Meghna's smirk faltered for a moment before she regained her composure. "You're both fools," she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. "But you're right. It's time for us to move on. The game is over."

Randheer and I exchanged a look, the weight of our decision heavy in the air between us. We had to leave this twisted web of deceit behind, to find a way to live with the pain we had caused Meera. We turned on our heels and marched back to our suite, the whispers of the hotel fading into the background.

Once inside, we packed our bags in silence, the only sound the rustling of fabric and the snaps of zippers. The room that had once been filled with passion and secrets now felt like a prison cell, each item we touched a painful reminder of what we had lost.

Randheer broke the silence first, his voice low and solemn. "We need to go our separate ways," he said, his eyes avoiding mine. "We need to find ourselves, make amends for what we've done."

I nodded, the gravity of his words sinking in. "I'll take a transfer to Kerala," I said, the decision coming to me like a lifeline in the storm. "I need to get as far away from here as possible."

Randheer's eyes searched mine, looking for a hint of regret or hesitation, but all he found was a steely resolve. "I'll start my own business," he said, his voice firm. "I want nothing to do with the family name or the empire we've built on lies."

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between us. We had once been inseparable, bound by blood and a shared legacy, but now we were tearing ourselves apart at the seams.

Rajveer took the transfer to Kerala, seeking refuge in the lush greenery and tranquil backwaters that stood in stark contrast to the treacherous sands of our hometown. The thought of leaving the only home he had ever known weighed heavily on his shoulders, but the need to escape the toxic web of our family's deceit was stronger. He hoped that the serenity of the Southern lands would cleanse his soul, allowing him to start anew and perhaps find a way to atone for the sins of his past.

Randheer, on the other hand, threw himself into the chaos of entrepreneurship. He had always had a sharp mind for business, and the desire to prove himself without the shadow of our family's name looming over him fueled his every move. His startup grew from a mere spark of an idea into a raging bonfire, consuming his every waking moment. It was his way of screaming into the void, a declaration of independence that echoed through the hollow corridors of the family's abandoned mansion.

Thakurain Sunaina, our mother, was a woman unaccustomed to failure. The news of our rebellion, our rejection of the very fabric of our lineage, hit her like a sledgehammer. Her once regal posture now stooped with the weight of disappointment and anger. She had raised us to be the pillars of the empire she had built with her own hands, not to watch it crumble because of a fleeting infatuation with a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.

But the universe, it seems, has a twisted sense of humor. Just as we had managed to cut the strings that bound us to her, she was dealt a hand she never saw coming. A heart attack, swift and merciless, took her in the dead of night. The news of her passing reached Rajveer in Kerala, where he was trying to build a new life from the ashes of the old. It was a strange mix of emotions that washed over me—grief, guilt, and relief. He had lost the woman who had given me life, but he had also escaped the prison she had so carefully constructed for them.

The call came in the early morning, the phone's shrill ring piercing the serene quiet of the Kerala backwaters. He stared at the screen for a long moment before finally answering, his voice thick with sleep. His auntie's sobs filled his ear, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Mother's gone, Rajveer. She didn't make it." He felt the world tilt, but there was no sadness, no pain. Just a cold, hard numbness.

Her illness had been a slow burn, a creeping shadow that had consumed her over the months since their last encounter. Yet, he had felt nothing—no anxiety, no fear, not even pity. It was as if she had already ceased to exist in his heart. The woman who had once been his whole world, the very essence of love and warmth, had become a specter of disappointment and anger.

Thakurain Sunaina had been a force of nature, a woman who had built an empire from dust and had ruled it with an iron fist. But the trauma that ravaged her mind had taken more than her strength; it had stolen the light from her eyes, her two sons. Leaving behind a mere shell of the woman he had once revered. The knowledge of her decline was a dull throb at the back of his mind, a constant reminder of the gulf that yawned between them.

"You have connected a wrong number," he said, his voice cold and detached. "I lost my mother very long ago." He ended the call and stared at the phone for a long moment, his hand shaking slightly. It was a lie, but it was also the truth. The woman who had raised him, who had loved him, who had been the center of his world—that woman had disappeared the day she had chosen deceit over her own children's happiness.

The news of her death brought no tears to his eyes, only a strange emptiness that echoed the hollowness he felt within. He had not seen her in the months since their confrontation, being week he ingoned and just kept on focusing on himself.

Randheer took the call with the same cold detachment. "Mother passed away," his aunt's voice quivered over the line, her grief palpable even through the static. "The funeral will be in three days."

He nodded solemnly, his hand tightening around the phone. "Thank you for informing me, Auntie," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "But I don't think it's appropriate for me to attend. You know how she felt about me leaving."

Randheer's aunt sighed heavily, her sadness palpable through the line. "I understand," she said, though the disappointment in her voice was clear. "But she was your mother, Randheer. And she loved you."

He knew it was true, but the love they had shared had been twisted and corrupted by her relentless pursuit of power. He had watched her crush anyone who stood in her way, including her own daughter. The thought of returning to that toxic environment was almost unbearable.

But the voice on the other end of the line was insistent. "Please, Randheer," his aunt begged. "For the sake of the family. We need to stand together in this time of mourning."

Randheer closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a heavy stone. "I won't be visiting Auntie," he said firmly, the finality in his voice leaving no room for argument. "But I will pray for her soul to rest in peace."

He knew it was the right thing to say, the respectful thing to do. But the truth was, the thought of returning to the place where their mother's shadow still loomed was more than he could bear. The mansion was a mausoleum of memories, each room a shrine to the woman they had once loved and feared in equal measure. He had built his new life on the ashes of his past, and returning to lay her to rest felt like inviting that fear back in.

Randheer, on the other hand, was torn. The empire had been her legacy, and now it was his responsibility. Yet, the very thought of stepping into her shoes filled him with dread. He had chosen his own path, built his own kingdom from the ground up, free of the taint of their mother's sins. But as the eldest son, the heir to the throne, could he truly walk away from it all? The weight of the family name sat heavy on his shoulders, a crown of thorns that threatened to pierce his skin with every step he took.