Prologue

Probably the tallest building in Mumbai, from where the whole of Mumbai is visible.

She stood by the window, trying hard to see the whole world, or the whole Mumbai city, through the window.

She scoffed internally, "Is there really anyone who exists in Mumbai, who remembers me? Or have they shed their tears for me?"

No, she was alone.

There was absolutely no one who cared for her, supported her, or at least tried to reduce her pain.

Or at least, attempted to release and rescue her from this hell house.

No, there was no one.

She doesn't even have any relationship with anyone. She was just a call girl. Who just had to build a relationship with her customer for a night, at least a few nights. There was no emotional relationship, only physical relationship, or rather a sexual relationship, and then she had to go back to the hell she was living in.

With her husband. She scoffed, "Husband? Who himself sells his wife to some other man. Who only knew how to deal his wife. By using his 'wife', he had earned land, wealth, and a place in the society. That man had fated to become her husband. A man who could not even authorize his wife as 'his wife' ".

Varun Malya, who uses his wife's body to create his image in the society.

Himself dropped 'his wife' at the customer's penthouse.

But who was she? Maybe Sanya, Rosy, or Pamela, or Maya, or someone else?

She had forgotten what her identity was.

What was her name?