Page 140 of Scars and Crowns

I crouch again, resting my forearms loosely against my knees. "You're going to lose things." His breathing becomes uneven. "Not all at once. That would be too easy."

I smile without warmth. "You're going to lose the things you never questioned because you've always assumed they were yours."

I can already see it. The first door closing. Then another. The people who once returned his calls immediately suddenly becoming unavailable. The business relationships his father spent years building beginning to unravel. The invitations disappearing. The comfortable little world surrounding him becoming smaller and smaller until he has nowhere left to hide inside it.

"And when you wake up one morning and realize the life you had yesterday doesn't exist anymore," I continue quietly, "you'll remember this room." He stares at me. "You'll remember me standing here." I straighten my jacket again. "And you'll remember exactly why."

He tries to speak.

I raise a hand. "No."

He goes quiet.

"Don’t make it worse for yourself," I look at him for a long moment. "You don't get to negotiate with me now." I turn toward the door. “You have no idea what lengths I will go to for her. I will ruin you. I will make sure you struggle, to a point where death seems easier.” I sigh, “And if my anger is still not satisfied . . . I don’t know what will happen to you.”

"There is one more thing." He looks up. "I know about the police report." His expression changes. "I know what happened after she filed it. I know who your father called. I know how quickly the case disappeared."

I watch him swallow. "You were protected once." I open the door. "You're not anymore."

I step into the corridor. And I leave him there. Not because I'm finished. Because I'm only beginning.

The next several weeks already exist in my head with frightening clarity.

I will not storm into his father's office. I will not make threats over the telephone. I will not give anyone the satisfaction of watching me lose control again. I will simply pull at the threads.

One at a time.

Every person who ever helped keep him untouchable will have to decide whether they still want to stand beside him once standing beside him becomes expensive. The businesses that welcomed him because of his surname will reconsider. The people who once laughed at his jokes will become uncomfortable being seen beside him. The reputation his family spent decades polishing will begin to crack under the weight of truths they buried.

But Anamika won’t know all this. I will not tell her what I'm doing. She has carried enough. She doesn't need to know that while she's sleeping beside me, I'm quietly dismantling the world of the man who took seven years from her.

This isn't something I want gratitude for. It isn't something I want her to praise me for. If she ever finds out, she may be angry. She may tell me I had no right. Perhaps she will be right.

But there are some things I cannot unknow now. I know what happened to her. I know who did it. I know who helped him walk away. And I know what it feels like to hold the person you love while she tells you she spent years believing she had to carry that pain alone.

I will not allow the people responsible to keep living as though nothing happened. Not anymore.

When I return to the palace, the sky is beginning to lighten. I park the car myself and sit there for several minutes before going inside.

I look down at my hands. The skin across my knuckles is split. There is still a faint smear of blood near my thumb. I close my fingers. Then I walk upstairs. Anamika is still asleep when I enter the room.

She shifts slightly when the mattress dips beneath my weight. "Yuvaan?"

Her voice is thick with sleep. "I'm here."

She reaches for me without opening her eyes. I take her hand. She settles again almost immediately, her fingers curling around mine. I look at her sleeping face.

And I make myself one promise. She will never have to carry him again. Not in her memories. Not in her nightmares. Not in the world outside these walls.

Whatever I have to do to make sure of that, I will do. And this time, I won't wait seven years to act.

BUILDING FOUNDATION

ANAMIKA

The garden is noisy in the best possible way.

Sara's laughter carries all the way across the lawn as she runs after Kairav's latest rescue, a scruffy three-legged dog that appears to have absolutely no interest in the elaborate training session Sara has decided to conduct. Kairav is sitting nearby, pretending to supervise while contributing very little, and somewhere behind us Amma Saheba is still complaining about muddy paw prints on the cushions as though the dog has personally declared war on the upholstery.