—VEDANT—
The glass door was one-way. Sohini couldn't see me — but I saw her. Crystal clear.
That plain yellow saree, her hair tied up carelessly — she looked more beautiful than ever. And that vermilion on her forehead, the gold band on her finger, the soft smile on her lips — it screamed one thing.
She was happily married.
My fists clenched, the years of agony and betrayal tightening in my chest like a vice. I had burned for this moment. Sleepless nights. Bottles drained. Assets sold. Hustling until my bones cracked. I had set myself on fire just to get here.
For revenge.
I was going to wipe that smile off her face. I was going to break her the exact way she broke me — then walked away like I was nothing.
"Sir, I've printed the promotion documents you asked for," her department supervisor entered, breaking my thoughts.
"Add a line," I said coldly, fingers interlocked with control I didn't feel. "If the employee chooses to leave before the cooling period of three years, they'll pay a penalty of fifty lakhs."
"Sir?" Her brows lifted, stunned by the absurdity of the clause.
I turned to her, voice steely. "Yes. Any problem?"
She blinked rapidly, then shook her head. "No, sir."
She began reading out the updated clauses:
– The new executive secretary must report directly to the CEO and comply with any and all orders given.– Tasks may include anything that pleases the CEO — fetching coffee, arranging lunch, accompanying meetings, attending parties, functioning like a shadow.– The secretary must be the first to arrive and the last to leave.– Any failure to perform duties may incur penalties.– Questioning the CEO's authority is strictly prohibited.– If the employee resigns before the three-year period ends, a fine of fifty lakhs must be paid immediately.
"Perfect," I said, satisfaction curling in my chest. "I want Sohini Das in this position. No one else. Make sure she signs it."
She hesitated, uncertain. Her face flickered with doubt.
"Don't worry," I said smoothly, sliding a black cheque across the table, "you'll be rewarded for your loyalty."
She paused only a moment before her fingers closed greedily around the cheque.
"Sir, it's my pleasure," she smiled, then walked out like a dog that'd just been fed.
And then it was just me again.
Sohini. My Sohini. So innocent, so clueless, standing there.
She really thought she could just walk out of my life, marry someone else, and live happily ever after?
Not after what she did to me. Not anymore.
"Vedant."
My name slipped from her lips in a breathless whisper — like it was a secret she wasn't supposed to say out loud.
"Is that how you address your supervisor? Your boss?" I asked, my voice laced with venom.
"Sorry, sir." Her head dipped low. I noticed her fingers trembling, a bead of sweat trickling down her neck.
"Take this file," I said, tossing it to the floor. Pages spilled across the polished floor like a challenge. "Type every word. Then print ten copies. Each copy must be individually typed — no shortcuts."
She knelt and picked it up.
"You don't leave until it's done. Even if it's past ten. Or twelve. I don't care."
I leaned back in my chair, eyes locked on her.
She clenched her jaw. Her eyes burned with rage, but she said nothing.
"Alright, sir," she snapped, her voice stiff with hate as she turned and left for her desk.
I watched her through the CCTV feed on my laptop. She sat there alone, typing furiously — everyone else had already gone home. Just her.
Just us.
By evening, I stepped out of my cabin.
"Mrs. Banerjee," I called. She shot up from her seat, eyes lowered.
"How far along are you?"
"Almost done, sir," she replied quietly.
"Good. And how do you plan to get home to your husband tonight?" I asked — not out of concern, but curiosity.
"I'll manage, sir. Not that it's any of your business." She flashed a tight, fake smile.
That smile made me hate her more.
"It is my business. Leave before ten. You can finish the rest at home." I turned and walked away.
Later, inside my black Mercedes, I watched her from across the street. She stood alone, waiting.
"Sir, are we ready to leave?" my chauffeur asked for the third time.
"Wait. Stop the car near the young lady."
But before he could, an old black scooty pulled up in front of her. She smiled at the rider — softly, gently — and climbed on behind him.
Her husband. Mr. Ritwik Banerjee.
"Follow them," I ordered. The driver didn't even flinch.
They stopped in front of a small, single-storey house with a garden that was too big for its walls.
"So this is where you live now?" I murmured under my breath.
"Take me back."
By the time I reached home, it was already late. The clock read past midnight, and Mom was still sitting on the couch, waiting for me.
"Mom? You're not asleep yet?" I asked, slipping off my coat.
"Waiting for you," she said quietly. "Where were you this late?"
"Work," I lied without flinching.
She sighed — a long, tired, helpless sigh. "When will you let go of that girl, Vedant?" Her eyes locked onto mine. "She's not worth it. Don't chase a ghost. She was never yours to begin with."
I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head. "Me? Chasing her? No, Mom — I'm taking my revenge. I'll make her apologize to you for everything she did to us."
"Vedant," she said, her voice gentler now. "I'm your mother. I can see right through you. You're still in love with that girl — the one who ruined our family."
"You're wrong," I muttered. "I'm not in love with Sohini."
"Then come back with me to the States," she said. "Let this go. I don't want apologies. I don't want revenge."
I looked at her for a long moment. My jaw tightened. How could I walk away — just like that?
"No. I can't leave," I said firmly.
She didn't argue. Just stood, eyes heavy with disappointment, and walked silently into her room.
The next morning when I entered my cabin, she was already there. Sohini.
Dressed in a red saree. Just like before — so many memories hit me all at once.
"Good morning, sir," she said softly.
I nodded. "Where's my coffee?"
"Vedant —" She bit her lower lip. "I mean — Sir. I —"
"Speak up. I don't have the whole day to waste on you," I snapped.
"I want to resign," she said, then placed a folded paper onto my desk.
Resignation.
Oh no, Sohini. You don't get to walk away this time.
You don't get to make it that easy.