CHAPTER 16
VISHNU
Next Morning
I stare at the security footage playing on the laptop screen, but my mind refuses to focus. Sleep had eluded me last night, and it wasn’t just because we’d failed to catch the masked man. Despite my team’s relentless efforts and the constant coordination with local police, the perpetrator seemed to have vanished into thin air after the chase. And the fact that he’s still out there, lurking in the shadows, is worrying. But it’s not the professional failure that keeps replaying in my mind.
It’s her. Simran.
My fingers unconsciously trace the rim of my fourth cup of coffee this morning as memories of yesterday flood back into my mind. Just the thought of her bruised and vulnerable was enough to rattle any semblance of calm I thought I had. She looked so small and vulnerable in my arms, trembling slightly as I cleaned her wounds, her breath catching when I touched her... I’ve never shown this level of care and tenderness to anyone outside the Walia family before. She was right about that.
A rueful smile tugs at my lips as I acknowledge the truth I’ve been fighting for so long. Simran has always held a special place in my heart from the very beginning. That night we spent together, when she not only shared my grief but also gave herself to me completely, changed something deep within me. I might not have openly realised or accepted it then, but whenever she’s in danger—like when she left her boutique without security the other day—I feel the same gut-wrenching fear that I experience when the Walia family is threatened. It’s as if my own life hangs in the balance. That’s how important she’s become to me. And it’s not just because we have a son now. No. This connection runs deeper than that, though I took my time accepting this truth.
Images from yesterday assault my senses, still very vivid in my mind: my mouth on her knee, the taste of her skin as I traced her inner thigh with my tongue, kissing her like she was my salvation—raw and desperate, like a man starving for his woman for years. In that moment, it felt as though the eighteen months of separation had never existed. We picked up exactly where we left off that night, except the spark between us had grown even more intense, more explosive, and a few notches higher than before.
I can still hear her moans echoing in my ears, can still feel the desperate way she pressed against me, seeking her release. Even now, hours later, my body tightens at the memory of her fingers in my hair, the way she arched beneath me... urging me to continue pleasuring her.
“You sure about this?”
Abhay’s voice snaps me back to reality. I’m sitting in the apartment across from Simran’s, surrounded by my security team, yet my mind has been miles away. I look up to find him watching me with concern.
“Are you sure about letting Simran work at her boutique today?” he asks cautiously. “After yesterday’s incident? The masked man got dangerously close to both of you, and he’s still out there somewhere.”
My jaw clenches at the reminder. The thought of that man being anywhere near Simran makes my blood boil. But I also know her—her fierce independence and her determination to live life on her own terms. It’s one of the things that drew me to her in the first place. How could I deny her that?
“I don’t want her to live in fear,” I reply, my voice rough from lack of sleep. “I don’t want to cage her. She loves her work, and I can’t take that away from her.”
The image of Simran passionately discussing her designs and the way her eyes light up when she talks about her boutique flashes through my mind.
“So yeah, for now, let’s stick to her work schedule and ensure she does what she loves, and we do what we are best at. Double her security detail. I want eyes on every entrance, every window. No one gets even within fifty feet of her without us knowing.”
I pause, running a hand through my hair in concern. “And I’ll be personally overseeing her security too.”
Abhay nods, but I catch the knowing look in his eyes before he turns away. He’s worked with me long enough to read between the lines. This isn’t just about protecting her; it’s also about my need to be near her and ensure her safety myself. After yesterday, after nearly losing her to both the masked man and my own desires, the mere thought of staying away from her feels unbearable.
The memory of how I left her last night haunts me—her lying there, wanting me, her eyes filled with a mixture of desire and hurt. But I had to stop. How could I give in to this desire when she’s kept me away from my son all this time? I had to leave. Because if I hadn’t walked away then, I never would have.
Yet, even as I try to convince myself it was the right decision, my body still aches to go back to her to finish what we had started. To claim what my heart already knows is mine.
Just then, Claire appears at my door, that gentle smile of hers carrying an unexpected message.
“Breakfast is ready,” she says simply, as if this is a daily occurrence.
But it isn’t—not for us, not yet. I arch a brow, confused. Aside from the occasional coffee I make for myself while visiting Veer, I haven’t shared any meals with them.
Sensing my hesitation, Claire quickly adds, “Simran sent me to call you. She’s made breakfast and wants you to join her.”
My heart does a strange little flip in my chest. Simran cooking? For me? This feels… significant. Especially after last night, when the air between us had crackled with something dangerous and beautiful, something I’d backed away from at the last moment.
Without arguing or overthinking, I get up and follow Claire to the apartment, curious and more than a little intrigued. After everything that happened yesterday—her injuries and our charged moments—it’s hard to deny how much I want to see where this takes us.
As I step into the apartment, the scene before me halts me in my tracks. Simran is sitting at the breakfast table with Veer in his high chair, and she… she looks completely different. Gone is the sharp-edged businesswoman and the flirtatious woman I first knew. In her place is this... mother, and the tenderness of it hits me differently. She’s making silly faces at Veer as she feeds him, her whole face lit up with joy as he giggles at her antics. She’s spooning what looks like mashed fruit into his mouth, and he’s accepting it with varying degrees of enthusiasm, his tiny hands waving excitedly in the air. I can’t help but stare at the two while Claire heads to the kitchen. Simran’s softer, maternal side is truly mesmerising, and I just stand there, taking in the beauty of the moment.
Then Veer spots me, and his entire face brightens with joy. “Mmmmamaa!” he calls, his little arms reaching out to me, and something in my chest constricts painfully. Simran turns at the sound, and our eyes lock. The memories of last night floods back in an instant—the heat of her skin under my hands, the way she’d arched toward me, the herculean effort it had taken for me to pull away. I see it all reflected in her eyes, that same memory, that same hunger, as if she’s still processing it, still turning it over in her mind, wondering what could have happened if I hadn’t pulled away.
“Mmmmamaa!” Veer calls again, pulling us both back from the haze of our shared trance.
I move to him instantly, taking the bowl and spoon from Simran’s hands. Electricity zings through me as our fingers brush. But I focus my attention on Veer, spooning another bite of fruit into his eager mouth. He smacks his lips, some of it dribbling down his chin, and I quickly wipe it away with the soft muslin cloth hanging from his high chair. I feel a strange, grounding warmth spread through me. Feeding my child, caring for him—it’s something I’ve been waiting my whole life to experience.
“I’m not Maammaa,” I say softly, my heart full as I watch his bright eyes fixed on my lips as if trying to read them. “Say Papa. Pa-pa.”
He studies my mouth intently, his little brow furrowed in concentration, but what comes out is another gleeful “Maamaa!” followed by that adorable, infectious baby laugh that makes everything else fade away. He may not have said ‘Papa’ yet, but I know he’s going to be a Papa’s boy forever.
I try to feed him another spoonful, but he turns his head this time, clearly indicating he’s done with his breakfast. His tiny hands drum against the tray of his high chair, creating a staccato rhythm. Simran, who had been silently observing until now, reaches over to pick up Veer.
“Seems like he’s finished,” she says, brushing a tender kiss to his cheek as she holds him close.
His tiny face lights up as he squirms and giggles in her embrace. I watch them, literally aching to wrap my arms around them both.
As if summoned, Claire appears, offering to clean Veer up. He goes to her willingly, already familiar with the routine. The room feels different as they leave, quieter than before. It’s just Simran and me—no distractions and no baby to buffer our thoughts or words.
Simran is wiping down Veer’s high chair when I finally break the silence.
“How are your bruises?” I ask, thinking of the marks from yesterday’s car chase, the ones I’d tended to with such care, fighting the urge to let my touch linger over them.
She straightens, meeting my eyes with that characteristic mix of challenge and heat that never fails to get under my skin.
“Better than how you left them yesterday,” she says. The slight bite in her tone surprises me.
I watch her movements as she pours orange juice into our glasses, my mind still reeling from the loaded meaning behind her mockery. The morning sunlight streams through the French windows of her dining area, casting a warm glow that catches the subtle tension in her shoulders and her tight grip on the juice pitcher. Everything about her screams controlled chaos—just like the storm brewing between us.
“I thought that, if nothing else,” she continues, “we could at least share meals together.” Her words again hold a deliberate edge, one that cuts deep enough this time to pull my attention.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the jibes you’re throwing my way with your mocking statements,” I finally break the charged silence. “If I recall correctly, just yesterday, you weren’t even willing to share a bed with me, and now you want us to share meals? What’s brought about this sudden change?”
The juice pitcher hits the counter with a decisive thud as she turns to face me, her eyes blazing with that familiar fire that both draws and warns me.
“Even you were the one who insisted on keeping a distance from me. Indulging in any kind of intimacy shouldn’t have even crossed your mind. So, what happened last night? You seemed ready to bridge every distance between us. Or was that just a momentary slip in your control?” she says with a lift of her brow, again goading me to answer.
Her accusation hangs in the air, heavy and searing. Neither of us looks away. My hands itch to reach for her, to close this maddening gap, but I hold myself still.
“But of course...” She’s the first to break eye contact, her shoulders lifting in a shrug that’s far too casual, though the hurt in her eyes betrays her indifference. “At the right moment, you remembered how you shouldn’t give in to your desires and backed off. Isn’t that right? So, fair enough!”
She turns to arrange the plates, but I can’t let her walk away with this misconception. My hand shoots out, gripping her elbow, and I spin her around to face me. Her breath hitches, but her fiery gaze doesn’t waver.
“That’s right. I backed off because I remembered the bitterness of your deceit .”
I purposely stress the word ‘deceit’ because that’s what has distanced us despite living under the same roof. Her Deceit . My admission dims the fire in her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, I continue, “You know my thoughts are old school. I broke those shackles holding me at the club eighteen months ago and we had spent a night together, which obviously neither of us regrets. But getting intimate again with the woman I haven’t forgiven yet—that’s a red flag for me.” I pause, searching her face. “I lost my control for a few moments last night, but thankfully, I pulled back in time.”
Her lips part, and for a fleeting moment, I see the vulnerability she tries so hard to mask. But she recovers quickly, her walls snapping back into place.
“You can’t forgive me that easily, and you won’t touch me again until you do that either. But you can marry me without my consent? What kind of hypocrite old-school logic is that, Vishnu? All moulded to fit your convenience.”
She steps closer, her fingers suddenly clutching my t-shirt, her eyes boring into mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
“If you come from old-school values, then let me tell you something,” she says with fire in her eyes. “I’ve never compromised on my dreams, and I won’t start now, especially not with the man I’m supposed to marry. I don’t need just chemistry in bed, Vishnu. I want that maddening connection in every part of our lives. I want more than just respect, more than just being someone’s responsibility.”
Her anger burns hot, but so does the electricity coursing between us.
“What do you even know about me?” she demands. “The real Simran Thakkar? All you know is that I am your sister’s friend who runs her own fashion business and is a successful businesswoman. Have you ever tried to know the real me?”
The pain in her voice cuts through my senses. I’m unable to answer her, because I can’t—not in the way she needs, at least. And she sees that. Her next words come out in a rush, like a dam breaking.
“I know, in the past, we didn’t have much opportunity to get to know each other beyond the basics. But now, when you’ve taken such a huge decision like marriage, have you ever tried to know the real me? Or have you given me a chance to know the real you?”
Her grip on my t-shirt tightens.
“Apart from your steadfast love and loyalty towards the Walia family, I don’t know anything about you. I’ve heard some bits about your past, about the reasons you’re so determined to give Veer your legal name, but apart from that, what else do I truly know about you, Vishnu?”
Her words hit me like physical blows, each one more accurate than the last.
“You’re still a mystery to me, a mystery I’ve always been intrigued by, but never got the real chance to uncover. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you laugh, what brings a smile to your face. I want to know the real Vishnu Pratap Walia—just as you should know the real me.”
She releases my shirt and steps back, a gesture of defeat that wounds me more than her anger. I see her fighting back tears, and my hands ache to hold her, but I stay put, curbing the urge to reach out to her.
“I don’t have a problem with marriage or commitment,” she continues, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I just want to know the man I’m marrying—the real him—before I enter into this sacred relationship. To date him, understand his highs and lows, mould myself into his life and vice versa in such a way that we’re inseparable. So that we live the rest of our lives together, not because we’re bound by our son’s responsibility, but because we can’t think of taking the next breath without each other. Is it too much to ask?”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, rendering me momentarily speechless.
“You’re trying to tie us together with legality, Vishnu. But you don’t even know when you’ll forgive me for what happened. How are we supposed to live like that together? It feels like a compromise, and that’s why I’m not ready for it. That’s not how a marriage works.”
“Forgiveness?” I scoff. “Did you even ask for it?”
There’s a stunned silence between us as she processes my words.
“Have you even apologised to me for what you did?” I press on because that’s the truth. “Although you have admitted you’re guilty of hiding Veer from me, have you ever openly asked for an apology?”
She freezes and stares at me in shock.
“And you expect me to forgive you?” I mock, shaking my head in disbelief. “Now, who is a hypocrite here?”
She looks down, realising it’s her fault, but I’m not done yet. I have answers to each of her questions today.
“And we have a lifetime ahead of us to know each other once we marry,” I continue. “A lifetime to build what you want. It’s not like we’re entering into an arranged marriage, Simran. We know a lot about each other for that, don’t we?”
The moment these words leave my mouth, her eyes flash with renewed anger.
“Date after marriage? When would we even have the time to date after marriage? You’ve taken on the entire Walia family’s responsibility on your shoulders, and now, you’re also getting into politics, becoming the party president of the NEP party. How much time do you think you’ll be able to spend with me?”
This time, her words hit their mark, and I remain silent, letting her vent the fears she’s clearly been holding inside.
“And with my business spread across India and the US, I can’t expect you to keep travelling with me all the time. You’ll have your own political commitments.” She runs a hand through her hair in frustration. “I have no doubt we will raise Veer together, giving him everything he needs from both of us. You might find time for Veer, but for us? I don’t see it. With your responsibilities, the Walia family, and now politics, where do I fit into all that, Vishnu?”
Her words land like blows, one after another. I take a slow breath, clenching my fists to control my growing frustration.
“I don’t see us growing as a couple if this is what the future of being married to each other would look like. And this… it bothers me.” Her eyes meet mine, challenging yet vulnerable. “This is not just about Veer. This is also about us—as a couple, and as life partners.”
My hands clench at my sides as she continues, each word feeling like a fresh wound.
“I know marriage is inevitable, but don’t we deserve a courting period, chance to truly know each other first?” Her voice falters slightly, but she presses on.
“Until you decide to forgive me—not just because you want to move past the hurt, but because you genuinely understand why I did what I did, the fears that drove me to keep Veer from you—this marriage will feel forced. Like a compulsion, Vishnu. Two weeks… it’s too little time for all this to happen, to know each other the way we should before—”
I’ve had enough. In two strides, I’m in front of her, gripping her arms, pulling her closer. The heat between us sparks instantly, but I don’t let it distract me.
“I can take a life and give mine for you. What more do you want to know about me than this truth?”
I watch the words hit her, stealing her breath and leaving her speechless. She blinks in surprise but recovers quickly, shaking her head.
“That’s not enough, Vishnu. A marriage is more than that. I don’t want to feel like an obligation to you.”
Obligation? The word sets my blood boiling.
“Two weeks is all you’re getting, Simran. We could have had more, had you told me about your pregnancy on time. We would have had six months, at least, for courting before Veer was born, to get married, to welcome our child into the world. But you didn’t think wisely then.”
Her eyes widen at my harsh words, but I can’t stop now.
“Now, you don’t get to demand how long we need to wait because now it’s no longer about us... it’s about Veer. So, as I said earlier, you will be my wife in two weeks, with or without your consent. And this hurry? It’s on you, not me.”
I feel her trembling under my hands, but I force myself to continue.
“Giving Veer the rightful place he deserves is all that matters to me now, and it should to you too. This isn’t just about a name, Simran. It’s about bringing my son into my world with the respect he’s entitled to. At the max, if you want to know me more... I can promise you of one thing—we won’t have to get into physical intimacy after we marry in two weeks, not until you are ready for it. But the marriage cannot be postponed. Not at any cost.”
Taking a deep breath, I deliver the final blow.
“Whatever you need to prepare in terms of your work, do it now, because we are flying to India in a day or two after our legal marriage here. I want my family to meet Veer and welcome you as my wife.”
The shock on her face is almost too painful to witness.
“I’m not asking you to wind up everything from here. Just take a small break of three to four weeks for the India trip. We’ll figure out the rest once we’re there, of how to proceed with our work commitments moving forward.”
I can see her mind racing, processing what this means for her carefully planned life and her business commitments.
“You can’t do this, Vishnu. You have to give me some time. I can’t just fly to—”
“Two weeks,” I cut her off firmly. “That’s all you have.”
Without another word, without touching the breakfast she so carefully prepared, I turn and walk away. I can’t bear to see the confusion, hurt, anger, and frustration warring on her face. I can’t let myself be swayed by her emotional plea for more time.
As I close the main door behind me, a small voice in my head whispers that maybe she’s right about everything—about the time we need, about my forgiveness, about our future, and about how my responsibilities might leave no room for us to grow as a couple. But I push that voice down and lock it away with all my other doubts.
Because right now, I can’t afford to doubt. Not when my son’s future hangs in the balance.