The Grand Ballroom of the Taj Mahal Palace glittered with crystal and gold.
Aarohi stood at the entrance in a deep green gown that matched the ring on her finger. Her hair was swept up in an elaborate style. Her diamonds were real. Her smile was a weapon.
Kabir stood beside her, his hand on her back. The touch was light, professional, the touch of a man performing for an audience. But she felt the warmth of his palm through the silk of her gown, and she remembered a time when his hand had rested there because he wanted it to.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready."
They walked into the ballroom together.
The crowd parted for them. Heads turned. Whispers followed. The perfect couple. The billionaire and his bride. The fairy tale that everyone wanted to believe in.
Aarohi smiled at the right people. She accepted champagne from silver trays. She laughed at jokes that were not funny. She performed the role she had been born to play.
And she watched for Karan Khurana.
She found him near the bar, surrounded by a group of young socialites. He held a glass of scotch and laughed at something one of the women said. His eyes scanned the room as he laughed, missing nothing.
Aarohi excused herself from Kabir's side. She walked toward the bar with her champagne flute in her hand and her smile in place.
"Mr. Khurana," she said. "We met at the Dixit dinner. I do not know if you remember me."
Karan's eyes lit up. "Mrs. Raichand. Of course I remember you." He stepped away from the socialites and took her hand. "You are the most interesting woman in this room. I have been hoping to see you again."
"Interesting? Most people call me quiet."
"Most people are fools." He released her hand but stayed close. "I heard about the hospital bombing. The way you took charge. The way you saved lives." His voice dropped. "That was not the work of a quiet woman."
Aarohi tilted her head. "What do you think it was the work of?"
Karan smiled. "A woman who is hiding something. A woman who is more dangerous than she appears." He raised his glass. "I admire dangerous women."
He walked away before she could respond.
Aarohi stood by the bar with her champagne flute in her hand and her heart pounding in her chest.
He knew. Or suspected. Or was fishing for information.
Either way, Karan Khurana was more dangerous than Vikram had suggested.
Kabir found her on the terrace twenty minutes later. She stood by the railing, looking out at the city lights, her champagne flute empty in her hand.
"He knows something," she said without turning around.
"Karan?"
"He looked at me like he could see through the mask. Like he knew there was something underneath."
Kabir moved to stand beside her. His shoulder brushed hers.
"Maybe he does know something. Or maybe he is trying to rattle you." He looked at her profile. "Can he rattle you?"
She turned to face him. The city lights reflected in her eyes.
"I have faced the Council. I have faced Vikram Mehta. I have faced death more times than I can count." Her voice was steady. "One politician with a pretty smile does not rattle me."
Kabir's lips curved. It was not quite a smile, but it was close.
"Good," he said. "Because we are just getting started."