Neha hadn’t touched her chai.
It sat on the table, cold and congealed, a brown stain spreading around the cup. Across from her, her husband, Rohit, was packing his suitcase. His movements were mechanical. Efficient. As if this was just another business trip.
“Where are you going?” she asked, even though she already knew.
“Islamabad,” he said without looking at her. “Work. I told you.”
“You told me a lot of things, Rohit.”
He paused, his hand hovering over a folded shirt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Neha reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of photographs. She threw them onto the table, fanning them out like playing cards. Rohit’s face went pale.
The photos showed him in a hotel room. In Islamabad. With a woman. A younger woman. A beautiful woman with henna-dyed hair and a wedding ring on her finger.
“You’ve been married to her for three years,” Neha said, her voice eerily calm. “A second nikah. Secret, of course. Her name is Anam. She lives in F-10. She works as a journalist. She doesn’t know I exist. And you’ve been splitting your time between us, playing two families like a game.”
Rohit opened his mouth to deny it, but the evidence was irrefutable.
“Who told you?” he finally asked, his voice hoarse.
“Your brother,” Neha said. “He felt guilty. He thought I deserved to know.”
Rohit sank onto the bed. “I can explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain,” Neha cut him off. “I don’t want an explanation. I want a divorce. And I want half of everything. The house, the bank accounts, the car, the holiday home in Murree. All of it.”
“We can negotiate,” he pleaded. “We can work this out. I’ll end it with her. I’ll never see her again. Just give me a chance.”
Neha picked up her cold tea and threw it at him. It splattered across his white shirt, dark brown against the pristine fabric.
“You don’t get a chance,” she spat. “You had a chance every single day for three years. And you chose her. You chose lies. You chose betrayal. Now you get to choose nothing.”
She stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “I have a lawyer appointment at 3 PM. I suggest you do the same.”
She walked out of the house, her heels clicking against the marble floor. But instead of getting into her car, she drove to a café in Gulberg, where Anam was already waiting.
The journalist looked nervous, her hands wrapped around a latte. “You came,” she breathed.
“I had to meet the woman who helped me destroy my husband,” Neha said, sitting down. “Your photos. Your investigation. Your willingness to expose him. I owe you everything.”
Anam shook her head. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for myself. He lied to me too. He promised me a future. He promised me children. And all he gave me was empty words and stolen nights.”
“Then we’re both victims,” Neha said. “But we’re not going to stay victims. I have a plan. A way to make him pay for what he’s done.”
She leaned forward and whispered the details.
Anam’s eyes widened. “That’s… that’s illegal.”
“Only if we get caught,” Neha said. “And we won’t. Because we’re smarter than him. We’ve always been smarter than him.”
That night, Rohit arrived at his Islamabad apartment, expecting to find Anam waiting with open arms. Instead, he found a forensic accountant, a private investigator, and two uniformed police officers.
“Mr. Sharma,” the accountant said, “we’ve been reviewing your financial records. You’ve been funnelling money into offshore accounts. Bribing government officials. Evading taxes. This is a matter for the Federal Investigation Agency.”
Rohit’s face crumbled. “That’s not true. I’ve never—”
“We have proof,” the investigator said. “Bank statements, emails, photographs. All forwarded to us by an anonymous source. You’re looking at ten to twenty years in prison.”
Rohit screamed. He cried. He begged.
But no one listened.
Neha watched it all from a distance, sitting in her car across the street. Anam was beside her, her hands trembling.
“It’s over,” Anam whispered. “He’s destroyed.”
“No,” Neha said, a cold smile forming on her lips. “He’s destroyed now. But I’m just getting started.”
She pulled out her phone and made a call. “Hello, Rohit’s mother? This is your daughter-in-law, Neha. The one you never approved of. I have some news about your beloved son…”
