Chapter 3

≿━━━━༺ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ༻━━━━≿

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"MUMMA"
I screamed into an empty room.
No answers. Of course.

It has been like this, ever since I came back from my boarding school, In Switzerland.
And this room? It never replies.

It just watches. Like how I had, once upon a bad time.
A really bad one.

I don't even know why I came here in this room in first place. No one does, not anymore.
These floors? Abandoned. As if it had not once been the most happening one in the whole Mansion.

I blinked.

And suddenly, I wasn't 23 this 23-year-old girl anymore.
I was 15.
Standing right here, In this exact same place. Rooted.
In the exact same room.

My shoes were wet. No, Sticky actually. They were sticky.
Palms moist. Sweaty.
Same as that night.

As I took a step forward, my shoes made an awful, peeling sound against the expensive marble.

The curtains fluttered rapidly, as the cool night breeze hit them. The Chandelier above swayed in a dull motion, as if it was mourning.

She was lying on the bed.

Devoid of any movement.

Not sleeping. Definitely not resting.
Just still.

Like a Broken doll. Beautiful. Unmoving. Lifeless.

Blood had soaked into the soft plush mattress, into the silk bedsheets, into her beautiful black hair. Her eyes devoid of any feeling. Emptiness.

And the way her head tilted—slightly, softly—still haunts me more than anything in the world.
Mostly because she looked like she had given up. Entirely.

And the worst part?
She never even said goodbye.

Goodbye to the person she used to love the most.
To the person who loved her the most.

Not to me.

Not to anyone.

I think I screamed.
I don't remember. I don't want to remember.
But that's just how much of a coward I was. 

I think I stood there for hours. Or minutes. Or a second.
Time did that thing again. Where it broke.

That awful night took something from me I haven't found since.
Aanya Viren Arora.
My Mom. The one that gave birth to me. The one that used to bake angel cakes with me.

I touched the edge of her bed now, in the present. My fingers shaking violently.

"Why didn't you wait for me?"
I whispered. Clutching my heart shaped locket tighter. The one that had her photo in it.
A tear slipped my eye. The one that was threatening to escape for the past 30 minutes.

But the room stayed quiet.
Just like it always did.

Reminding me of how I lost the person that I thought would stand beside me forever.
My Mom.

A soft knock. Gentle.

One. Two. Then silence.

My eyes fluttered open, breath caught mid-throat, and I instinctively wiped my face like it would erase the grief stitched into my skin, like it would do more than just wiping my tears.
Like it would bring her back. Back to me. Back to her Ri.

"Ri?"
Her soft voice. Steady. Warm.
Riyana. My stepmom.

The door creaked open before I could answer. Almost Sneakily.

She stepped inside. Slowly, very slow.
Not bothering to flick on the lights, as if she knew—this room didn't deserve brightness. Not anymore. Everybody knew. Aarik knew. Dad knew. I knew.

Her eyes travelled towards me. Standing near the bed, emptiness etched in the way I was breathing. My shoulders trembling, lips parted in an almost sob, eyes watery.

"Oh..Ri"
She whispered.

She did not ask what had happened. She did not have to. She already knew why I was here, what was going through my mind.

In three long strides, rushed, she was Infront of me. Looking every bit of the mother she was to me, the one that I did not ask for. But was the last thing holding me together. Was the best thing that ever happened to me after my mom's death.

One more mom, except this one wasn't lifeless.

Riyana didn't flinch. She just held me—anchored me.

My stepmother.
Yana, as I like to call her.

One of the only people who had ever seen through the makeup, the Prada, the GPAs, and the reputation. And never judged.

The only one who noticed through everything.

Who listened, even if it was just me getting frustrated over nothing.

The moment I blinked my tears away for what felt like the hundredth time, she pulled back just enough to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.

Her thumb grazed the side of my cheek. Gently.

Then she asked, quietly, gently—

"When was the last time you went to Dr. Sharanya, Ri?"

I froze, not knowing how to respond.

The question sat heavy in the air, like incense in a temple long abandoned, silent, but it was still there.

I couldn't lie.
Not to her.
Not to the person I can be my true self around.

My throat dried up. My lips moved.
But no words came out.

The silence that followed was worse than a scream.

She waited a beat, a silent one. Then spoke again, her voice soft but firm—

"You promised me, remember? That you wouldn't stop. That you'd keep going to therapy even when it got hard."

I looked down. Ashamed. Exposed.

"I know, yana," I whispered. "I just... I didn't want to talk about it anymore."

Her eyes didn't leave mine.

"Ri. You don't have to talk about it. But you do have to heal from it. And that doesn't happen by pretending you're okay."

That was the thing about my stepmom, Yana, or Riyana. She never judged. She never pushed.
She just... held space.

I nodded slowly. Voice cracked, but honest. Almost.

"Okay. I'll call her. Tomorrow."

Riyana exhaled, pulling me into another tight hug, that made me want to breakdown again.

"I'll drive you, if you want."

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself lean into that offer.
My mom would have said this too.

Let myself believe I could be soft, and messy, and human—and someone would still love me.

Not for the perfect grades. Or the savage comebacks. Or the flawless outfits.
Not for being Perfect.

Just for being.
For being who Raya Viren Arora truly was.

*****

The sun hit my face like it hated me.

And I hated it back. Very much.

I groaned, arm flinging out of the silk sheets like a corpse reanimating, like every other morning. The blackout curtains were barely open, just a peak, but somehow the light still found me. Rude.

I sat up, cracked neck, cracked knuckles, cracked soul.

But none of that mattered.

Because today?

Today I wasn't Ri, the broken girl who cried into her dead mother's pillow last night.
Like every other day, of course. Going to sleep all shattered and waking up as the worst case of narcissism.

Today, I was Raya Viren Arora again.
The fucking Standard. According to me, of course.

The moment my feet touched the plush rug, I stood up tall—chin high, back straight, heart locked.

No one needed to know the other version of me existed.

Ever.
Too Risky. Even if I craved to open up, to someone who cared enough to ask.

I strutted into the bathroom, flicked on the gold switches. The mirror lit up instantly—God-tier lighting only, obviously—and there she was.

Me.

Glossy-eyed. But still her.
Through all the thick and thin.
It was Her. Me.

My robe slipped off, and I stepped into the marble shower. Hot water pouring like a rebirth, Making me sigh, in ecstasy, and maybe something more. Like baptism for sinners.
Like a sin being drained off my body like dirt.

I let the steam wrap around me as I pumped two dollops of shampoo into my palm and started scrubbing away the past. It felt nice, yeah it did. Temporarily.
Because the thoughts are never on the surface, they are inside your hair, head, and skull.

My body moved on autopilot—lather, rinse, repeat. Vanilla body wash. Exfoliate. Shave. Moisturise. Perfume. It was like clockwork. Like muscle memory.
Of course it was a muscle memory. It happens when your life becomes a cycle.
Every. Fucking. day is a cycle. at least for me.

My room, My college, My car.
Room, College, Car.
Room, College, Car.

Like Clockwork.

I walked out, wrapped in a towel like it was a designer dress, water still dripping from my thighs. My playlist blared from the speaker—

"Boss Bitch" by Doja Cat.
Duh.

I opened my closet like it was the entrance to Narnia, except here we only stocked outfits that screamed A CEO's Daughter with Zero Tolerance for Mediocrity.

Black pleated mini skirt. Oversized white shirt. Thin Dior belt cinched at the waist. Gold hoops. A watch that costs more than most people's rent.

I slipped into my Louboutin's, sprayed my signature scent—Tom Ford's Lost Cherry, ironic as hell—and checked myself one last time in the mirror. Like always.

Flawless. Of course.

And Raventon University better be fucking ready.

I went downstairs to the living room and saw the Famous Criminal lawyer Mrs. Riyana Viren Arora, aka, my stepmom.

"Blessed with fashion, first thing in the morning."
I complimented, walking towards her with an exaggerated impressed look.

"Thanks for stating obvious, Ri"
She replied. 
And God help me; I love this woman.

I walked out of the huge front gates like I was stepping onto a runway, and not a driveway.

Sunglasses on.
AirPods in.
Energy? I have no fucking Idea.

The staff scattered out of my way like I was the final boss in a video game, and they were the extras. Which, honestly? I was.

And there it stood, my gorgeous black Koenigsegg Jesko Absolut, glinting under the morning sun like it knew it belonged to someone born to destroy egos for sport.

Finally mine to drive.
Alone.
No driver. No lectures. No Reyan buzzing like a fucking bee up my head.

After months of practically begging my control-freak of a stepbrother, Reyan Viren Arora, whom I like to call Rey. I had won. I could still hear his voice from yesterday echoing in my head:

"Fine, Ri. But you crash that car and I swear to God, I'll make you take the bus for life."

Yeah, yeah. Love you too, Rey.

I slid into the driver's seat like I belonged there—because I did, It's my fucking car, Dammit.

My nails tapped against the steering wheel, humming mindlessly, as I connected to Bluetooth and hit play.

Lana Del Rey.
Ultraviolence.

As the garage doors opened and I drove out of the estate, the sun hit the windshield, but my sunglasses stayed on. Obviously. I was a vision of rash driving, Driving recklessly, and fast. precisely why Rey had restricted me from driving.
He knows me too much, and not at all.

Raventon University was twenty minutes away.

Twenty minutes of Recharging.
Twenty minutes of being alone, which I was rarely allowed anymore.
Twenty minutes of pretending that the memory of my mother's blood hadn't clung to me all night like a silk dress I couldn't take off.

My phone started ringing, connected through the car.
Nyra.

"About time," I muttered, hitting accept.

"RAYYAAAAA, BITCH— I just saw your story. You left without picking me up?"
Her voice crackled through the speaker, already chaos and caffeine-laced madness. As if she herself didn't say she would drive herself o Raventon.

"Correction," I said. "I finally got clearance to drive alone. You think I was gonna waste my first solo ride picking up your ass from your gated hell?"

Nyra gasped, dramatic as always. "You ungrateful whore."

I smirked. "I missed you too."

"Also, Ultraviolence? Again? Baby, you good?"

"No," I answered honestly. "But I look like I am. Which is enough. Besides, Lana is for forever, not just when you feel"

"Yeah, whatever," She said, almost immediately, and then spoke again, her voice lowers this time, "Also, Dad and Nirvan are coming tomorrow, Mumma confirmed"

Silence.

"Hmm" I uttered, somehow, not knowing what to say anymore.

"What Hmm? You're supposed to give me tips on how to suicide painlessly, you know"
She said, her voice tense, and still joking. Thats Nyra for you.

"Urghh, Bye"
I said and cut the call, it wasn't rude to neither of us, we're just...
used to getting on each other's nerves at this point.

*****

"Where the fuck is this bitch?" I whispered to myself, checking the time again and again. The seat next to me was empty, Nyra's to be more precise.

One thing about Nyra- She is never late. If there was a flood throughout the city and I asked for her help, that bitch would come surfing, just in time. All for that punctuality she loves so much.

2 minutes passed.
Still empty.

I finally decided to call her and ask what hell had broken loose that she wouldn't pick up my calls since the morning after I reached class.

 Surprisingly enough, Nyra picks up the call mid-sigh.

"Where the fuck are you?"
I muttered under my breath, keeping my voice low in the lecture hall.

Nyra's voice crackles through the speaker. But this time—it's barely a whisper.
What the hell happened to her.

Whispering. Furious. Hushed.

"Don't talk. Just listen. I'm in the backseat of the car. That psycho is in the front."

My brows draw together.

"Psycho? Wait—he came? Now?" I say, knowing who she's talking about the moment I heard the word Psycho.

"Yes. Nirvan. The man himself. and that fucking leather steering wheel."

I let out a small humorous chuckle

"You think this is funny? There's a sociopath and a potential serial killer in the same car as your best friend, and you're laughing-"

"Ok sorry- Sorry..Calm down, By the way, He's driving you?" I say, My voice unusually flat.

"No. I'm spiritually levitating there while praying he crashes into a pole. YES, Raya, he's driving me. My daddy dearest practically threw me into the car before I could make an excuse. I'm literally whispering right now so this psycho doesn't hear me talking about him."

"Damn"

"Ri, what the fuck? I am fuming right now and all you have is a Damn. Do you have any idea what it feels like sitting silently in a confined, locked vehicle with a man who once threw your phone out of a moving car because your ringtone annoyed him?" She said, audibly furious. Expected.

"I... don't?"

"I'm praying I die before we get to the parking lot. If I hang up abruptly, assume he found out I was talking and buried my phone. Or me."
I chuckled, Low, under my breathe.

"You're dramatic."

"I'm traumatised. There's a difference. I'll be there in ten. Bye."

Nyra cuts the call abruptly, and I... Sigh.
I sigh looking at Nyra's empty seat. My heart racing. 

"Well... Fuck it."

I say and shift my focus back to the lecture.

The lecture ended.

Finally.
After 1 agonizing hour that felt like an eternity.

I stood, cracked my knuckles, and stretched like I hadn't just spent the last hour pretending not to replay Nyra's psychodrama cab confession on loop. I mean, just how bad could he be?

Where the fuck was she? How was she?

And then I saw her.

Storming across the far edge of the courtyard—black boots stomping, tote bag slipping, messy hair, dangerous expression. Looking like a rich mom who just got called in the principal's office because of something her kid did.

Nyra.

And saying that she looked done would be a fucking understatement.
With men, I mean, who isn't?
With Raventon. With the fucking air. Hopefully not me.

I was already halfway toward her when I spotted the car behind her.

That sleek black one. Expensive. Out of place. Parked like it belonged there anyway.
A fucking Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire Droptail.

And next to it—

Someone leaned against the hood.

Tall.
Motionless.
Black shirt, black jeans. Nothing flashy, complete opposite of the car that he stood against. But that posture—casual, almost lazy—radiated control. Like he could collapse the whole world and still stay calm about it. And God help me, but he was Fucking handsome. He looked like the type to prove a point. The point? God does have its favourites.

Sharp jaw. Hair messy, but like it was styled by God himself. Full lips. Heavy-lidded eyes. Cold, Calculated and curious. Not boyish. Not soft. Not fake.

It was the kind of face that didn't smile unless it meant something.

The kind of face you don't forget.
Even if you want to.
Especially when you're alone at night, thighs pressed together, trying not to think about it.

And then—his eyes lifted.

And they met mine.

I froze.

He was far, but somehow it didn't matter.
Because the way he was looking at me? and 

Like he'd seen me before.
Like he'd seen me a lot of times. 
Like he knows something I don't.
Like I was a memory he had replayed one too many times.

But I didn't know him.

I was sure.

I had no idea who he was. Of course.
And yet I couldn't look away.
He looked familiar, damn familiar.

His face didn't move.
No smile. No scowl.
Just... blank.

But it wasn't empty.

It was loud.
Not in sound. In energy. In the chaos clawing behind that still expression.
Like his mind was a battlefield, and I was standing at the center of it, completely unaware.

My heartbeat stuttered.

I blinked.

He didn't.

I looked away first.

Of course I did.

"Bitch. Do not ask how the ride was. I'm seconds away from throwing myself into that fountain," Nyra said, finally close enough to grab my arm.

I nodded, still distracted. Because what do I even say to her? No Nyra, I was fucking distracted by your elder brothers face card. Oh, yeah. The one you hate. Cool, right?

Because even as Nyra ranted, I could feel it.

That stare. Toe curling.

Still on me.
Unmoving. Motionless.

Somewhere behind me,
he hadn't looked away.

≿━━━━༺ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ༻━━━━≿

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