Chapter 15

Tara's outburst had caught me off guard.

I wasn't someone who easily lost his composure, but when she stood there in our living room, her voice trembling with frustration, anger, and pain, I found myself at a loss for words. Her emotions poured out like a storm I couldn't control, and all I could do was stand silently and listen.

It wasn't her words that shocked me—it was the depth of her feelings, the rawness of her hurt.

I had known she was struggling, but hearing it all laid bare made me realize just how blind I had been.

I don't know anything about her , when she showed me her smile in the rare moments when  came across and the way she didn't complain I thought that she was coping well , until I asked the staff about her and then the outburst it made me realize that Tara isn't the one to complain but wait silently before reaching her limit and with my ignorance that limit seem very near

After that night, I found myself watching Tara more closely. Not in a way that was intrusive, but with a quiet attentiveness I couldn't explain

I noticed how she carried herself in the mansion, always tentative, as if afraid of stepping out of line. I saw how her smiles—rare as they were—lit up the room in a way I hadn't expected.

And I began caring for her in the only way I knew how: silently.

I instructed the staff to prepare her meals with more fruits, nuts, and salads, knowing she often skipped meals or ate lightly. I adjusted my schedule to ensure I could be home for dinner with her. I even asked my assistant to check her surroundings discreetly, ensuring that Sameer—or anyone else—could never threaten her again and when she told me in passing that she likes roses I ordered for them to be planted in the garden in every colour , why because I want her to feel it that this mansion tough felt cold to me it doesn't need to feel the same for her

One evening, during dinner she told me about her school and play it was something very normal but it felt special to me that despite my shortcomings she still wanted to tell me about the trivial things in life and during our impromptu movie night, Tara had smiled at me.

Not the polite, reserved smile she gave out of courtesy, but a genuine, wide smile that reached her eyes.

It had caught me completely off guard. I had been holding a bland cracker, teasing her about her snacks, and she had grinned at me with a playful laugh, revealing her hidden stash of chips and biscuits.

The sound of her laughter and the brightness of her expression did something to me—something I hadn't felt in years.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, my heart stirred.

But with that stirring came fear.

I wasn't afraid of Tara herself. She was too good, too kind to hurt anyone, let alone me.

What I feared was what she might see if she looked too closely.

I had spent years building walls around myself, shutting out emotions, connections, and anything that might make me vulnerable. It wasn't just a defense mechanism—it was survival.

I feared that if Tara got too close, she might uncover the broken parts of me I worked so hard to hide. The parts that had been shattered when my parents died, leaving me an orphan at ten.

The parts that had been buried deeper when Siya had walked away, accusing me of being cold and incapable of love.

Siya's words haunted me even now.

"You're incapable of love, Veer. You're a hollow shell, and I can't be with someone like that."

I had never fought her words because, in some ways, I believed them. I had spent years closing myself off from the world, focusing on my work, my empire, and my success. Emotions were a luxury I couldn't afford, not when they had only ever brought me pain.

But with Tara, the fear wasn't that she might leave. The fear was what she might say before she did.

What if she looked at me one day and echoed Siya's words? What if she saw the man behind the carefully constructed mask and decided he wasn't worth staying for?

Tara deserved more than the version of me I had shown so far. She deserved honesty, vulnerability, and warmth.

But giving her those things wasn't as simple as it seemed. It wasn't just about breaking down walls—it was about confronting the pain and emptiness I had buried long ago.

Still, I found myself wanting to try.

The more time I spent with Tara, the more I found myself drawn to her. It wasn't just her kindness or her strength—it was the quiet determination that shone through even in her hardest moments.

She had endured so much in her life, yet she remained compassionate and hopeful. Her presence in the mansion had turned it into something it hadn't been in years: a home.

I wanted to see her smile more often. I wanted to hear her laugh, to know what made her happy, to understand the little things that brought her comfort.

And, in the quiet corners of my heart, I found myself wanting her to look at me not as a stranger or a partner of convenience, but as someone she could trust.

But every time I thought about opening up to her, the fear returned.

What if I wasn't enough for her? What if she deserved more than a man who had spent his life shutting people out?

Tara was different from anyone I had ever known. She wasn't after my wealth or status—she simply wanted to belong. And I couldn't bear the thought of failing her, of letting her down the way I had let down Siya.

As I watched Tara move through our shared life with quiet resilience, I realized that if I wanted this marriage to work, I needed to change.

Not for her sake, but for ours.

It wouldn't be easy, and it wouldn't happen overnight. But I wanted to try—for the first time in years, I wanted to try.

Because with Tara, my heart was beating again. And I didn't want it to stop.

That night, as we sat down for dinner, I found myself paying closer attention to her.

She talked about her school day, her students, and the upcoming annual function with a passion that lit up her entire face. I listened intently, hanging on to every word, and when she asked for my thoughts on the play she was directing, I gave her my honest opinion.

It wasn't a grand gesture or a dramatic change. But it was a start—a small step toward breaking down the walls I had built so carefully around myself.

As I watched Tara smile at me across the dining table, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could become the man she deserved.

And for the first time in years, I didn't feel so alone.