“Radhika! Hurry up, we’re getting late!” my father called from downstairs—for the fourth time. Because apparently, if we didn’t reach the wedding venue exactly on time, the earth might tilt off its axis.

Today was my cousin Priya’s wedding. Yes, Priya. The golden girl of the family. The one who spoke like she was always in a beauty pageant and smiled like it was rehearsed in front of a mirror.

Do we share a sisterly bond?

Well… if by ‘sisterly’ you mean exchanging passive-aggressive compliments and pretending to be thrilled for each other’s success—then yes, absolutely.

Don’t get me wrong—I don’t hate her. No, hate takes effort. I prefer indifference sprinkled with polite sarcasm. It’s healthier.

We just… weren’t the kind of cousins who shared deep secrets, giggled over inside jokes, or called each other “soul sisters” on Instagram.

Nope.

Ours was more of a civil, I’ll-smile-for-the-family-photo kind of bond.

She was sugar-coated smiles, curated elegance, and rehearsed empathy.

And me?

I was just going for the biryani.

Besides, it’s her big day. She’s marrying some high-profile businessman or CEO or whatever. Good for her. I hope he’s ready for designer drama and perfectly filtered emotions.

Now, if I could just survive this day without rolling my eyes out of my head, that would be great.

I picked up my phone and clutch and started walking downstairs. But before I could reach the last step, my phone buzzed.

Priya.

I answered with a sigh already forming. “What now?”

“I forgot my engagement ring in my room,” she said, clearly panicking. “Please get it. And be quick!”

I didn’t bother replying. Just turned around and rushed back upstairs.

---

Inside her room, it no longer resembled a bedroom. It looked like a scene from a disaster movie. Makeup scattered across the dresser, jewelry tangled on the floor, clothes tossed around like a tornado had passed through.

I stepped in carefully, dodging a rogue stiletto, and began my search.

The drawers—empty.

The nightstand—nothing.

Finally, I opened the cupboard.

Found it.

The ring lay in a small velvet box pushed to the back corner. But as I reached for it, a few papers slipped out and fluttered to the ground.

I bent down, ready to stack them back without a second thought—until something caught my eye.

"Pregnancy Report."

I froze.

Slowly, I picked it up, my eyes scanning the words once... then twice... then a third time.

Positive.

Each time, the result stayed the same.

No mistake.

No misunderstanding.

My heart thudded in my chest as a wave of disbelief washed over me.

What the hell was Priya hiding?

Without wasting another second, I tucked the papers securely into the waistband of my lehenga and covered them with my dupatta, making sure they were well hidden.

Expression blank, I turned, stepped out of the chaos, and walked downstairs—each step heavier than the last.

-------

As we pulled into the venue, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

On the way to Venue I had asked my father about what kind of family Priya was marrying. And that's where I got to know that the man has a child.

A child. A two-year-old.

And Priya? With that report hidden in her room?

---

I walked straight to the bridal room, my heels clicking against the polished floor. My heartbeat thudded louder with every step.

I opened the door without knocking.

Inside, Priya sat before the mirror in her heavily embroidered red lehenga, jewelry sparkling, face serene as makeup artists added final touches. The picture-perfect bride.

“I want to talk to you, Priya,” I said evenly.

She barely acknowledged me. “Hmm? Can it wait?”

I stepped further in, voice sharp now. “Alone.”

That got her attention. The makeup artists paused, then awkwardly gathered their things and slipped out.

The moment the door shut, Priya turned toward me, irritated. “What now, Radhika? What is it this time—”

She froze mid-sentence as I held out the pregnancy report.

Her eyes widened. A shadow of panic crossed her face before she masked it with indignation. “What the hell, Radhika! Who told you to go through my stuff?”

I ignored the question. My voice was steady, controlled. “Is this true?”

She crossed her arms, defensive. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when you’re hiding this from a man who’s marrying you thinking you’ll be a mother to his son.”

Priya laughed dryly. “Oh please. He’s not marrying me for love. Nor do I . He needs a mother for his child, and I get the Malhotra name, luxury, status. Everyone wins.”

My stomach turned. “Everyone? You call that winning? What about the child, Priya? That little boy who’s going to trust you, look up to you?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s two. Any nanny or maid can handle him.”

I stared at her, speechless for a moment.

“You don’t deserve to be part of that child’s life,” I whispered.

The silence hung between us like a blade.

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked out of the room—my decision made.