The descent down the grand, sweeping staircase of the Kashyap estate felt like a slow march into a gilded colosseum. Aradhya’s light, unsteady footsteps were cushioned by the thick, imported Persian runner, her white kurti swishing softly around her ankles. The heavy chemical fog of the sedative clung to her brain, turning the vast, crystal-lit foyer into a surreal, dreamlike watercolor painting. Every sound echoed with a strange, distorted resonance, the sharp clink of china and the low murmur of voices bleeding together into a distant hum.

Standing in the center of the sprawling living room were the pillars of the Kashyap dynasty. Ashutosh Kashyap stood tall and imposing, his silver-streaked hair and sharp, aristocratic features projecting absolute corporate dominance. Beside him stood Malini—Maira’s real mother and Ahaan’s mother—whose cold, calculating eyes surveyed the room with thinly veiled disdain. Maira stood close to her mother, her arms crossed in a tailored silk dress, while Ahaan leaned against the marble pillar, his dark gaze locking onto Aradhya the moment she appeared on the landing.