The car didn't take her to a hotel.
It took her out of the city.
Streetlights thinned. Buildings fell away. Glass turned to trees. After forty minutes, tall black gates opened without pause, and the vehicle rolled into a private estate tucked into a rise of land overlooking the water.
Aarohi pressed her palm lightly against the window.
The house stood white and quiet, its lights warm but distant, like something pretending to be welcoming. Long balconies. Tall windows. Security posted where décor should have been.
Kabir stepped out first.
He didn't offer his hand.
She didn't expect him to.
Inside, the air carried a different scent from the tower—wood, citrus, something faintly floral. The floors swallowed sound. The kind of place where voices learned to lower themselves.
A woman waited near the staircase. Late forties. Perfect posture. Her hair pinned back so tightly it pulled her expression upward.
"I'm Mrs. Iyer," she said. "The house manager."
Her eyes moved over Aarohi in one smooth scan, then settled somewhere behind her face.
"This is where you'll be staying."
Aarohi nodded.
Kabir handed the woman a key card. "The east wing is hers."
"Yes, sir."
No discussion. No hesitation.
Kabir turned to Aarohi. "Your room is prepared. Dinner is served at nine. You're free until then."
"And you?" she asked.
"I'm not."
He started to walk away.
"Kabir," she called.
He paused, then turned.
"This house," she said quietly. "Who lives here?"
"I do."
"That's not an answer."
His gaze sharpened a fraction. "It's the only one you need."
He left.
The sound of his footsteps faded long before she moved.
Her room overlooked the water.
Glass walls. Soft lighting. A bed placed so perfectly it felt staged. Fresh flowers sat on a side table. White. Scentless.
Mrs. Iyer gestured. "If you need anything, staff is available at all times."
"Thank you."
The woman hesitated. Then: "There will be people here soon. Family. Associates. They will be observing."
"I expected that."
Mrs. Iyer's mouth pressed thin. "Then my job is easier."
She left.
The door closed with a soft finality.
Aarohi stood in the middle of the room, her bag still on her shoulder.
The silence here felt different. Intentional. Curated.
She set her bag down, walked to the glass, and looked out.
The water below reflected the house in broken lines. Lights fractured. Reformed. Moved again.
Her phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
Your mother has been shifted to a private suite. The senior consultant will arrive in the morning.
Her breath eased for the first time that evening.
Thank you, she typed.
Three dots appeared. Then vanished. Then:
We start presenting from tomorrow.
She stared at the words.
Presenting what? she sent.
The reply came almost immediately.
Us.
At nine, dinner waited on a long table in a room built for gatherings that rarely happened.
Kabir was already there.
He had changed. Black shirt. Hair slightly damp. His sleeves rolled up again, watch replaced by a simpler one. He looked less like a headline and more like something unscripted.
He stood when she entered.
"Sit," he said.
She did.
The staff moved quietly, setting dishes, filling glasses, retreating.
They ate for several minutes without speaking.
The food was good. She barely tasted it.
"At ten," Kabir said, "my family arrives."
Aarohi's gaze lifted. "Family."
"Cousins. An uncle. A few people who believe they have influence here."
"And what do they think of me?"
"They don't yet."
"That sounds worse."
His mouth curved faintly. "It usually is."
She placed her fork down. "What exactly do you expect from me tonight?"
"Observe," he replied. "Listen. Speak when necessary. Let them underestimate you."
"And you?"
"I will let them believe they understand me."
"That's a lie," Aarohi said softly.
Kabir's eyes held hers.
"Yes," he agreed. "It is."
The door behind him opened.
Voices spilled in.
Laughter. Perfume. Shoes on marble.
A woman entered first. Tall. Elegant. Her smile practiced and wide.
"Kabir," she said warmly. Then her gaze slid to Aarohi. "And you must be…?"
Kabir stood.
"This," he said, placing a hand lightly at Aarohi's back, "is my fiancée."
The word settled into the room.
Something shifted in the woman's eyes. Interest sharpened. Appraisal deepened.
"How sudden," she said.
Kabir's fingers remained at Aarohi's back. Light. Possessive. Public.
"Some decisions don't require time," he replied.
More people entered. Greetings. Questions. Glances that lingered too long.
Aarohi answered politely. Smiled when expected. Felt the room mapping her.
Then a man stepped in last.
Older. Greying. His eyes moved slowly. When they reached her, they stopped.
His expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
He looked at Kabir.
Then back at Aarohi.
And smiled.
Aarohi felt it then.
A thin, sharp sense of being seen.
"Interesting," the man said quietly.
Kabir's posture altered by a degree.
"What is?" he asked.
The man took a step closer to Aarohi.
"Your fiancée," he said. "She reminds me of someone I once met."
Aarohi met his gaze.
"Where?" she asked.
The man's smile deepened.
"In a place," he said, "you were never supposed to leave."
Kabir's hand tightened at her back.
And Aarohi understood, in that moment, that this house had already known her.