Author's pov-
The Sehgal mansion was alive with noise, laughter, and the aftermath of their wildest vacation experiences. After staying in Italy, they were finally home, but peace? That was never an option in this household.
Luggage was scattered in the living room, souvenirs piled up on the center table as everyone excitedly showed off their best finds. In the midst of the chaos, the biggest announcement of all was made-Devansh and Kavya's pregnancy was officially revealed to the family.
The room erupted.
Mahir's mother, Shivani, clapped her hands together, overwhelmed with joy. "I knew it! I knew something was different about you, Kavya!"
Rajeshwari immediately took charge, ordering sweets to be brought in, while Shalini and Shivani grabbed Kavya and bombarded her with questions.
"Did Dev cry when he found out? Be honest," Shalini asked her.
Kabir, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked "Oh, bhai didn't cry," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "But trust me, Mom, Shi--sorry- poocharello definitely gave Kavya bhabhi the best pregnancy workout you could imagine, pushing a van." he added with a sly wink, earning a round of laughter and a playfully scandalized glance from Shivay, who stood off to the side, trying to act unaffected but failing miserably at keeping a straight face.
Mahir's father, ever the composed one, simply smiled as he placed a hand on Devansh's shoulder. "Congratulations, son. You'll be a great father."
Meanwhile, amidst all the nonsense, the Sehgal Family had welcomed Avi with open arms.
The moment they had stepped back into the mansion, Shivani Sehgal had already made up her mind. And now, standing in the middle of the living room, she looked at Avi with an expression so warm, so motherly, that it made him freeze for a second.
"Oh, Avi beta, you're not going anywhere. You'll stay here with us. With your sister as long as you want." Shivani announced, patting his shoulder warmly.
Dadi nodded in agreement. "You're family now. We won't hear anything else."
Avi sighed, running a hand through his hair before offering a small, apologetic smile."I'm really sorry, but Dii bought an apartment for me here. I never got the chance to stay there," he said, his voice calm but firm. "It was my birthday gift from her, but I never actually got to live in it. So I'll be staying there, at least until my holidays end."
Siara's gaze flickered to him, calm, unreadable-but she knew, This wasn't just about an apartment.
Avi might have tried to play it off casually, but Siara had raised him. She knew the way his mind worked, knew the layers beneath his words. She could see through him the way she always had, the way only she could. Because she didn't just love him like a sister-she had raised him like a mother.
She knew the storm raging inside him, knew why he was doing this, even if he wasn't saying it aloud.
And in that moment, Avi's thoughts spiraled. "Dii never gets upset with anyone but me, so she doesn't even need to forgive anyone. But me? I can't just forget. I can't forget that when she needed people, they neglected her. When she was suffering, they turned a blind eye. For three years, she was alone. For three years, she bore the weight of their silence, their indifference, their inaction. I can't just forget that they never held their son accountable for his deeds.
What about my Dii? Isn't she a human? Doesn't she deserve to be fought for?
His heart clenched, anger and helplessness tightening his throat.
The family tried to persuade him a lot but he just denied. Shivani and Rajeshwari still looked reluctant, but seeing Avi's resolve and Siara's lack of protest, they relented with a heavy sigh.
In the midst of the laughter, the persuasion, and the relentless teasing, two people sat in silence-Mahir and Siara. They weren't beside each other. In fact, they sat on opposite ends of the room, as if an invisible line had been drawn between them, a quiet battlefield neither dared to cross.
Siara, as always, remained composed, her expression a carefully crafted mask of indifference. She sat with her back straight, her hands resting in her lap, the soft glow of the chandelier casting a golden hue over her unreadable face. The woman who once loved so deeply had now built walls so high, not even love itself could scale them.
Mahir, on the other hand, leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees, fingers loosely intertwined. His dark gaze was steady, unwavering-not at Siara directly, but at the space between them, as if he was measuring the distance in something heavier than mere steps. Unlike her, he didn't mask his emotions. He didn't need to.
What a cruel game fate had played.
Once, she had been a woman who loved with everything in her-so fiercely, so selflessly. But now? Now she saw that same love as nothing more than a naive infatuation, a fleeting emotion that had fooled her once. She told herself it was foolishness, that she had been blinded by it. And so, she shut herself off, sealing her heart away, refusing to let anything-especially love-creep back in. She no longer believed in the softness that once defined her. The door to her heart? Closed tight. And the key? Lost, perhaps, forever.
Once, he had been a man who never let love touch him. Who never believed in softness, in devotion, in the kind of love that makes you vulnerable. His heart was a fortress, cold and impenetrable, built on years of emotional scars and betrayals. To him, love was a lie, a weakness that only led to pain. And now, he was drowning in it, completely and utterly consumed by it. With each passing day, he fell deeper into a love that he hadn't asked for but couldn't escape. His heart, once hardened and indifferent, now beat only for her.
It was ironic, really.
She, who had given her love so easily before, refused to give it now. And he, who had never let love in, was willing to tear himself apart for her.
Destiny, played its part in shaping their lives. How easily the roles had reversed now. The very thing they once believed to be true-Siara's fierce love and Mahir's guarded indifference-had been upended. They were two souls, once mismatched, now bound by something stronger than either of them could control. And maybe, just maybe, it was fate that had led them to this point. But even destiny couldn't change the fact that they were both trapped in a game they didn't know how to win.
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Later that day, the atmosphere in the study was thick with anticipation, the silence almost deafening. All the elders were seated, their eyes flickering with varying degrees of concern, curiosity, and-if one looked closely-uncertainty. The room was heavy with unspoken words, an invisible tension hanging in the air, as if the very walls themselves were waiting for something to give.
At the center of this quiet storm sat Advitya Sehgal, his gaze intense, unwavering as he waited. Shivani, Mahir's mother, sat beside him, her fingers lightly tapping on the armrest, her mind clearly running through the events of the day.
As each minute passed, the room felt smaller, the walls seeming to close in. The elders had gathered not just for a casual conversation but for something far more crucial-something that involved Siara and her future with Mahir. They were here for a reason. Rajeshwari's steely expression, Shivani's quiet deliberation, and even the occasional glance exchanged between the others in the room made it clear that this was no ordinary family meeting.
Mahir, oblivious to the storm awaiting him, stepped inside the study, demeanor intact. He casually rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, his sharp gaze scanning the room before resting on his Dadi, who sat like a monarch about to pass judgment. Shivani, his mother, was beside her, her fingers laced together, lips pressed into a thin line. His father sat quietly, observing. His chachi and chachu exchanged glances.
Mahir's brows furrowed slightly at their silence, his sharp gaze flickering between the elders. A sudden heaviness pressed into the room, something unseen but suffocating. His patience, already stretched thin from the last few days, wavered.
"What was the urgent matter you called us back for?" he asked, his voice laced with quiet authority. He wasn't a man who liked surprises, and the energy in the room told him this was about to be one.
His father exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he exchanged a look with Rajeshwari before turning to face Mahir fully. Then, in a voice filled with quiet but simmering rage, he spoke "You are getting divorced."
The words sliced through the air like a blade.
For the first time in a long time, Mahir felt something close to shock. His expression didn't waver, his body remained still, but there was something deadly in the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. The silence that followed was deafening, a pause before the inevitable storm.
He didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
Then, in the slowest, calmest, most terrifying way possible, he asked, "I'm what?"
His father's gaze didn't falter. "You heard me."
A muscle ticked in Mahir's jaw. He had been exhausted before. The past few days had drained him-physically, emotionally, mentally. He had spent years keeping himself detached, untouchable, only to find himself utterly consumed by one woman. A woman who wouldn't even look at him twice, a woman he had poured his heart out to just a day ago.
And now, these people-his own family-thought they could take her away from him?
Divorce?
From Siara?
Mahir exhaled slowly, a mirthless smirk tugging at his lips. But his eyes-his eyes were unreadable, dark, dangerous. "Who," he began, voice deceptively soft, "is divorcing whom?"
Rajeshwari's gaze was unwavering. "This marriage is not working, Mahir. That child has suffered enough. She has already endured more than anyone can imagine and you didn't care enough to take care of your responsibilities before. Siara-"
Mahir's head tilted slightly. "Siara said this?"
The single question lingered in the air, an echo pressing against the chests of everyone in the room.
The silence that followed was razor-sharp, cutting through the thick air of the study like the final note of a death knell. It was the kind of silence that wasn't empty-it was brimming with unspoken battles, unshed blood, the slow unraveling of something that should never have been touched.
Mahir's smirk deepened, slow and lethal, like the edge of a knife gliding over fragile skin. His fingers, once relaxed at his sides, curled into a loose fist-not in anger, but in something far more dangerous.
Control.
His control was absolute.
Rajeshwari's sharp gaze didn't falter. "Mahir, you-"
"Did. Siara. Say. This?" he enunciated, each word cutting through the tension with deadly precision.
No one spoke.
The answer was already there, woven into the silence.
Mahir exhaled slowly, the corner of his lips twitching, but there was no humor in it. "I see."
A soft, bitter chuckle left him, low and dark. His patience was a thread stretched too thin, and now, it had snapped.
His gaze flickered to his father, the man who had just sentenced him to a fate worse than death-as if his word could dictate Mahir's life, as if a mere decree could sever something that had already bound itself in blood, pain, and something far deeper than anyone here could comprehend.
"You think," Mahir murmured, tilting his head, his voice deceptively calm, "that you can take Siara from me?"
His father met his gaze, the weight of authority heavy in his stance. "You have no right to keep her bound to you when you-"
"When I what?" Mahir interrupted, his voice soft but sharp as a dagger. "When I refuse to let go of the only thing that matters to me? When I refuse to abandon her again the way everyone else did? I did? When I choose to stay, despite knowing she may never love me the way I love her?"
A thick pause. The weight of his words crashed into the room, heavy and inescapable.
Love. He had said it. Openly. Unapologetically.
It wasn't a fleeting sentiment. It wasn't a moment of weakness. It was a vow. A force. A sentence with no expiration.
Shivani's fingers tightened around the armrest. "You... love her?" she whispered, as if the word itself was foreign on her tongue.
Mahir exhaled slowly, almost amused. His lips curled-not in amusement, not in kindness, but in something far more dangerous."I don't play with words, Maa." His voice was quiet, but each syllable was lethal. "I love her. And nothing you say will change that."
The declaration settled like a storm cloud, thickening the tension in the air.
"She doesn't love you," His dadi stated, testing him, pushing him, searching for a crack in his resolve.
His tone was almost mocking. "My Love for her is not a contract. It is not a negotiation. It is not something I need in return to keep giving. My wife is not a piece of broken crockery that I would love her because she is fragile and needs fixing. I do not love her out of pity. I do not love her because she is wounded. I love her because she is Siara. Because even when the world broke her, she still stood.
"You love a woman who doesn't even look at you," His dadi said, her tone sharper now, challenging. "Who walks away every time you reach out."
Mahir chuckled softly, the sound void of warmth. "She can walk away a thousand times," he said, tilting his head. "And I will still be there when she turns back around."
His mother's voice trembled, but her resolve didn't. "When she came into this house that night... when you left her to deal with it all alone," her breath hitched, but she forced herself to continue, "she didn't even try to defend herself from the silent accusations thrown at her."
Mahir remained still, his eyes dark as the abyss.
Shivani's fingers curled into the armrest, knuckles turning white. "Do you remember how many times we called you back home? How many times we begged you to come back?" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but there was steel in her words. "But you-and your ego-didn't let you."
"We never wanted her as our daughter-in-law." Her confession hung in the air, raw and brutal. "But she... she changed that. She changed us. Even after the lie we were fed about her past, even when we thought we had reason to hate her... we couldn't. We never could."
She inhaled sharply, as if the weight of her own words pressed against her ribs. "That night... when she broke down, her screams still echo in my mind." Her voice wavered, but her eyes remained locked onto Mahir's. "She shattered right in front of us, and we-her so-called family-stood there, watching."
Mahir's fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening, but he didn't interrupt.
"We all wronged her." Shivani's voice dropped to a whisper, thick with guilt. "And now, it is time to make things right."
Then, with a quiet, ruthless finality, she declared, "You will divorce Siara."
The words fell like a death sentence. His voice, when it came, was dangerously soft. "I will do a lot of things in this life." His head tilted, the movement almost lazy, almost indifferent. "But leaving my wife will never be one of them."
He took a slow step forward, unhurried, powerful, like a predator closing in on prey.
"You sit here in this grand study, in your self-imposed thrones, dictating lives with a flick of your wrist, thinking you can bend me to your will." His dark eyes swept over them, each one impaled by his scrutiny. "But let me make something very, very clear-"
His smirk vanished.
"You will never take Siara from me."
The air grew heavier, suffocating.
"You think divorce will set her free?You think this marriage is something that can be undone with a few signatures and a polite discussion." His voice was almost amused now, laced with quiet venom. "Do you think a piece of paper will undo the nightmares that still crawl beneath her skin?"
His father finally spoke, voice edged with frustration. "Mahir, this is not just about you-"
Mahir's smirk deepened, but his eyes darkened. "No, it is not. It is about her. And you-all of you-are making decisions for her again. Have you asked her what she wants? If Siara wants to leave me, she can tell me herself. If my wife look me in the eye and say the words. And then-only then-I will let her go.
"But even then-" His voice dropped to something almost intimate, almost cruel. "Even then, I will stay."
His Father declared, finality laced in every word. "You do not deserve her."
The blow landed like a gunshot.
Rajeshwari's lips pressed into a thin line. "She needs a future, Mahir. A life she forgot to live, the passion she killed within herself."
"And do you think she will get that if I give her divorce?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Really?"
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "The woman who once answered in nothing but silence now glares at me without even realizing the change. The woman who used to be nothing but a shadow, who ignored the world as if it never mattered, now listens-truly listens-to every ridiculous word that circus of clan spits out. The same woman who never acknowledged their nonsense before, threw her heels at them without a second thought. She scolds them. She fights back. She-" his voice dropped, quiet, rough with something raw. "She speaks to me. Whether it's a sarcastic remark or an angry outburst, whether it's frustration or defiance-she speaks and you think I should walk away"
He stepped forward once more, and his next words were whispered like a vow. "You're right," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "I don't deserve her." He let the silence stretch, suffocating, unbearable, before he spoke again-his voice barely above a whisper.
"But tell me, who does?"
The room held its breath.
His eyes flicked from one elder to the next, his gaze sharp and assessing as if measuring them, calculating the next move. His lips curled into a smirk, one that was cold and void of warmth. "You all are here, claiming to save her from me, to give her a life," he continued, the sarcasm dripping with every word. "How exactly do you plan on doing that? By making her leave this place?"
Before he could continue, his Chachi interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension with exaggerated sweetness. "Umm... wait, wait... Dear Mahir, it looks like you've misunderstood us."
His Chachu's voice followed with a chuckle, the tone laced with playful mockery. "Yeah, big misconception you've got there, Mahir."
Mahir's gaze flickered between them, a thin line of irritation tightening his jaw.
Then, like a plot twist from an old family drama, his father stepped forward, voice cold and commanding. "Who said Siara is leaving this place dear son?"
Mahir's brow furrowed for a moment, a shift in the dynamics of the room beginning to unravel. But before he could respond, his Chachi's smirk grew wider, filled with that deliciously sharp edge. "We didn't, Bhaiya. Did we?"
And then, as if the room itself had been holding its breath, his Dadi finally rose. Her presence was like a queen taking her throne, her voice soft but carrying the weight of generations. "Dearest grandson," she said with an amused smile, "our daughter is never leaving this place. It's you who will leave."
The words landed like a hammer, shattering the fragile tension in the air. And yet, Mahir's expression remained unreadable, his jaw tight, his eyes hard. But a single muscle twitched. This was not over.
"I see." His gaze flickered across the room, sharp and assessing. Then he took a single step forward, his presence commanding, suffocating. The very air around him seemed to shift.
He looked at each one of them, ensuring his words would be seared into their minds. "Siara is mine. In every way that matters. There is no 'divorce.' There is no 'undoing' us. She can hate me, she can ignore me, she can walk away a hundred times-but I will bring her back a hundred more. You can keep your discussions, your good intentions, your ridiculous assumptions. Because this marriage?"
He leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper, but a promise. "This marriage ends when my wife throws the divorce papers in my face and that day I'll leave this place. Unless she does that I have no intention of letting her go."
Silence. Heavy, weighted, absolute.
No one had a response. No one dared.
And for the first time, Mahir's father looked at his son-the man he had raised, the man who had always been untouchable, invincible-and saw something terrifying. In that moment, they all understood. This wasn't a battle over a marriage. This was Mahir's declaration, his ultimatum: He would not bend. He would not yield. And nothing would break him. Not even his own family.