The morning sunlight crept through the half-drawn curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the marble floor. The mansion felt too quiet, almost unnaturally so. Prisha woke up slowly, her head heavy and heart heavier. Her eyes were still swollen from the tears she had shed silently last night. She sat at the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the bedsheet absently, as if trying to find answers hidden somewhere in the folds.

Riaan’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold. He had left early — again. A deep sigh escaped her lips. It had become a routine now. He would walk out before she woke up and return when she was too tired to ask questions. And even if she did, his answers came laced with irritation or worse, silence.