(This week you all won't get any updates since my semester exams are going on. You all will get an update probably after 20th November.
So enjoy reading! And let me know your view in the comments section. And do follow my instagram account drops_of_ambrosia for any latest updates. I will keep on posting the sneak peek of upcoming chapter there.)
DIVYA
As we stepped out of the flight, the bright sun greeted me with a harsh glare, forcing me to squint my eyes against the sudden brightness. By the time we landed in Boston, it was already afternoon, and the sun was beating down relentlessly, making the air thick and oppressive. I could feel the heat clinging to my skin, leaving me hot and slightly sweaty.
I trailed a few steps behind Raghav as he confidently navigated through the bustling crowd toward a sleek black SUV waiting for us. Ever the gentleman, Raghav pulled open the door for me, and I offered him a small, grateful smile before slipping inside the cool, air-conditioned interior. The relief was instant, and I sighed softly as the chill chased away the lingering warmth from outside.
As soon as Raghav settled in beside me, the driver pulled away from the curb, smoothly merging into the flow of traffic. I turned my gaze to the window, watching the city blur by in a whirl of movement and noise. Boston's streets were alive with activity, a stark contrast to the quiet, almost suffocating heat outside. I felt a mix of excitement and nerves as we wound our way through the city, my thoughts drifting to what lay ahead.
Within 45 minutes, we reached our destination-a stunning, five-star hotel that took my breath away as soon as I laid eyes on it. As I stepped out of the car, my heart skipped a beat at the sheer grandeur of the place. The hotel towered above us, its architecture a blend of modern elegance and timeless luxury. I couldn't help but gasp softly in awe, feeling almost overwhelmed by the thought that this would be our home for the next few days.
The perks of being rich, I thought wryly, glancing at Raghav. Of course, he wouldn't settle for anything less than the best. There's no way he'd compromise on comfort, not when he could afford to indulge in such opulence. I tilted my head back to take in the full view of the hotel, my eyes finally landing on the name emblazoned across the entrance in sleek, golden letters: Ophelia Grand Hotel.
I couldn't believe we were staying here. It felt like stepping into another world-one far removed from the hustle and bustle of daily life, a place where everything seemed possible
As the grand doors of the Ophelia Grand Hotel open, I step inside and am immediately struck by the sheer opulence of the place. The golden light from the chandelier above spills across the marble floors, casting a warm glow that feels almost otherworldly. Everything here-the rich scent of fresh flowers, the soft notes of music playing in the background, the polished surfaces reflecting every flicker of light-screams luxury, elegance, and perfection.
I take a moment to absorb it all, feeling the soft click of my heels against the marble as I move forward. As I was busy looking st the beautiful lobby Raghav was dealing with our room arrangements. I still can't believe I am going to stay at such extravagant place. I was brought back to reality when I saw Raghav walking towards me.
When he steps forward and offers his arm, I hesitate only for a second before taking it. His touch is warm, grounding me in a way I hadn't expected. As we walk side by side toward the private elevators.
The elevator is a cocoon of polished mirrors and brushed gold, reflecting our images back at us. I catch a glimpse of myself-my dark hair softly framing my face, my lips curving slightly in a way that feels both unfamiliar and completely natural. There's a strange tension between us, a weight in the silence as the elevator climbs higher and higher. My heart beats a little faster with each floor, my hand still resting on Raghav's arm, as though holding on to something that feels like it could slip away at any moment.
When the elevator finally stops and the doors slide open, I'm met with a private hallway bathed in soft, ambient light. The carpet muffles our footsteps as we approach the double doors at the end-the Presidential Suite. My heart is in my throat as Raghav swipes the key card, the lock clicking open with a soft, almost ominous sound.
The door swings open, revealing a suite that's somehow even more luxurious than I'd imagined. The space is massive, the living area sprawling with a grand piano, plush sofas, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the city. Everything here feels curated, perfect-almost too perfect.
Raghav gestures toward the two doors at the far end, and I know immediately which one is mine.
"Go and freshen up. We need to leave for the meeting in an hour," Raghav said, his tone calm but authoritative. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet.
We? Is he really accompanying me? Typically, my secretary would be the one by my side for these meetings, but I can't say I mind Raghav's presence. In fact, I'd prefer anyone as long as I'm not alone. Meeting new people has always made me anxious, and having someone familiar around eases that tension, even if just a little.
As I walk toward my room, I can feel Raghav's eyes on me, that unspoken connection between us growing stronger with every step. It's comforting in a way I can't quite put into words. When I open the door to my room, I'm greeted by a space that feels like a sanctuary. The king-sized bed, the soft lighting, the luxurious details-it's all perfect, yet it somehow only heightens the sense of anticipation that's been building inside me since we arrived at the hotel.
I glance back at Raghav, who's now at his own door. Our eyes meet, and for a long moment, the world outside our bubble seems to fade away. He gives me a soft smile, one that I return almost instinctively before he steps inside and closes the door behind him.
Left alone, I sit down on the edge of the bed, the soft sheets beneath me only emphasizing how tense I feel. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. I spot my luggage neatly placed near the wardrobe and remember that I only have an hour to get ready. The meeting is looming, and I need to focus.
I pull out an outfit and lay it carefully on the bed-a white turtleneck top and a beige satin skirt that falls gracefully to my ankles. It's not exactly formal, but it's the best option I have for a meeting like this. Classy and semi-formal, it will have to do. I find my transparent heels and some simple accessories, placing them next to the outfit.
After quickly freshening up in the bathroom-washing my face with cold water to shake off the lingering fatigue from the flight-I feel a bit more like myself. I step out, dress quickly, and take a moment to assess the final look in the mirror. The white turtleneck and beige skirt create a soft, elegant silhouette, and the transparent heels add just the right touch of sophistication. I keep my makeup light, opting for a natural look, and tie my hair into a neat bun.
I give myself one last glance in the mirror, smoothing out a few creases and adjusting my accessories. There's a mix of nerves and excitement bubbling inside me, but I push it aside as I grab my handbag and head toward the door.
As I stepped into the living room, I found Raghav lounging on the sofa, looking effortlessly sharp in his blue three-piece suit. The transformation was striking-he had shifted seamlessly into the composed businessman I knew him to be. Yet, a part of me missed the playful Raghav I had glimpsed that morning, the one who felt more relaxed, more... human.
"Let's go," he said, his tone brisk but not unkind, as soon as he noticed me. I hummed in response, falling into step behind him as we left the room.
The moment we stepped inside the elevator, a wave of nervousness washed over me, tightening my chest. My hands grew clammy, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was truly prepared for this meeting. This wasn't my world-I was an artist, not someone used to negotiating deals or convincing people to part with their property.
"Are you nervous?" Raghav's voice cut through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present.
"Huh?" I blinked, caught off guard. My eyes met his, and I swallowed hard before nodding. "Yes, a bit," I admitted quietly.
Raghav leaned closer, his presence somehow both calming and commanding. He reached for my hand, his fingers warm against my cold, sweaty skin. As he gently rubbed the back of my hand, the tension within me began to unravel. The simple, soothing gesture made me feel more grounded, more centered.
"It's okay. Everything will be fine. Just be yourself," he said, his gaze steady and reassuring. The sincerity in his voice made it hard not to believe him. Before I could muster a response, the elevator doors slid open, revealing the hotel lobby. Raghav didn't let go of my hand. Instead, he intertwined our fingers and led me out of the elevator.
As we stepped out of the hotel, the sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, signaling the start of evening. We slipped into the car waiting for us at the curb, and as we settled in, Raghav turned to me. "So, which café?" he asked.
I quickly pulled out my phone, double-checking the address and name of the place. "It's called Blossom and Brew," I told him.
Raghav hummed in acknowledgment, relaying the destination to the driver. Surprisingly, the café was only a fifteen-minute drive from our hotel. That was a good sign, right? We were on time, and everything was running smoothly. But as we approached the café, a quaint little place with a charming exterior, the nerves returned. How was I going to convince these people to sell me the land? I was an artist, not a real estate dealer.
"We've arrived. All the best," Raghav said, his voice gentle, and I offered him a nervous smile in return. The anxiety bubbled up again, making me second-guess everything. How on earth was I going to pull this off alone?
"Aren't you getting late for the meeting?" Raghav's question broke through my spiraling thoughts. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. My hand hesitated on the door handle, and I glanced at Raghav, his encouraging smile offering some comfort.
Before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. "Would you mind accompanying me for this meeting?" I asked, my voice smaller than I intended. I knew it was a lot to ask-this wasn't part of our arrangement. Raghav's job was simply to get me to Boston on time, nothing more.
When he didn't respond immediately, I felt a pang of disappointment, assuming he wasn't interested. With a resigned sigh, I stepped out of the car, steeling myself to face the meeting alone. But as I started toward the café's entrance, the sound of a car door closing behind me made me pause. I turned around to find Raghav walking toward me, his expression set with determination.
"Let's go and crack the deal," he said, his tone light but resolute.
A smile spread across my face, relief washing over me. With Raghav by my side, I felt like I could take on the world. In such a short period of time, I'd started relying on his presence more than I realized. His presence made me feel protected, confident, like maybe I could actually do this after all.
As soon as I stepped into the café, I felt like I had just walked into a pastel-colored dream. The smell of freshly baked pastries and rich coffee hit me instantly, making my mouth water and my heart flutter with excitement.
The walls were painted in soft pinks, mint greens, and buttery yellows-so warm and inviting, like a hug in color form. Everywhere I looked, there were these adorable little watercolor paintings of flowers, birds, and cute Parisian streets. It was as if someone had picked out each piece with so much love, just to make sure it all felt perfect.
The floor was covered in the most intricate tiles, swirling with patterns in gentle blues and whites. I almost didn't want to step on them, they were so pretty. Each table had a tiny vase with a single fresh flower-daisies, roses, lavender-all adding a sweet, personal touch. The chairs were mismatched, but in the best way possible: some were plush and velvet-covered, while others were old-fashioned wood, with delicate carvings that made them look like something out of a fairy tale.
I was jolted out of my thoughts by the sound of Raghav's voice. "We're here to meet Mr. and Mrs. Dawson," he informed the waitress, who gave us a warm smile before leading us to their table.
As we approached, I noticed the middle-aged couple already waiting for us. I plastered on my most professional smile and greeted them politely, determined to make a good impression. Raghav, ever the gentleman, pulled out my chair for me. I smiled gratefully at him as I sat down, and he took the seat beside me.
"You must be Ms. Aggarwal," Mrs. Dawson said with a friendly smile. I nodded, my nerves tightening a little at the sound of my own name.
"And you must be..." Mrs. Dawson trailed off, her gaze shifting to Raghav.
"I'm Raghav Sinha," he introduced himself smoothly, his voice steady and confident.
I swallowed nervously, my hand instinctively reaching for the table. Before I realized it, I was tapping my fingers on the surface, betraying my anxiousness. Raghav noticed and gently placed his hand over mine, rubbing the back of it in a calming manner. I looked up at him, his face a mask of calm, while Mrs. Dawson offered me a reassuring smile.
Taking a deep breath, I began, "Thank you for coming to meet me on such short notice."
"It's okay, sweetheart," Mrs. Dawson said kindly, just as the waitress returned to take our order.
"Let's order first, then we can continue talking," Mr. Dawson suggested. I ordered a latte, while Raghav opted for his usual black coffee.
As the waitress left, I focused my attention back on the Dawsons. "As you already know, I arranged this meeting with you both because I'm very interested in purchasing your property. I understand you may have reservations, but if it's a matter of money, we can renegotiate," I said, trying to keep my voice steady and confident.
Mrs. Dawson laughed softly and waved off my words with a dismissive hand. "Oh, sweetheart, it's not about the money. In fact, we're eager to sell the property to you. I adore your paintings, and having your art gallery in our city would be an honor. There was just a tiny misunderstanding, but now that it's cleared up, we'd love to move forward with the sale. Right, honey?" She turned to her husband, who nodded in agreement.
My brow furrowed in confusion. Misunderstanding? I glanced at Raghav, hoping for some clue, but his expression remained unreadable. I sighed and asked, "What exactly was the misunderstanding?"
"Oh, it's nothing," Mrs. Dawson said, waving it off again. "We just thought you were single," she added, casting a pointed look at Raghav.
I blinked, taken aback. They thought I was single? But I am single. As the realization hit me, I internally facepalmed, realizing that Raghav's presence might have complicated things. But what did my relationship status have to do with buying their property?
"I know it's a bit old-fashioned," Mrs. Dawson continued, her tone almost apologetic, "but we believe that being single at your age can mean someone is careless and immature."
I felt a surge of anger rise within me but managed to keep my composure. I hated such outdated thinking, the kind that judged someone's capabilities based on their relationship status. "I'm not immature," I stated firmly.
Mrs. Dawson smiled indulgently. "I'm sure you're not, sweetheart. But in our experience, young, single people tend to make mistakes."
Experience, my foot, I thought bitterly. If I had a chance to have one murder forgiven, I'd seriously consider using it on this woman. But I knew the problem remained, and I needed to clear up this misunderstanding quickly.
"Actually..." I began, ready to set the record straight, but Raghav cut me off.
"You're right, Mrs. Dawson," he said smoothly. "Single people can be careless and irresponsible since they don't have anyone to take care of or any real responsibilities. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" He turned to me with a smile that made my stomach flip.
Sweetheart? Seriously? Was he really playing along with this? I hated lying and had always valued honesty above all else. I couldn't stand the thought of deceiving anyone, even for something like this. Taking a deep breath, I forced a smile and prepared to confess everything in one go.
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," I said, trying to maintain my composure. "He's not my boyfriend."
The smile on Mrs. Dawson's face faded, replaced by a frown. I knew this meant they likely wouldn't sell me the property, but I couldn't lie. At least I could walk away with my integrity intact.
Raghav chuckled beside me. "She's right. I'm not her boyfriend."
Oh, now he decides to tell the truth? Just a few minutes ago, he was happily playing the role of my perfect boyfriend. I rolled my eyes at his antics, wondering how he could be so infuriatingly unpredictable.
I leaned back in my chair, reaching for my glass of water to calm my nerves. I was about to take a sip when Raghav's next words hit me like a freight train.
"Because she's my fiancée," he declared, his voice steady and sure.