Chapter 52 — Justice That Came Too Late

Aryan’s voice dropped after that, weaker now, like the weight of everything had finally crushed the strength left in him.

“I tried to help her later… I really did.”

He looked down, jaw tight.

“I took her to therapy. I thought it would fix things… but it only made it worse.”

Samuel stayed silent, listening carefully.

Aryan swallowed hard.

“The shock treatments… the trauma… it damaged her nervous system. She couldn’t handle normal therapy sessions. Even small triggers would break her down.”

He paused, breathing unevenly.

“So she stopped. And after that… she started shutting everything away again.”

A long silence followed.

Mr. Dreewan slowly lowered his head.

For the first time in years, the man who controlled empires looked… defeated.

“My daughter…” he whispered, voice breaking slightly. “Zoya… got justice.”

He paused.

“But Poornima… received punishment instead of healing.”

His hands trembled faintly on the table.

Veeresh still hadn’t spoken.

Aryan looked at him now, eyes red.

“She didn’t just lose Zoya that night.”

His voice cracked.

“She lost herself.”

The room went completely still.

Mr. Dreewan closed his eyes tightly.

“She was just a child,” he said quietly. “And we failed her.”

Aryan nodded slowly.

“Yes.”

A heavy pause settled over them all.

Then Aryan added softly, almost like it hurt to say it out loud:

“And the worst part is… she was made to believe she was the criminal, not the victim.”

That sentence hit harder than anything before it.

Silence again.

Thick.

Unbearable.

Mr. Dreewan finally spoke, voice low and broken.

“So all this time… she wasn’t living with guilt…”

He exhaled shakily.

“She was living with stolen memories and borrowed pain.”

No one answered.

Because there was nothing left to argue.

Veeresh finally moved.

Slowly.

He picked up the file Samuel had brought earlier and stared at it for a long moment.

His expression was unreadable.

But something inside him had changed completely.

Not rage.

Not revenge.

Something colder.

More focused.

More dangerous.

Because now Salvatore Dreewan didn’t just want answers anymore.

He wanted accountability for every person who turned Poornima Rathore’s life into survival instead of living.