“You need rest, Priyank.” Maya ran a hand through his hair, her face as hollow as the corpse he sat beside.

A week had passed, yet none of them had moved on from what happened. Priya was still in a coma.

Maya herself couldn't calm her nerves. She had killed her own husband with her own hands. Even if it had been necessary, the nightmares wouldn’t let her forget.

Not just because he was her mate—but because she had loved a man like him. A liar. The cause of her suffering. Of everyone's suffering.

Mostly Priya, who had lost everything. And they still didn’t know when she would wake up....