For a heartbeat, Romy did not recognize the man standing between him and Suresh.
Monty's shoulders were squared like a soldier's, the soft humor in his eyes burned away by a wildfire that wanted only ruin. One palm clamped around Suresh's neck. The other, fisted and trembling, hovered inches from Suresh's jaw, itching for a final, pulverizing blow.
,
"Monty," Romy said, voice raw. "Let him go."
Monty's gaze snapped to him, feral and glittering.
"Let him go?" He barked out a disbelieving laugh. "You marry my sister and still keep an affair with … with this?"
Disgust twisted the word this into a blade. Suresh flinched.
Romy felt the blow before it landed; it blossomed somewhere between his ribs. "It isn't what you think."
"A convenient line," Monty snarled, tightening his grip. "You owe me honesty, Romy, start now."
Behind them, Suresh wheezed. "A pair of soap-opera lovers," he coughed. "Let me watch."
That broke the fragile tether on Monty's temper. He drove Suresh into the wall so hard a framed landscape crashed to the carpet. Plaster dust snowed down.
"Enough!" Romy shoved himself between them, planting one hand on Monty's chest and the other on Suresh's shoulder. "Listen to me. No one throws another punch until I have every copy of my photos and videos. When that's done, Monty..."
He turned, catching Monty's storm-gray stare. "I promise you the whole truth. But right now we need leverage."
For a breath, the room held its air. Then Monty stepped back, nostrils flaring, but silent consent in his nod.
The Tether
Suresh tried to slither away, but Monty yanked him forward and slammed him onto the desk chair. The wood creaked; Suresh's sheet slipped, baring a hip he was too frightened to notice. Romy grabbed a belt from the wardrobe and looped it around Suresh's wrists, anchoring him to the chair back.
"You can't do this!" Suresh barked, half-panic, half-anger.
Romy leaned in until their noses almost brushed.
"Where are the originals?" Romy asked.
Suresh flicked his eyes toward a crimson USB drive on the nightstand. Monty snatched it.
"That's everything," Suresh said.
Monty's lips curled. "You expect me to believe you."
Suresh had never imagined that fear could taste metallic, like a coin pressed against the tongue, but it was there now, cold and bitter. Monty Chaudhary's knuckles were bunched in the collar of his silk robe, jerking him forward so hard the chair legs screeched across the parquet.
"Last warning," Monty growled, eyes as dark as stormwater. "Did. You. Save. The files. Anywhere. Else?"
Suresh's voice cracked. "N-no. I swear."
"You swore you loved me once," Romy replied, leaning against the writing desk, arms folded. "Forgive us if your oaths feel… lightweight."
Monty tugged harder, forcing Suresh's head back. Romy noticed the thin white crescent beneath Monty's thumbnail, evidence of pressure, of rage barely checked.
"I'm letting you breathe," Monty said, low and lethal. "Because Romy asked for mercy. Break your promise again, and the next breath you take will be your last. Our family doesn't file police reports, we write obituaries."
The threat wasn't theatrical; it was ancestral. Everyone in north India knew at least one whispered story about Prem Chaudhary settling scores "the village way."
Suresh believed every one of them now. Sweat sprang from his temples; it smelled of stale champagne and terror.
Romy stepped forward, voice deceptively soft. "There's still your laptop. The hidden copies. Open it."
Suresh licked his lips, eyes darting to the coffee table where a slim MacBook sat half-shut, its charging LED pulsing like a heartbeat. "Password… R-R-Twenty-Eleven."
"Upper- and lower-case?" Romy asked.
"Capital R, capital R again, then numbers. That's all."
Monty released Suresh with a shove that rattled the chair back into the wall. He stalked to the coffee table, flipped open the computer, typed. Wrong. He tried again, this time shifting the dash to an underscore. A jingle of macOS approval sounded.
A glowing desktop appeared. At center, a single encrypted folder: "PRIVATE_RR."
Monty pivoted. "Decryption key."
"Harvard-Winter," Suresh whispered, defeat fogging his breath. "Capital H, capital W."
Romy's pulse kicked at the name, Harvard, their frozen wonderland of youth. He pressed the keys anyway. A progress bar crawled, then split into a panorama of thumbnails: Romy, laughing into the camera; Suresh nuzzling his throat in grainy dorm-room light; a shaky phone clip of two silhouettes entwined on a futon while snow hammered the window outside.
Monty froze. Romy saw those strong shoulders stiffen, felt the tension ripple across the room like static.
"I've seen enough," Romy said, voice rough. He reached over Monty's shoulder, selected all, dragged the files to the trash.
Monty stayed his hand for a beat. "Sure?"
"Yes," Romy answered. "Memories should stay dead."
They hit "Empty Trash." A pixelated puff. Gone.
Romy popped the crimson USB from the port. "Time for a factory-reset." He navigated settings, formatted the drive, then wiped the laptop itself—fresh OS, no trace.
Suresh deflated, shoulders sagging as if the data were the only spine he possessed. "It's over, then."
"Almost," Monty murmured. He retrieved a leather belt from the wardrobe, looped it through chair slats, buckling Suresh's wrists. "A souvenir. Five minutes should be enough for us to exit this floor."
Suresh opened his mouth; no sound emerged.
Corridor of Broken Ties
They left him like that, half naked, shocked into silence, computer files sizzling in digital purgatory, while hotel corridor lights hummed their sterile lullaby.
Elevator doors slid shut around Romy and Monty. Only then did Monty's rigidity loosen. He leaned into the mirrored wall, eyes closing.
Romy exhaled a tremor. "Thank you… for believing me."
Monty's reflection stared back, vulnerable now that rage had drained. "I nearly beat him to death, Romy. That's nothing to thank."
"You protected me." Romy's throat tightened. "And more than that, you protected who I used to be."
Monty turned. Distance, physical and emotional, melted. The elevator felt suddenly small, echoing with unspoken questions. At the ding of the ground floor, they stepped out into late-night lobby hush.
"Let's get upstairs," Monty said, voice bleached of threat, colored by exhaustion.
They walked the carpeted maze to their suite. Romy's finger hovered at the key-card sensor. "About what you saw"