The champagne tasted like ashes on Priya Singh’s tongue.
She stood at the edge of her own engagement party, a crystal flute trembling between her fingers, and watched Mumbai’s glittering elite toast her destruction. The Oberoi’s ballroom dripped with gold leaf and betrayal. Every diamond choker and hand stitched sherwani, every magnolia scented centerpiece, had been paid for by the man who’d spent half a decade systematically dismantling her family’s name. Her father had wept in the car. Her mother hadn’t looked at her once.
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