Natasha sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the soft fabric of the sheets. Raghav's bedroom. The room he never let her enter. The room that had always been off-limits to her as if she were nothing more than a stranger in her own marriage.
Tonight, she had stepped inside anyway.
The air smelled faintly of his cologne, mixed with something softer-something unmistakably Kiyara.
It was as if every corner of this room carried her presence. The neatly arranged books on the shelf, the single photograph on the nightstand-it wasn't of their wedding, but of Kiyara, smiling as if she belonged here more than Natasha ever did.
Natasha wasn't sure what she expected, sitting here, waiting for him. Maybe she wanted to hear the truth from his own lips. Maybe she wanted to see if he would feel even an ounce of regret.
Or maybe... she just wanted closure.
The door creaked open, and Raghav stepped inside, stopping short when he saw her.
His face twisted in irritation, his brows furrowing as if she had invaded his personal space-as if she didn't have the right to be here.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was cold, indifferent.
Natasha met his gaze, her own eyes calm. "Waiting for you."
His jaw tightened. "We've talked about this, Natasha. This is my space."
Her lips curved into a sad smile. "And where is mine, Raghav?"
For the first time, he had no answer.
Before he could speak, another figure appeared in the doorway. Kiyara.
Kiyara took a hesitant step forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "Natasha..."
But Natasha didn't want sympathy. Not from her. Not from anyone.
She stood up, straightening her shoulders. "You don't have to say anything, Kiyara. I already understand."
And she did.
That no matter how much she had tried, Raghav had never been hers to begin with.
Taking one last glance around the room-the room that had never been hers-Natasha walked to
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