That night, dinner wasn't just a meal—it was an event.
Raneya moved through the kitchen like it was her canvas, her hands painting flavors with precision, her heart poured into every dish. The air bloomed with nostalgic aromas—warm spices, simmering herbs, and a delicate sweetness that lingered like memory itself.
When the food was served, Justice Shah praised every bite with quiet reverence. Razia Begum teared up after her first spoonful of biryani.
"It feels like old times," she chuckled, gently squeezing Raneya's hand.
Aahil, however, sat across the table like a silent sovereign. He poked at the food with the scrutiny of a royal inspector. Not a word of praise left his lips. And yet—he helped himself to two plates of biryani, two bowls of kheer, and all but emptied the serving trays.
It would have been hilarious… if he weren't so dramatic about hiding how much he was enjoying it.
He ate like a petulant monarch, offended by the need to acknowledge something so delightful.
Raneya caught him stealing a third bowl of kheer and barely stifled a laugh. Her lips curled as she muttered under her breath:
"A tantrum-throwing toddler in a tuxedo."
Then louder, with a smirk: "Guess the food isn't that bad."
Aahil ignored her, his eyes fixated on the serving dishes like they'd betrayed him.
Raneya served the rest of the table with a smile, basking in the warmth that radiated from Razia and Justice Shah. Aahil? She pretended he didn't exist.
After dinner, a quiet ritual had begun to form.
Razia Begum's room—scented with sandalwood and lavender—became a sanctuary. Each night, Raneya sat cross-legged on the plush rug beside her bed, brushing her silver hair or adjusting her pillows while the old woman drifted into memory.
Under the soft glow of a bedside lamp, Razia took her hand one night and whispered:
"You remind me of her… my daughter-in-law."
Raneya blinked. It was the first time anyone had mentioned Aahil's mother.
"She wasn't born into privilege," Razia murmured, her voice wrapped in sorrow. "But she carried herself with more grace than anyone in this house. Aahil adored her. She was the only one who could make him smile like a boy."
Silence settled between them.
"She died young. A car crash. Justice Shah was driving."Raneya's heart clenched."That must have changed everything," she said softly.
Razia nodded. "It turned this palace into a mausoleum. Aahil stopped speaking for months. And one day… he built walls no one could climb. Not even me."
Raneya leaned forward, wrapping her arms gently around the old woman. In that embrace, something shifted. She didn't just sympathize—she understood. For the first time, she could feel the heartbeat of this house. The grief sealed behind its grandeur.
From that night on, Razia began sharing stories—of Aahil as a boy dancing barefoot in the gardens, hiding sweets in her sari, crying over a wounded puppy for days.
The more Raneya listened, the more that cold, ruthless man seemed like a ghost of the gentle boy he once was.
But that ghost felt far away.
Unbeknownst to her, Justice Shah and Aahil often watched from the doorway—silent witnesses to the laughter, the bond, the healing.
For Justice Shah, it was the first time in years he'd seen his mother truly smile.
And it was because of the girl with the haunted eyes…The girl who might be the only one capable of healing this house.
But Aahil? He felt something else.
Suspicion.
Later that night, Aahil stood alone in his study, looking down at the moonlit courtyard where Raneya had walked with Razia.
His jaw clenched.
He'd seen this before.
Warmth that masked secrets. Innocence laced with agendas.
Not this time.
He turned abruptly and disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
Raneya's guest room was modest, nestled beside Razia's, but it was hers. Her scholarship forms, study notes, and business plans were neatly stacked on the desk. She dove into them like armor—her escape, her anchor.
The rustle of pages filled the room.
Then—a chill.
Her spine stiffened. Her breath caught.
She looked up.
A shadow moved by the door.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
She stepped quietly toward the entrance.
Just as her fingers reached for the handle—A hand clamped over her mouth. A body pinned her to the wall.
She froze. Terror gripped her like ice.
"Aahil," she gasped under his palm.
"Shh," he whispered, voice low and razor-sharp. "Don't make a sound."
His breath grazed her cheek, eyes burning into hers.
"Don't test me. I don't buy your act," he hissed. "You're being watched. Every step. Every word. I know more about you than you do."
Her pulse roared. She shoved him back, gasping for air.
"How dare you—!"
But he cut her off with a venomous calm.
"Don't think you can fool everyone. Don't run. Don't play smart."
He leaned in again, lowering his voice to a chilling whisper.
"I know what you're hiding."
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Just the burn of truth she couldn't reveal.
Aahil adjusted his shirt, his expression unreadable, and stepped back.
"Sweet dreams… Raneya."
And with that, he vanished into the corridor.
Leaving her breathless.
Seething.
And afraid of just how much power he held…
Simply by existing.