Misha had come home long ago, but she felt like a ghost of herself. She sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze vacant, her hands trembling slightly. Her right hand was an angry shade of red, the skin scorched from the burn, but she didnât care. She couldnât bring herself to. The pain in her hand was nothing compared to the storm of fear and confusion raging inside her.
Her mind kept replaying the memory of Aadhiran-his obsession-filled eyes, the way they seemed to pierce into her very soul. The thought sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She wrapped her arms around herself, her breathing shallow, as though she were trying to hold herself together. A suffocating sense of dread was building in her chest, pushing her toward a decision she didnât want to make.
What could she do? Should she do as he said-leave everyone behind? But how? And why?
The answer was clear in her mind, even if she hated it: fear. She was terrified of him, of his control, of the darkness in his gaze that seemed to consume everything. Nothing could shake that fear. Nothing could free her from the invisible chains heâd wrapped around her soul.
Lost in thought, she barely registered the sound of approaching footsteps.
Abhimanyu entered the room, his firm steps breaking the heavy silence. He was exhausted from the day-buried under piles of work and the weight of his own thoughts. But as his eyes fell on Misha, his frown deepened.
She was standing near the closet, staring blankly at the wall. Something about her was different. Off. She seemed so distant, so cold.
"Misha," he called softly, his usually cold tone laced with a hint of concern.
"What?" Mishaâs voice was flat, almost lifeless, as she looked up at him with unreadable eyes.
Her tone struck him like a blow, and his frown deepened. "Nothingâ¦.. Iâll just freshen up," he said curtly, shaking his head slightly as though trying to dismiss the unease growing within him.
When Abhimanyu returned from the bathroom, his hair damp and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he stopped short. Misha was still standing in the exact same spot, her gaze fixed on something he couldnât see. She looked lost, trapped in a world of her own.
"Misha," Abhimanyu called again, his voice laced with concern as he walked toward her, his worry deepening with every step. When she didnât respond, he moved closer, but just as he was about to ask, Isha appeared, stepping in between them.
"Misha bhabhi, come with me," Isha said with excitement, while coming there hurriedly and took Misha hand and without any chance to speak, she took Misha with her. Misha hesitated for a moment, then followed Isha without a word, leaving Abhimanyu standing there, confused and uneasy. His frown deepened as he watched them leave, a nagging feeling in his chest. Something was wrong-this wasnât the Misha he knew. The Misha he was used to was fiery, ready to argue at the drop of a hat, but today she seemed different. She seemed... distant.
With a heavy sigh, he turned away, his mind racing. As he made his way to his office, his assistant called, and after a brief conversation, he worked through a few things, trying to distract himself. But even as he sat down to dinner later that evening, his thoughts kept drifting back to Misha. He noticed her slip away quietly as soon as the meal was over, disappearing without a word.
Later, when Abhimanyu entered his room, he found Misha sitting there, staring down at her hand, blowing gently on it as though trying to soothe the pain. His eyes darkened when he saw the redness on her skin, a clear sign of a burn. His heart tightened, and he walked toward her without hesitation, his focus entirely on her injury.
"Misha," he said softly, but she didnât look up. He gently took her hand, his touch firm but careful.
Startled, Misha looked up, her expression flat and emotionless. When her eyes met his, they were void of the usual spark. Abhimanyuâs frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of her hand, now visibly red and raw from the burn.
"How did this happen?" Abhimanyuâs voice was cold and firm, but beneath it was a clear trace of concern.
Misha said nothing, her silence making his frustration grow. Was she still angry with him? Was that why she refused to speak? His eyes flickered with confusion, then with impatience.
"You looked fine downstairs," he continued, his tone sharper now. "Misha, are you hiding this injury from me? It doesnât look like it happened just now. Tell me, when did this happen? At least you shouldâve taken care of it earlier. Why didnât you first aid it?" His voice held a hint of reprimand, and his frown deepened as he waited for her to respond.
But Misha remained silent, her face expressionless. Abhimanyuâs anger flared, but it was mixed with confusion and concern. He had explained everything to her just yesterday-why he had been distant, why he had to leave for office-but here she was, still angry and refusing to talk.
His patience snapped, and he sighed heavily, his frustration giving way to a quieter, more composed tone.
"What is this?" he demanded, his voice low but firm. His grip on her hand was gentle, yet she winced slightly. "Misha, what happened? Did you spill something hot on yourself?"
Misha said nothing. She stared at him with an emotionless expression that made his stomach twist.
"Misha, Iâm asking you a question. Answer me!, damn it!" His voice rose slightly, frustration and worry battling for control.
"Why do you care?" she snapped, yanking her hand away from his grasp with more force than she should have. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her hand, but she didnât flinch.
Abhimanyu stared at her, stunned.
"Why do you care, Abhimanyu?" she repeated, her voice rising, her anger bubbling to the surface. "Tell me-why do you care? Youâve made it clear, havenât you? Iâm nothing to you. A stranger. Isnât that what we are to each other? Strangers?" Her words were sharp as knife.
Her words hit him like a physical blow, but he couldnât find the words to respond.
"Donât pretend to care about me!" Misha continued, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. "Because you donât. No one does. Iâm just a stranger to you, and youâre a stranger to me. So donât stand there and act like you care!"
"Mishaâ¦.." Abhimanyuâs voice was softer now, almost pleading, but she cut him off.
"No! Donât! You donât get to act like you care, Abhimanyu! You donât get to pity me!" Her voice cracked, and she stumbled back a step, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions.
Abhimanyu took a step forward instinctively, but her sharp glare stopped him in his tracks.
"Donât come closer," she said firmly, her voice laced with pain and anger. "I donât want your pity. I donât need it."
"Misha, youâre not okay. Letâs talk later, but for now, letâs tend to your hand-it looks seriously burned," Abhimanyu said in a cold, firm tone. Misha glared at him angrily, her eyes filled with defiance.
"Later, I don't care" she interrupted, her frustration boiling over. "If you donât want this marriage, if you donât like me, then just give me a damn divorce!" Her words left no room for arugument.
Abhimanyu froze, her words slicing through him like a blade. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides as he tried to process what sheâd just said. Divorce. The word echoed in his mind, impossible to ignore.
Before he could respond, Misha stormed out of the room, leaving him standing there, his chest tight with emotions he couldnât name. He stared at the door sheâd slammed behind her, his mind reeling, his heart heavy with the weight of her words.
The room was suffocating, the dim light casting long shadows that danced on the walls like restless phantoms. Ekansh stood by the bar, his hand gripping a glass of whiskey so tightly that it seemed ready to shatter. He stared into the amber liquid, his mind replaying the earlier encounter with Vamsh. The man's words echoed in his head like a curse, stirring emotions he thought heâd buried long ago.
His frustration boiled over, and with a sharp movement, he hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered, shards glinting like fragments of his own fractured thoughts. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by his heavy breathing.
His gaze shifted, landing on the painting. It hung there, dominating the room with its eerie presence. The eyes-those wide, innocent eyes-seemed to pierce through him, stripping away every layer of pretense.
Those eyes.
They were haunting, wide and innocent, but tonight they seemed to mock him, challenge him.
Ekansh froze, his jaw tightening as a chill ran down his spine. He hadnât even wanted the damn thing. So why had he bought it? Why had he allowed it into his sanctuary?
He stepped closer, the sound of his polished shoes against the hardwood floor echoing in the stillness. The painting seemed to beckon him, its presence growing more oppressive with each step.
"Why do you look at me like that?" he muttered, his voice low and sharp. "What do you want from me?" His tone one of disparate and irritated.
Ekansh's tone was filled with disbelief as he pinched the bridge of his nose, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look at me," he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with self-mockery. "Talking to a goddamn painting. Have I finally lost it?" His sighed looking away.
The thought sent a chill down his spine, but he quickly shoved it aside, masking his unease with anger. "Why the hell did I even brought this?" he growled, his voice laced with frustration. His hand itched to rip the painting off the wall, to destroy it, but he couldnât bring himself to move.
The eyes seemed to deepen, their gaze unwavering. It was almost as if the painting were alive, mocking him with its silent judgment.
Ekansh let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Donât think you can get to me," he said, his tone venomous. "Youâre just a piece of canvas. Nothing more." His tone might came out like hatred but his eyes was holding something else.
But the words felt hollow, even to him.
He took another step, now standing directly in front of the painting. His hand reached out, hesitating just inches from the surface. "You look like her," he whispered, his voice soft but filled with loathing. "Too much like her."
The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deepening as if they were closing in on him. His fingers brushed the edge of the frame, and he recoiled as though heâd been burned.
"Damn it," he growled, his anger flaring. "Why canât I get rid of you? Why canât I-" his fisted his hand.
He stopped, his breath hitching as the eyes seemed to change. They were no longer innocent. There was something darker, more sinister lurking in their depths, something that sent a shiver down his spine.
"You think you know me?" he asked, his voice rising. "You think you can see through me? Well, youâre wrong. Youâre nothing. Just like her."
But even as he spoke, the words felt like a lie.
He turned away, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and pouring himself another drink. He downed it in one go, the burn doing little to ease the turmoil inside him.
"I hate her," he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself. "I hate everything about her." His tone was filled with venom.
The voice in his head laughed, cruel and mocking. "Do you really?" it asked, and Ekansh clenched his fists, his knuckles white.
"I do," he hissed, glaring at the painting over his shoulder. "And I always will." A huge lie.
The painting seemed to disagree, its gaze more penetrating than ever. Ekansh felt a surge of rage, his hand trembling as he set the glass down with deliberate care.
His expression hardened, his eyes darkening as he spoke. "Sheâs just like the rest of them. A woman who craves wealth, power-nothing more." The venom in his tone was unmistakable, but even as he spoke, the paintingâs eyes seemed to challenge him, daring him to admit the lie hidden in his words.
"I should burn you," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Rip you to shreds and watch you turn to ash." He said telling every thought of his mind to get ride of those eyes art.
But he didnât move.
Instead, he turned away, his smirk returning as he grabbed his coat. His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen-Demetrio. The call was brief, but by the time it ended, his smirk had deepened into something far more sinister.
"It starts now," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice.
As he walked toward the door, he paused, his hand resting on the handle. He turned back to the painting one last time, his expression unreadable.
"Iâll deal with you later," he said, his tone soft but threatening. "Donât think Iâve forgotten." With that he walked away
The painting seemed to watch him as he left, as the door clicked shut. Alone in the room, everywhere the shattered glass and spilled whiskey, as though the eyes held secrets Ekansh wasnât ready to face.
Outside, the night was cold and unforgiving, but it paled in comparison to the darkness brewing within Ekansh. The painting remained, a silent witness to his torment, waiting for the moment when he would have to confront the truth it refused to let him escape.
Ekansh stepped out of the car, his movements deliberate, each step exuding authority. The sharp winter air brushed against his tailored black suit, perfectly fitted to his tall, lean frame. Demetrio was already waiting for him, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. The man straightened his posture as Ekansh approached, his presence demanding attention without uttering a single word. A dark, sharp contrast to the dimming night around them. The faint glow of the street lamps cast a shadow over his face, making him appear even colder.
"Sir, everything is ready," Demetrio informed him in a professional tone, his face void of emotion.
Ekansh gave a curt nod, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a cigarette. He stood casually, lighting it with an almost languid ease, the flicker of the flame briefly illuminating his chiseled features. Smoke curled around him as he listened to Demetrioâs next words.
"Mr. Alaric is one of the key partners of Vamsh," Demetrio began, his voice low but clear. "Heâs also the largest shareholder of VR Groups, which means he controls half the shares of Vamshâs operations in France and its other branches."
Ekansh took a slow drag from his cigarette, his lips curving into a faint, calculated smirk. His icy demeanor made Demetrio shift slightly, though the man was used to his bossâs unpredictable nature.
Moments later, the hum of an engine broke the silence. A sleek black car pulled up in front of them, its polished exterior gleaming under the pale light. Ekansh straightened slightly, his expression unreadable, his cold, penetrating gaze fixed on the vehicle.
Ekansh smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly as the smoke wisped around him. His silence was an answer in itself. Just as he took another drag from his cigarette, a sleek black car pulled up in front of them, its engine purring to a stop. The door opened, and a man in an impeccable suit stepped out, his face sharp, features perfect in the way only money and power could make them. His every movement screamed precision and power as he approached.
Ekansh extended a hand, the two men exchanging a firm handshake. "Mr. Renon Alaric," Ekansh began, his tone calm yet cutting. "Iâll get straight to the point. Withdraw your shares from VR Group immediately." He wasted no time.
Renonâs eyes narrowed, his calm demeanor momentarily cracking as surprise flickered across his face. Ekansh continued, his voice colder than the January air.
"Because I am going to destroy that company," Ekansh declared, his words deliberate and sharp, like the edge of a blade. He smirk deepened as he took another drag from his cigarette. "And Its foundation, its reputation, and its founder. If you value your safety, and don't want to get in crossfire and If you want to avoid getting dragged down with them, I suggest you get out now."
Renon stared at him, stunned for a brief moment before his lips curved into a wry smile. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Rathore?" His tone was equally cold, his words laced with challenge.
Ekansh let out a soft, mocking chuckle, exhaling a stream of smoke that dissipated into the crisp air. "Threatening you?" He smirked, his dark eyes gleaming. "I wouldnât waste my time. Consider this a warning, you fool."
Demetrio stood off to the side, his eyes darting between the two men. He knew Renonâs reputation in France-powerful, ruthless, feared across every sector-and now here he was, trading barbs with Ekansh, one of the most dangerous men in the business world. He couldnât help but feel a surge of confusion. Were they about to tear each other apart or were they just playing games? Yet Ekansh stood unfazed, his confidence unwavering.
Renonâs smoky eyes glared at Ekansh, though his voice carried an air of mockery. "The fool here is you, for waiting so many years to take your revenge." His smirk deepened, clearly enjoying the provocation.
Ekanshâs jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. "Stop being an insufferable asshole, Renon."
Renonâs laugh echoed darkly, his amusement evident. "Negative," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "Iâm worse than that."
Demetrioâs eyes darted between the two men, their exchange feeling more like a duel than a conversation.
"So," Renon continued, his voice tinged with mockery, "after all these years, here we are. And yet you havenât forgotten your competitors, have you?"
Renonâs smile widened. "And you should know, Ekansh, that Iâve always enjoyed watching you squirm." he said, his voice low, almost dangerous.
Ekansh clenched his fists, the memory of their past business rivalry flooding back. Renon had always been a thorn in his side-an enemy, but someone who, despite everything, had earned a strange, begrudging respect. They were like two sides of the same coin, equally driven, equally ruthless, but never quite able to understand each other. A mixture of fierce competition and begrudging respect.
"Renon, just do what I said," Ekansh snapped, his tone laced with irritation.
Renon laughed again, his amusement grating on Ekanshâs nerves. "If I wanted to, Iâd do it," Renon replied, turning to walk back to his car. But then he paused, his smirk returning as he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Itâs all because of Reya Rajan, isnât it?" Renonâs voice softened, though his words struck like a hammer. "You still havenât forgotten her. I thought you had."
Ekanshâs expression froze, his entire body tensing as if the world had stopped. Renon climbed into his car, the smug smirk never leaving his face. The car sped off, leaving Ekansh standing there, his mind a whirlwind of memories.
The mention of Reya Rajan brought a storm of emotions crashing over him. His past flashed before his eyes-moments of love, betrayal, and loss. His fists clenched tighter, his nails digging into his palms.
Two years ago, the old Ekansh would have razed this entire street in a fit of rage. But now, his anger was colder, more calculated. Without a word, he flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushed it underfoot, and got into his car.
His mind was clear, his goal unwavering. He would have his revenge.
Arnav stood outside, his hands shoved into his pockets as the cool night breeze brushed against his face. The faint glow of streetlights illuminated his sharp features, but there was a hint of irritation etched on them. He had just left Arthi at home, tucking her into bed when she fell asleep halfway through their drive. The memory of her peaceful face made his expression soften momentarily before he turned to his assistant, Viyan, and his right-hand man, Ram.
Viyan stood rigid, observing Arnav's attempts to remain composed, while Ram crossed his arms, his face a mix of concern and exasperation.
"Damn it," Arnav muttered under his breath, pulling out a small bottle of pills from assistant. He dry-swallowed one, his jaw tightening as Viyan and Ram exchanged a knowing glance.
"Sir," Viyan began hesitantly, "you already know you're allergic to street food. Why did you eat it?" His voice carried a mix of concern and confusion.
Arnavâs sharp glare made Viyan immediately regret his question.
"If you wanted street food so badly, we couldâve picked it up from a proper restaurant. What got into you tonight?" Ram added, his tone casual but tinged with irritation.
Arnavâs glare shifted to Ram, his eyes darkening. "If you donât shut up, Iâll bury you alive right here," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
Ram, unbothered, shrugged nonchalantly. "Itâs your stomach, not mine. But you couldâve spared us the late-night pharmacy run."
"Viyan," Arnav snapped, ignoring Ram, "what about the meeting? Is everything ready?"
Viyan immediately straightened, his professional demeanor kicking in. "Yes, sir. Everything has been arranged as per your instructions."
Arnav nodded, his expression cold and calculating.
Ram, however, wasnât done. "Do you think itâs the right time to show yourself out there? Revealing your presence like this could be dangerous," he said, his tone now serious.
Arnav exhaled slowly, his hands still buried in his pockets. "Itâs the perfect time," he said with a smirk. "I want them to know the consequences of betrayal. This is a message, not a meeting."
Ramâs brow furrowed. "But are you sure they wonât try the same stunt as last time?"
Arnavâs eyes narrowed as he fixed Ram with a piercing stare. "You tell me, Ram. You were one of them last time. Do you think theyâll dare?"
Ram sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "Now that Iâm on your side, Iâd say⦠I donât know."
Viyan shot Ram a look of disbelief, while Arnavâs lips twitched in irritation.
"If they try to kill you again," Ram added casually, "donât worry-Iâll make sure not to save you this time." He said causally with not to caring tone
"Good. Stay out of the way," Arnav shot back with equal sarcasm, earning a done expression from Ram. And Ram looked at him done as Aranv doesn't understand his humor.
Turning back to Viyan, Arnavâs tone shifted to one of authority. "Prepare everything. I want every single member of their gang present. Weâre putting on a show theyâll never forget."
Viyan nodded sharply. "It will be done, sir."
Arnavâs smirk darkened, his eyes gleaming with determination. "This needs to be perfect. Itâs about my reputation."
Viyan gave a professional nod, but Ram couldnât help the sarcastic sigh that escaped him. "Your obsession with reputation is unmatched," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. But what baffled him most was how the same man, so obsessed with perfection and image, had casually eaten street food tonight.
Arnav glanced at his watch. It was two in the morning. He sighed softly, his voice dropping to a murmur as he turned toward his car. "I should go. Sweetheart will worry if she wakes up."
His car roared to life as he drove off into the night, leaving Viyan standing tall and professional while Ram gawked, his mouth slightly open.
"Wait⦠did he just say âsweetheartâ?" Ram asked, his tone a mix of shock and amusement for hearing that from person who is full of himself.
"What?" Viyan asked, genuinely clueless.
"Your boss isnât the boss anymore, we will have a new boss" Ram said with a smirk, walking off with a knowing look.
Viyan frowned, confused. "What does that even mean?" he muttered to himself before shrugging and returning to his work.
Arnav's car screeched to a halt right in front of the house. He stepped out, his eyes catching a familiar figure standing in the garden. Abhimanyu stood there, motionless, his gaze fixed on something far away, lost in thought. Arnav sighed, contemplating leaving him alone, but his curiosity got the better of him. With a resigned shake of his head, he walked toward his brother.
Abhimanyu, oblivious to Arnavâs approach, was immersed in his thoughts. Mishaâs earlier words echoed in his mind, sharper than he wanted to admit. They clung to him like an unwanted shadow, tugging at emotions he thought he had buried long ago. He sensed someone standing beside him and reluctantly turned his head.
"Bhai, what are you doing here at this hour?" Arnav asked casually, standing directly in front of him, his tone laced with faint sarcasm.
Abhimanyuâs gaze sharpened as he looked at his younger brother. "The better question is, what are you doing here?" he retorted, his voice calm but edged with irritation.
Arnav smirked, folding his arms. "Unlike you, you know about my work. I have work that justifies my late nights. But you? What excuse do you have, standing here brooding in the garden like this"? He chuckled.
Abhimanyu sighed, his composure cracking slightly. "Maybe you should go inside and rest. Youâve worked enough for one day," he said, attempting to deflect.
Arnav raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Iâll rest, Bhai. But what about you? Planning to spend the whole night here, staring at the stars and sulking over things that are long gone?"
Abhimanyuâs jaw tightened, but he remained silent. Arnav, however, wasnât one to let things go so easily.
"Let me guess," Arnav continued, his tone colder now. "Youâre thinking about her, arenât you? Still stuck on that so-called love of yours?"
Abhimanyu stiffened, his gaze snapping to Arnav. The sharpness in his eyes confirmed the accusation, even as he remained silent.
Arnav let out a mocking chuckle. "Two years, Bhai. Itâs been two years, and youâre still clinging to the past like itâs your lifeline. Do you even realize how pathetic that is?"
Abhimanyuâs fists clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm. "The past is something we all carry, Arnav," he said, his voice low and steady. "Regrets, mistakes-theyâre a part of us."
"Only if you let them be," Arnav shot back, his tone firm. "You could have left it all behind. But no, youâre still here, drowning in self-pity over a woman who doesnât even deserve your thoughts."
Abhimanyuâs head snapped toward Arnav, his glare icy. "Watch your words, Arnav," he warned, his tone laced with barely restrained anger.
Arnav shrugged nonchalantly. "Why? Am I wrong? She left you without a second thought, Bhai. All she wanted was your money, and you were too blind to see it. Yet here you are, wasting your life over someone who didnât care about you."
"Enough!" Abhimanyuâs voice was sharp, cutting through the night air. "You know why she left. Donât twist the truth to suit your narrative."
Arnav smirked, leaning back slightly. "Oh, I know why she left. But that doesnât change the fact" Aranv tone mocking.
"What I thought is true, then," Arnav said, narrowing his eyes at Abhimanyu, who frowned in response.
"Youâre treating Misha Bhabhi like a stranger and putting on an act in front of the family, arenât you?" Arnav added, his tone serious, though his expression betrayed no severity.
Abhimanyu looked stunned, his shock evident in his widened eyes.
Abhimanyuâs eyes widened in shock. "How do you know?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Arnav chuckled, his expression smug. "So, itâs true. Youâve been a complete jerk to her, havenât you?"
Abhimanyuâs glare intensified, his teeth grinding together. "Mind your tongue, Arnav."
"Oh, Iâm just stating facts," Arnav said, his tone light but his words cutting. "You should have told everyone before the wedding that you planned to be a jerk. At least Misha Bhabhi wouldâve had a chance at a better life. Instead, youâve trapped her in this mess of yours."
Abhimanyu closed his eyes, his anger bubbling dangerously close to the surface.
"Bhai, if youâre so obsessed with your past, why did you marry Misha in the first place? You should have called it off and saved everyone the trouble," Arnav continued, his voice colder now. "But no, you had to drag her into your miserable existence."
Abhimanyu finally snapped. "If youâve got so much to say, why donât you lecture Dad? Heâs the one who forced this marriage on me!"
Arnav frowned, taken aback by the sudden shift. "Donât bring Dad into this."
"Why not?" Abhimanyu shot back. "Heâs the one who ruined my life-not once, but twice. First by driving Tanvi away, and then by forcing Misha into it."
Arnavâs expression hardened. "Youâre wrong. Misha Bhabhi is the best thing thatâs happened to you, but youâre too much of a coward to see it."
Abhimanyuâs fists tightened further, his body trembling with suppressed rage. "Arnav-"
"No, Bhai, you listen to me," Arnav interrupted, his voice rising. "If you canât move on, if youâre so hell-bent on living in the past, then do everyone a favor and let Misha go. Divorce her. At least then, she can find someone who deserves her."
Abhimanyu stared at him, his chest heaving, his mind a storm of emotions.
But he paused after a few steps, glancing back over his shoulder. "One last thing, Bhai. If youâre going to hurt someone, make sure youâre ready to deal with the consequences. Because sooner or later, theyâll catch up to you."
Arnav sighed, turning to leave. "But remember this, Bhai-if you keep hurting her like this, youâll regret it more than anything else in your life." With that, he walked away, leaving Abhimanyu alone in the garden, fists clenched, heart heavy, and thoughts spiraling.
The morning sun streamed through the window, but Aavyanâs mood was anything but sunny. Standing in front of his mirror, he fixed his tie with a frustrated sigh. The weight of responsibilities pressed on his shoulders-Arnav had set new rules, which meant overtime and handling a new project with an unknown partner. He rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath, "Damn this workload."
Sliding into his car, he banged the steering wheel lightly, his frustration spilling over. The thought of missing Isha and Ishaniâs marriage arrangements made his chest tighten. The celebrations were starting today, and here he was, buried under a mountain of work. Worse, Ekanshâs workload had also been dumped on him.
The drive to the office felt longer than usual. As soon as he arrived, Aavyan stepped out, adjusting his blazer. Adith, his assistant, approached with his usual professional demeanor.
"Good morning, sir," Adith greeted, falling into step beside him.
Aavyan nodded curtly, his thoughts elsewhere.
"Sir, weâve partnered with a new company for this project. Arnav sir specifically assigned it to you," Adith explained, keeping pace.
"I know," Aavyan replied, his tone clipped as they walked into the building.
They entered the meeting room, and Aavyan immediately sank into his chair, pulling a stack of papers toward him. Without looking up, he picked up a pen and began signing documents. His brow furrowed as he flipped through the pages, vaguely registering the sound of footsteps entering the room.
Adith cleared his throat. "Sir, youâll be working on this deal with Miss Roy."
"Miss Roy?" Aavyan repeated, his voice laced with disinterest, still focused on the papers.
Aavyanâs pen froze in his hand. Miss Roy or may be it's Tara Roy.
"Yes, sir. Sheâs one of our key team members on this project," Adith added, gesturing toward the woman who had just entered.
Hearing her name, Tara Roy stepped forward, her sharp gaze locking onto Aavyan. The moment their eyes met, shock rippled through the room.
Aavyanâs pen froze mid-signature. He slowly stood, his expression mirroring Taraâs disbelief. "I have to work with you?" he asked, his tone a mix of surprise and irritation.
Tara crossed her arms, her disdain evident. "And I have to work with you?" she retorted, her voice dripping with annoyance.
Adith blinked, caught off guard by the sudden tension.
Tara scoffed, shaking her head. "I would rather drop this deal altogether than work with him," she declared, glaring at Aavyan.
"No way in hell am I working with her," Aavyan shot back, his jaw tightening as he turned to Adith.
Adith raised a hand, his expression neutral. "Miss Roy, youâve already signed the agreement. And Aavyan sir, Arnav sir made it clear that only you could handle this project." His tone left no room for argument.
Tara clenched her fists, glaring at Adith. "This is absurd!"
Aavyan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Extacly, but Fine," he muttered, his tone resigned.
Adith gave a polite nod before excusing himself, leaving the two to face each other.
Tara muttered under her breath, "What did I do to deserve this?" She cursed her luck as she avoided Aavyanâs smirk.
"We should start early tomorrow," Aavyan said, his smirk widening as he noticed her irritation.
Tara rolled her eyes, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Whatever. Just stay out of my way."
She turned on her heel and stormed out, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Aavyan watched her leave, his smirk fading into a knowing expression.
"Well, this will be interesting," he murmured to himself before leaving the room, already planning how to handle the storm that was Tara Roy.
All of you
Read this all.
I apologize for the delay in this update. There was an issue while uploading-I thought the chapter had been published, but it hadnât. I only noticed it today, so here is the update.
Iâve also seen some of you mentioning that weâre already at chapter fifty-four, but there doesnât seem to be much progress in the story. I understand your concern, but I believe the story is progressing in its own way. Iâve chosen to build it from the ground up, taking time to lay a strong foundation. This means there will be more chapters, but by the end, youâll see the complete journey unfold.
If the slow pace has disappointed you, I sincerely apologize. My intention is not to rush into the romance of the couples but to first build trust and depth in their relationships. I hope you understand and continue to enjoy the story as it develops. Thank you for your patience and support!
Have a great day