiyara. She sat inside the cold, lifeless cell, her small figure curled up against the hard walls, trembling like a fragile leaf caught in a raging storm. Her once vibrant face-so full of life, warmth, and mischief-was now painted with bruises and blood. The cuts on her skin were fresh, the red stains on her shirt glaring like evidence of the cruelty she had endured. Her lips were cracked and swollen, the corners split open as if she had been biting down on them to stop herself from screaming. Her delicate fingers clutched her ribs,