Rhea

I am tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep can fix, but the kind that settles into your bones and whispers that running away might be easier than staying. It feels like I am carrying boredom, disappointment, and quiet rage all at once—like a weight I chose to pick up and now cannot put down.

The worst part?

I did this to myself.

Every choice I made, every sacrifice I wore like a badge of honor—it all feels wrong today.

I shut my laptop with more force than necessary. The soft click echoes in my office, too loud in the suffocating silence. The room suddenly feels smaller, the air heavier, pressing against my chest.

I stand and walk toward the glass window overlooking the city.

Below me, people move with purpose—phones pressed to ears, coffee in hand, rushing toward lives that feel real. Busy. Alive. From up here, they look free.

Words don’t interest me today.

But my father’s words do.

They echo relentlessly.

I thought—naively—that after pouring myself into Kapoor Group, after sacrificing everything, he would finally see me. Acknowledge me. Respect me. I worked days and nights as CFO, carried responsibilities that would crush most men twice my age.

But no.

I didn’t deserve to be CEO.

Because I am a girl.

The moment I said I wanted the position—wanted, not demanded—he shut me down like a door slammed in my face.

“Your brother will be the next CEO,” my father said with an irritated sigh. “I have allowed you to chase dreams for too long, Rhea. Thinking eventually you would settle down. I was wrong. All I’ve done is feed foolish ideas into your mind.”

The bitterness rose fast, sharp and burning.

I love Ishaan.

God, I do.

But he doesn’t care about the company. Never has. The only reason this empire will be handed to him is because he is a son.

“Papa—” I tried.

“No.” His tone was sharp, final. “This discussion is over.”

I remember standing there, hands clenched, nails biting into my palms.

“You will stay in the company for another year,” he continued, detached, “while Ishaan gets his act together in Delhi.”

Delhi.

After too many scandals, my father had shipped him off like damaged goods—forcing him to teach at an elite school, pretending it was a lesson in humility. I wasn’t even allowed to speak to him while he was there.

As if love could be rationed.

As if siblings could be separated without consequence.

Ishaan is more than my brother.

He is my friend. My shield. The only person who ever stood between me and this suffocating world. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive another year without him.

“And that will also give me time,” my father added casually, “to find a match for you.”

My head snapped up.

“What did you say?”

He finally looked at me then, eyes dark, assessing—not as a father looks at his daughter, but as a man calculating profit and loss.

“You can stay at Kapoor Group for one more year,” he said. “After that, I will find you a husband. Someone who will teach you discipline.”

The words sliced through me like a blade.

I staggered back a step, the air rushing out of my lungs.

“No,” I whispered. The word slipped out before I could stop it.

“You are twenty-five,” he continued coldly. “You are not getting younger. Who knows—maybe your husband will allow you to keep working.”

His mouth twisted into a smile.

Cruel. Almost amused.

In our world, arranged marriages are normal. Expected. Celebrated.

But foolishly, I believed I could be the exception.

I thought if I proved myself—if I worked harder, studied longer, sacrificed more—I could escape fate.

I was wrong.

Reality stands in front of me now, unblinking.

There is no female role model in my family.

Women here are wives first. Everything else comes later, if at all.

I saw it with my mother.

Her silence. Her frustration. Her slow fading into someone who existed only to support others. Some women run away. Some don’t survive. And once they’re gone, they’re gone forever.

I fought so hard not to become one of them.

I studied harder than Ishaan. Fought battles he never even saw. Cambridge. Then Oxford for my MBA. I gave up late nights, friendships, love. I never dated. Never distracted myself.

I gave everything.

And still, it is not enough.

Not for my father.

Not for this society.

In the end, I am just a woman.

I hear his voice again in my head, calm and devastating.

“How about Jai Malhotra?”

For a moment, I thought I misheard.

How could he talk about marrying me off so casually? Like discussing a merger. A deal.

Jai Malhotra.

Chief Executive of Kapoor Group.

A man who makes my skin crawl.

A man who never misses a chance to comment on my clothes, my tone, my presence—always wrapped in smiles and so-called professionalism.

“Please don’t do this,” I had begged quietly.

My father never raised his hand on me.

But in that moment, I wished he had.

Because this hurt more.

Now, standing in my office, staring out at the city, I close my eyes and inhale slowly. I don’t know what scares me more—the thought of marrying a man like Jai Malhotra…

Or the realization that no matter how far I run, this world is always ready to cage me.

All I can do now is pray—

That somewhere, somehow, this glass around me finally cracks.