All Chapters of The Other Woman : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

After 3 years(Natasha point of view)I clutched the divorce papers in my trembling hands, the weight of the neatly typed words pressing against my chest like a crushing force. Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. I had cried enough in this lifetime. My husband, Arav Khurana-the man who had once promised me security, power, and status-had thrown me away like I was nothing. Just another discarded possession.I wasn't naïve; I knew our marriage had always been built on convenience rather than love. But I had foolishly believed that my place in his life was secure. That no matter how many mistresses warmed his bed, I would always be the wife. The perfect, untouchable woman draped in luxury and adorned with the title of Mrs. Khurana.But now... now I was nothing.I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, my fingers trembling as I thought back to the past. To the choices that had led me here.After I had accused Raghav and put the case on him, my

Age :- One year younger than natasha. Years ago.... That time natasha was 17Ritwik was 16NATASHA POINT OF VIEW.High school was a battlefield of status, and I was royalty. I was the queen who ruled the hallways, the one everyone admired, envied, feared. And then there was him-Ritwik Sharma, the boy who didn't belong.He was my junior. He was a popular for being best in arts and drama as an actor.I was an school award winning female singer.ButHe was different from the rest of us. He wasn't rich, didn't wear designer clothes, didn't arrive at school in luxury cars. He was a scholarship student, a boy who had clawed his way into our world with nothing but talent and determination.First time we met in the canteen.I was laughing with my friends, twirling my hair, basking in the attention, when someone bumped into me. My drink spilled all over my expensive dress. Gasps filled the air. I turned, ready to lash out, when I met his eyes.Dark brown, wide with panic. "I-I'm so sorry,"

If there was one thing men valued, it was a woman who could care and cook for them. And Kiyara? She was failing miserably.The way she fed him-ugh! Burgers? Pizzas? Mac and cheese? Was she an idiot? Did she not know how to properly nourish a man? He's has a gym personality, he should something healthy. In our society, men didn't survive on junk food. They needed real meals, made with real effort.So I cooked for him.I prepared a homemade meal-something healthy, something that would make him realize what he was missing. I packed it in a tiffin and placed it in front of him, excitement bubbling in my chest, waiting for him to take that first bite and see the difference.But what did he do? He turned to her first."Kiyu, take a bite?.",He fed her first. Like it was some instinct, some habit. And then, only after she took a bite, did he take one himself.That was it. Just one bite. Then he smiled and said, "The others will like this too. You should give them some too.", And that was

THIRD PERSON POINT OF VIEW Raghav leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, eyes locked onto Shivesh like a predator circling its wounded prey.His voice was quiet. Calm. But every word hit like a gunshot."You think I don't know what your empire truly runs on?"His eyes narrowed, lips curling into a dark smirk."Drugs. Arms. Trafficking. Black money. Your 'underground business' costs billions, doesn't it?"Shivesh stiffened. But he didn't answer.He didn't need to.Raghav rose, slow and deliberate, his presence suddenly heavy-looming.He walked around the desk, boots echoing against the polished floor like death approaching.Each step was calculated. Cold."I'm not asking, Shivesh," he said in a low, razor-edged tone, stopping inches away."I want everything."Shivesh blinked."Everything?""Yes," Raghav whispered. "Every single detail. Every account, every shipment, every man in your pocket. I want your blueprints, your networks, your assets, and your ghosts."Sh

Three days laterRaghav’s Point of ViewThe police station reeked of sweat, iron, and blood—like the aftermath of every dirty secret finally catching up with itself.I stepped in, my boots echoing on the cracked cement floor. The air was thick, not just with humidity, but with tension—the kind that made even the officers pause mid-sentence when they saw me.They knew who had walked in.Raghav Kashyap.Not just the accused who walked free, not the criminal they once spat headlines at.But the man who had built his redemption from the ground up, dragging himself from the ashes of betrayal and prison.From a distance, I heard a hoarse scream.And then, I saw him.Shivesh.Bloodied, half-conscious, slumped against the wall like a ragdoll. His shirt clung to him in patches—sweat and blood mixing like ink in water. One eye swollen shut, lips cracked, wrists bruised from the handcuffs that didn’t quite silence him.“Please…” he coughed out to the constable before noticing me.That moment—th