Chapter 7: Reclaiming Power and Sweet Revenge

I didn’t open the door for a while—the knocks echoed, but I stayed silent, curled up on my bed, waiting for the noise to fade. Finally, it was quiet.

I peeked through the peephole, made sure the coast was clear, then dragged all the bags inside—kept what I liked, sold the rest on Flipkart. Heartbreak funding my next shopping spree, maybe.

Seeing the boys fall out was justice enough. I was busy making money, getting my nails done, reading tarot, updating Instagram with my bankrupt heiress comeback—no time for their drama.

But the bruise on my arm reminded me—I wasn’t ready to forgive or forget. I’m vengeful, not weak.

Kabir called. His concern was genuine. "Are you okay?" he asked. I sniffled, "I’m tired, can’t sleep. Kabir, don’t hang up—keep me company, na? Sorry for troubling you."

He was still basking in my ex’s downfall. Before sleeping, I mumbled, "Good night, Kabir." His sigh was a balm for my bruised heart.

From that day, Kabir started reaching out—morning messages, memes, check-in calls. I let him chase me. No initiative, no refusal, no guilt.

A week later, Arjun called from a new number—voice stiff, wanting to return my things. I let him talk, unimpressed. Men always come crawling back when you stop caring.

I blocked the number. Sure enough, Arjun showed up at my door, all dressed up, cologne heavy, watch shining. He handed back a pair of sunglasses I’d once gifted him. I tossed them in the dustbin, ready to close the door.

He blocked it, "Priya, don’t you have anything to say? You’re just cutting things off? My mum asked about you. Come to my parents’ house for dinner tomorrow. Let’s talk face to face."

"Are you sure you want to say it face to face?"

He nodded. I agreed, then closed the door—no looking back.