The bass from the club still hums in her ears as Meera slips into the backseat of the car. The driver shuts the door behind her. She exhales, shoulders dropping.
Her phone buzzes.
Abhimanyu.
She answers, already exhausted.
ABHIMANYU (sharp, controlled rage):
"You lied to Tanvi. That's not just irresponsible, Meera—it puts her job on the line. You're not just some measly model anymore. You're my wife."
Meera (eyes flash, voice cold):
"Excuse me? Measly model? I built everything I have. Don't you dare diminish that."
ABHIMANYU:
"That's not what I—"
Meera (cutting him off, her voice rising):
"No, you don't get to do this. I'm your wife when it suits you—when you need control, when you need someone to bark orders at. But outside, I'm nothing to you. A ghost. How convenient, Abhimanyu."
Silence crackles through the line.
Meera (voice breaking, furious):
"Don't ever call me a measly model again. And don't speak to me like this. I'm done taking your shit."
She ends the call. Her hands tremble. The pain is raw—but the anger burns hotter.
————————————————————
SUITE – NIGHT
She storms into her suite. The atmosphere is thick.
Rizwan is standing, arms crossed.
Tanvi is pacing, visibly fuming. They're mid-argument—but both freeze as Meera enters.
Tanvi lowers her head immediately, her posture respectful.
Meera glances at her.
MEERA (quietly, tired):
"Tanvi, I'm sorry. You didn't deserve to be dragged into this."
Tanvi just nods.
But Rizwan steps forward, tone bitter.
RIZWAN:
"Glad the apology train's rolling, because you also owe one to the sponsor you ditched. He's furious. That man isn't just some party guy—he funds campaigns, Meera. Walked out mid-conversation, mid-deal. What were you thinking?"
Meera stiffens, fists clenched.
RIZWAN (pressing):
"He's demanding a face-to-face apology tomorrow. You either show up, or we both lose this gig."
That's the final spark.
Meera grabs her phone and hurls it against the floor—it shatters, screen cracked and dead silent.
She doesn't say a word. Her breath is heavy. The room is tense. No one dares move.
Then She walks straight into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her with quiet finality.
She throws herself onto the bed, curling into the sheets—exhausted, numb, drained. Her eyes sting, but she doesn't cry. She just stares blankly at the ceiling… and sleep slowly claims her.
————————————————————
NEXT MORNING
The next morning, a loud, continuous knock pounded at her door.
"Meera! Meera, uth jao!" Rizwan's voice shouted.
("Meera! Meera, wake up!")
Meera groaned, her head pounding. "Kya hua, Rizwan?" she mumbled groggily.
("What happened, Rizwan?")
"Flight pakadni hai! London jaana hai, ya bhool gayi?"
("We have to catch a flight! We're going to London, or did you forget?")
His voice was getting more dramatic by the second.
"Tum night suit mein jaogi kya Fashion Week mein?"
("Are you planning to attend Fashion Week in your night suit?")
Before she could roll her eyes, the door burst open and Tanvi barged in with clothes in one hand and a hairbrush in the other.
"We're leaving in thirty minutes. Brush your teeth, wear this, no arguments!" she ordered, already moving toward the wardrobe.
Still dazed, Meera dragged herself out of bed, rubbing her eyes and muttering, "Mujhe ek peaceful morning kab milega?"
("Will I ever get a peaceful morning?")
The journey to the airport was chaos. Tanvi packed Meera's handbag while Rizwan yelled at the driver to go faster. By the time they reached the terminal, Meera was in full-on boss mode, hiding her exhaustion behind black sunglasses and perfectly styled hair.
They made it through check-in and security with seconds to spare, and finally—finally—collapsed into their first-class seats.
As the plane began taxiing, Tanvi leaned closer and cautiously pulled out a new phone.
Meera frowned. "Yeh kya hai?"
("What is this?")
Tanvi cleared her throat. "Sir ne bola aapka phone to gaya tha… so, he asked me to give you a new one."
("Sir said your phone was broken… so, he asked me to give you a new one.")
Meera's eyes narrowed. "Maine kaha tha tumse mujhe phone laane ko?"
("Did I tell you to get me a phone?")
Tanvi hesitated. "Nahi…"
("No…")
"Exactly. Mainne phone kyun toda tha? Tumhare Sir ki wajah se. Toh unse kehna, mujhe kuch nahi chahiye."
("Exactly. Why did I break my phone? Because of your Sir. So tell him, I don't want anything from him.")
She stared at the phone like it personally insulted her.
"Aur agar unhe todne ka itna shauk hai, toh iss phone se hi shuru karte hain."
("And if he's so fond of breaking things, let's start with this phone.")
Tanvi looked down at her hands, hurt flashing across her face.
Realizing what she'd just said, Meera sighed, the anger melting just a little. "Sorry, Tanvi… I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You didn't deserve that."
She looked out the window for a moment, trying to find calm.
"It's just frustrating, you know? Someone barking orders from far away… acting like he cares when he clearly doesn't."
Tanvi gave her a small nod, accepting the apology quietly.
Then the phone lit up in Tanvi's hand.
Abhimanyu Rajput – Calling
Tanvi looked at Meera. "He's been calling you since morning."
Meera didn't even look at the screen. "Tell him I'm not interested."
"But—"
"No. I don't want to speak to him. Not now. Not anymore."
She leaned back into her seat and closed her eyes.
Outside, the plane soared higher—taking her far from everything. Or so she hoped.
————————————————————
ABHIMANYU
The ticking of the antique clock on the wall echoed louder than usual in the tense silence of the office. Abhimanyu Rajput stood by his desk, sleeves rolled up, phone clenched in his fist.
He was staring at the message on screen.
Still no reply.
His jaw tightened.
Just then, Raina, one of his senior assistants, entered the room hesitantly. "Sir, an update from London."
Abhimanyu didn't look at her. "Speak."
Raina treaded carefully. "I contacted Tanvi, as you instructed. She conveyed your message to Mrs. Rajput."
A pause.
"And?" His voice was low. Deadly.
"She said… Mrs. Rajput told Tanvi that she has no interest in speaking to you anymore."
For a beat, there was silence. And then—
Bang.
The crystal paperweight on his desk flew across the room, shattering against the wall.
Raina flinched.
Abhimanyu's eyes were steel. "No interest?"
He walked to the window, staring at the skyline like it offended him.
"She forgets too quickly who she is," he muttered. "She forgets whose she is."
He turned sharply to Raina. "Get me on a flight to London."
"Sir?"
"Private. I'm not wasting time waiting for some delayed commercial nonsense. Charter a jet. Two hours from now. From LaGuardia."
"Yes, sir."