Chapter 1 Justice For Me

"Careful, Miss. That little thing could hurt someone."

His voice was maddeningly calm, laced with an insolent ease that didn't match the gravity of the situation. Too calm for a man who had a blade at his throat. Arnav's tone bore the audacity of someone used to control, as though the threat of death. The man sat comfortably in his leather chair, his back exposed to a woman who held his life in her trembling hand with a folding knife poised close enough to draw blood. Her palm slick with nervous sweat, trying hard not to let the tremor in her fingers betray her desperation.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Raellyn snapped, her tone cutting through the thick silence that enveloped the room.

She pushed the blade an inch closer to his neck. Her hands might have trembled, but her voice did not. It was cold, sharp-much like the weapon she wielded.

"Listen to me, Sir Arnav," she hissed. "I didn't come here for pleasantries. I came to demand justice. Your brother committed a vile act-one that destroyed me. I want full accountability. I want consequences for the sin he committed."

She glanced briefly at the nameplate on the polished desk, ensuring that the man she was threatening was indeed the rising star director who had been gracing industry headlines, just to confirm she wasn't mistaken. She wasn't. She had the right man.

The arrogance she'd imagined him to possess was not exaggerated. If anything, it was worse in person.

But Arnav remained unbothered. His posture didn't shift. He didn't flinch. His shoulders remained relaxed, as if her words were nothing more than lines from a poorly-written play. He reclining in his chair as if this were merely a negotiation, not a potential hostage situation. The more he remained silent, the deeper her fury sank into her bones. It was this exact smugness that made Raellyn's jaw clench. She would not allow him to make a mockery of her pain.

Without warning, she pressed the blade forward. The edge grazed his skin. A thin, red line appeared, slow and deliberate. His first taste of danger.

He didn't even blink.

"Justice, you say?" he said finally, his tone lazy, bored. He tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "Then put down the knife and take a seat."

He gestured toward a high-backed chair across from him. The gesture was almost gentlemanly-infuriatingly so. He acted like he was hosting a guest, not fending off an armed intruder. His face betrayed not a flicker of fear.

Raellyn hesitated. Her legs were trembling, and the weight of what she was doing finally started to press down on her like a crushing tide. She had never done anything like this before. This reckless act was a desperate gamble, a final card thrown in a game where she had nothing left to lose.

Carefully, cautiously, she lowered the blade but did not let go. She stepped around the desk and sank onto the edge of the chair. She kept her posture stiff and alert as if reminding him that this ceasefire was temporary. Her fingers still wrapped tightly around the handle of her only leverage. A truce granted only for the sake of conversation.

This wasn't surrender. It was strategy.

"Now then," Arnav said, folding his fingers beneath his chin, "tell me: what exactly is the horrific crime I'm accused of that would justify you barging into my office like a deranged lunatic?"

In response Raellyn didn't flinch at the insult. Instead, she reached into her coat, pulled out a folded newspaper, and slammed it down onto his pristine oak desk. The oak surface, smooth and polished, allowed the paper to slide effortlessly across to him.

"The headline," she said coldly, "details the engagement between your brother and Miss Sylvia. That's what this is about" Her lips twisted in disdain at the woman's name. Just saying it made her stomach churn. Sylvia, the woman who had stolen everything. The woman who stood smiling in the photograph next to Arsene as if she'd won a prize.

If only she could spit on the photo. If only she could tear it in half.

Hoping she had Sylvia been present, Raellyn might've spat at her feet.

After all, what woman wouldn't rage when another woman stole the man she loved-and claimed him with a wedding ring?

Arnav leaned forward, amused, predatory. His chin still rested on his fingers, and his gaze danced mockingly over her features as if studying a peculiar insect. If anything, he looked vaguely amused.

"And what about this disturbs you so deeply?" he asked smoothly.

Her fists clenched. Every muscle in her body screamed with frustration. "Because Arsene-your precious little brother-was my lover." she snarled. The words fell from her mouth like broken glass. "We were together for over a year. A week ago, he asked me to marry him."

The words erupted from her mouth like fire, her voice trembling not with fear, but fury. She rose from the chair in a snap, causing its legs to shriek against the floor. She stood, pacing now. Her legs were shaking less-adrenaline had taken over.

"And then he vanished. No messages. No calls. Nothing." Her voice cracked briefly. She swallowed it down. "And then I see this-" she gestured to the newspaper, "like everything we shared was nothing but a lie."

Arnav's gaze sharpened, and for a moment he said nothing. His voice dropped low, nearly a whisper. "Say that again."

Raellyn faltered. Something in the gravity of his tone unsettled her. But she stood her ground. "Arsene and I have been together for a year. A week ago, he asked me to marry him. And this-" she reached into her coat pocket "-is proof of that promise."

From within, she produced a silver pendant. It gleamed softly under the office light, delicate yet undeniable. She tossed it across the table. It skidded across the wood but was caught just before falling off the edge by Arnav's hand.

His brow twitched as he examined the pendant, the chain coiling in his fingers like a snake.

"He gave you this?" he asked, voice unreadable.

"Yes," Raellyn answered, her voice firm. "He said it was a token of his love. a token of his commitment. A symbol that our hearts were united. That we were bound together by love. And now, just days after making that promise, he vanishes without a word-only to appear in headlines beside another woman."

Her hands were trembling again. The knife was no longer pointed, but it remained clutched in her hand like a talisman of desperation.

"So tell me, Sir Arnav-what is your brother, if not a fraud? And what does that make you, standing there in your expensive suit, protecting him?"

Arnav took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, and stared at her.

"You really expect sympathy from me?" he asked coolly. "After threatening me with a weapon?"

"I expect decency," she snapped. "Something your family seems to lack."

He chuckled. The sound was soft and scornful.

"And this is what the poor teach their children?" he asked coolly. "To come barging into offices with weapons when their hearts are broken? You think this is how you'll earn respect? Or money, perhaps? Pathetic."

His words were knives, cruel and deliberately condescending. Raellyn's eyes burned with unshed tears, but she didn't let them fall. She would not let him break her spirit.

"Oh, I see," she said bitterly. "Is this your defense, Director? Insult my background and reduce my pain to petty class warfare? Do you truly believe that being poor means I have no right to justice?"

Arnav's gaze hardened. It seemed he hadn't expected such sharpness in return.

"And what now?" he asked, voice low. "Do you still intend to kill me with your little blade, Miss Raell?"

She ignored the way his eyes lingered too long on her form. "If I must tear you apart to get what I deserve-so be it."

Arnav leaned back, finally moving from his casual pose. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk, as if testing her resolve with every beat. Raellyn could feel him dissecting her, looking for weakness.

"What did you hope to accomplish? That I'd call off the wedding? That I'd drag my brother back to you like a lost dog?"

Raellyn's hands tightened. "Do not mock me."

"I'm not mocking," he said, leaning forward again. "I'm simply fascinated. You risked everything-for what? A man who clearly doesn't want you?"

His words hit harder than the cold edge of steel. Raellyn's throat tightened. But she refused to cry. Not here. Not in front of him. She knew this encounter was reckless humiliating even. But what was left for her to lose?

She had loved Arsene with a naive kind of trust. She had believed his soft promises, his declarations of forever. She had let herself dream. "Your brother made promises," she whispered. "He made me believe I was his future. And now I'm the one being treated like trash."

And now, here she sat, accused of desperation. But wasn't it desperation that made the world move? That gave birth to revolutions? She may have been poor, but her pride-her heart-had value.

Arnav studied her in silence, his eyes calculating. He tapped the pendant thoughtfully against his knuckle.

Finally, he spoke, his voice as casual as it was cruel.

"Tell me," he asked after a beat, "are you pregnant with my brother's child?"