The music from the ballroom felt like it was coming from miles away, muffled by the sudden, suffocating pressure in my chest. Shreya didn't just walk away, she marched toward the center of the terrace like a woman walking toward her own execution. I followed, the black silk of my saree rustling against the cold marble, my heart hammering a rhythm of pure, unadulterated dread.

"Shreya, wait!" I called out, my voice cracking under the weight of the tension. "Why are you saying this? What did I do?"