Chapter 13: Behind Closed Doors

As Aman walked toward the waiting car, the flash of cameras followed him, casting brief moments of light in the dim evening. His mind was still reeling from the press conference. He had done what was needed—kept the narrative under control—but he knew that wouldn't be enough to silence the rumors. The world loved scandals, especially when they involved stars like him.

Nisha opened the car door, gesturing for Aman to step in. He slid into the backseat, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the outside world. Nisha joined him moments later, closing the door behind her with a soft thud. The driver, sensing their need for quiet, drove off without a word.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Aman rested his head against the window, watching the city blur past him. The relentless pressure of his career weighed heavily on him, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to feel it. The success, the fame, the endless scrutiny—it was all starting to feel like a cage.

Nisha finally broke the silence. "You did well back there. Better than most would have in your position."

Aman turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. "It doesn't feel like enough. No matter what I say, they'll always find something to twist."

She sighed softly, folding her hands in her lap. "That's the nature of the business. People see what they want to see. But you can't let it consume you."

Aman leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. Nisha was right, of course, but it didn't make the situation any easier to bear. The rumors about his relationship with his co-star had been particularly vicious, and though he had denied them publicly, he knew the damage had already been done.

The car came to a stop outside his apartment building, a high-rise nestled in the heart of the city. Nisha looked at him as if trying to gauge whether he was alright. He gave her a small nod, though his exhaustion must have shown on his face.

"Get some rest, Aman. You've earned it," she said as he stepped out of the car.

"I will," Aman muttered, though he wasn't sure if rest would come easily tonight.

The elevator ride up to his penthouse felt longer than usual, and when the doors finally opened, Aman was greeted by the cold, sterile silence of his home. The large windows framed the city below, glittering with life, but up here, he felt a world away from it all.

He tossed his keys onto the counter and moved toward the living room, his eyes drifting to the stack of scripts that had piled up over the past few weeks. He hadn't had the energy to look through them—too caught up in the whirlwind of shooting, dealing with the media, and managing his crumbling personal life.

His phone buzzed again. He pulled it out, half-expecting another media alert or message from his manager. Instead, it was Anjali.

"I saw the press conference. Are you okay?"

Aman stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. He hadn't heard from her since their conversation after the dinner party. He knew she had been following the news, but a part of him had hoped she would stay away, not get tangled up in the mess of his world.

After a moment, he typed a reply.

"I'm fine. It went better than expected."

A few seconds later, her response came through.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know. If you need to talk, I'm here."

Aman exhaled slowly, sinking into the couch. He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear that—someone who wasn't connected to his career, his fame, or the endless expectations. Anjali had always been the one who saw past the glamour, the one who reminded him of the life he had once wanted, before all of this.

He stared at his phone for a long moment, debating whether to reply. But before he could make up his mind, another message came in.

"I'm free tonight if you want company."

The offer lingered in the air, tempting. Aman looked around his empty apartment, the silence suddenly feeling more oppressive. He wasn't sure if he was ready to open up, not after everything that had happened, but the thought of being alone tonight was equally unappealing.

Without overthinking it, he replied.

"Come over."

Anjali's response was immediate.

"On my way."

Aman set the phone down and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. It had been a long time since he had let someone into his life in this way, and he wasn't sure what it would mean to let Anjali in now. But tonight, he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed something—someone—to break the endless cycle of pressure and isolation that his life had become.

He stood up, moving to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. As he leaned against the counter, his mind drifted back to the press conference. No matter how well he had handled it, the fallout was inevitable. The media would be watching his every move, waiting for him to slip, to give them more fuel for the fire.

But tonight wasn't about them. For the first time in a long while, Aman would allow himself to forget the cameras, the headlines, and the rumors. He would let the world outside his penthouse fade into the background, if only for a few hours.

As the minutes passed, the tension in his shoulders slowly began to ease. The sound of a knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Aman walked to the door, already feeling the walls around him start to come down.

When he opened it, Anjali stood there, her expression soft but filled with understanding. Without a word, she stepped inside, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Aman allowed himself to relax.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the chaos of the outside world. For now, he could leave the glamour and the drama behind.