The palace was eerily quiet at night, the only sounds being the faint rustling of leaves outside and the occasional creak of the old wooden doors. Myra stood at the threshold of Ranvijay's study, her fingers clutching a small note that had been slipped under her door hours ago.
Left side. Second drawer. Ranvijay's study.
The words burned in her mind, sending shivers down her spine.
Who had sent this message?
She had seen him again. The mysterious man. A fleeting shadow disappearing at the far end of the corridor. It had been too brief to call out, too quick to chase. But she knew—he had been watching her, just like before.
And now, this message.
Her heart pounded as she stepped inside, careful to close the door behind her. The study was vast, lined with tall bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. A dim lamp cast golden light over the heavy wooden desk in the center, its surface scattered with documents, ink bottles, and a glass of unfinished whiskey—Ranvijay's. The faint scent of his cologne still lingered in the air, a mix of spice and something undeniably him.
She hesitated for a moment, her conscience warring with her curiosity. Was she truly about to search through his things?
But then she remembered the message. Someone wanted her to find something. And if it had anything to do with her past, with her mother… she had to know.
Taking a deep breath, she moved swiftly toward the desk. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the drawer.
Left side. Second drawer.
With a quiet inhale, she pulled it open.
Inside, she found a neat stack of papers—old contracts, letters, and official documents bearing the royal insignia. At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. But as she carefully sifted through them, her fingers brushed against something thin and glossy.
A photograph.
Her heart stopped.
Slowly, she picked it up, turning it toward the light.
Her breath caught in her throat.
It was her.
A younger version of herself—no older than six or seven—standing beside a woman with warm eyes and a gentle smile. Her mother.
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the photo as emotions crashed into her—shock, confusion, and an overwhelming sense of longing.
She had never seen this picture before.
Her mother looked so… alive. So radiant. Her hand rested protectively on Myra's small shoulder, their smiles frozen in time.
Why was this here?
This wasn't something that should have been in Ranvijay's possession. It was a piece of her past, a memory she never even knew existed.
Did he know about this all along?
A bitter taste formed in her mouth. Had Ranvijay been keeping this from her? Hiding something about her mother?
Her mind raced with possibilities.
Maybe he had simply found it. Maybe he had meant to give it to her.
But then… why keep it locked away?
Before she could think further, a sound echoed from outside the study—a soft but deliberate footstep.
Someone was coming.
Myra's stomach clenched in panic.
She shoved the photograph inside her sleeve, her pulse hammering as she quickly shut the drawer. Her eyes darted to the door just as the handle began to turn.
She barely had time to step away from the desk before the door opened.
And there, standing in the dim light, was Ranvijay.
His sharp gaze immediately found hers, dark eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, commanding.
Myra forced herself to stay calm, pressing the photograph against her wrist to keep it hidden. "I… I couldn't sleep."
Ranvijay's gaze swept over her, as if searching for a lie. His expression was unreadable, but something in his stance made her uneasy.
"I see," he finally said. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "And that led you to my study?"
She swallowed hard. "I was just… looking."
"For what?"
Myra's heart pounded. She couldn't tell him. Not yet. Not when she wasn't sure what this meant.
"For answers," she murmured, choosing her words carefully.
Ranvijay studied her for a long moment before stepping closer. "And did you find them?"
Her fingers curled tightly around the hidden photo.
Not yet. But she would.
A tense silence stretched between them. Myra could feel the weight of Ranvijay's gaze, burning into her as if he could see through her every lie, every hesitation.
She lowered her head, afraid that if she met his eyes for too long, she would falter. "I should go," she whispered, taking a step toward the door.
But before she could move past him, his hand reached out, catching her wrist.
"Myra." His voice was deep, laced with something she couldn't quite decipher.
She stiffened. "Let me go, Ranvijay."
His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm, preventing her escape. "Why do I feel like you're hiding something?"
Her pulse quickened. Did he suspect?
She forced herself to breathe evenly. "You always think I am hiding something."
"Because you do." His tone was sharper now, but there was something else—concern. "You are standing in my study, late at night, looking like you just saw a ghost."
She did.
Her mother's ghost.
"I…" she struggled for words, then exhaled slowly. "I just needed some air. That's all."
Ranvijay didn't look convinced, but after a long moment, he released her wrist. "Then go back to your room."
She didn't wait. Myra turned quickly and walked past him, her heart pounding with every step. She half-expected him to stop her again, to demand more answers.
But he didn't.
And yet, as she reached the door, his voice cut through the quiet.
"Myra."
She hesitated, her fingers trembling on the handle.
"When you're ready to tell me the truth…" His voice was unreadable. "I'll be waiting."
Myra bit her lip and pushed the door open, stepping out before she let the storm in her chest show.
She needed to uncover the truth.
And she needed to do it before Ranvijay found out.