The Deceit

CHAPTER 17

VISHNU

Few Hours Later

I pace across the room, my gaze fixed on the sketch of the joker mask lying on the table before me. Simran is off to her boutique with Abhay and the rest of the guards. I stayed back with my team, trying to connect the dots on this masked man. The vivid grin on the joker mask that he’s been wearing every time he’s come face to face with Simran or me feels like a deliberate taunt. And now, staring at this sketch, it’s as if the mask itself is mocking my inability to capture the man behind it.

My team stands in silence, awaiting further orders as my thoughts race.

“Why a joker mask?” I mutter, more to myself than to them. “It’s not random. It’s specific, intentional. It must surely mean something—symbolise something. Find out everything you can about this mask. Any historical significance, connections to logos, organisations, even brands. Also, dig into Jack Thompson’s past too. I want a complete background check on him—his entire life story, including the circumstances of his death. I need every detail,” I instruct my team.

My men nod, immediately springing into action, but my mind remains restless. Amidst all this, I’m also awaiting the progress from my lawyer, who’s handling the legal formalities for Simran’s and my wedding here in New York. And that reminds me, I’m yet to talk to my family and break this shocking news to them.

The intercom buzzes sharply, breaking my train of thought.

The guard’s voice comes through as I answer. “Sir, your father is here. He is headed towards the elevator to meet you.”

“What?” I bark into the intercom, my voice filled with disbelief.

For a moment, I am completely stunned. Dad is here? It is impossible. Absolutely impossible. How can Dad be here without my knowledge? Dad never travels anywhere without my explicit planning and security arrangements. How could he come all the way here without me being informed?

“How is that possible? Why wasn’t I informed?” I shout again, my mind racing through security protocols, potential breaches, and all that he has risked to come here unannounced. For what? Before I can process further, the door swings opens and there he is—Pratap Walia, my father, standing just a few feet away from me. His presence takes up the entire room, commanding it effortlessly like only he can.

I freeze again before abruptly ending the call and stride toward the door, anger and disbelief coursing through me.

“What are you doing here, Dad? Why... why didn’t I know you were coming? Why wasn’t I informed?”

He raises his hand to silence me, cutting through my questions and concern.

“You weren’t informed because I instructed them not to. To meet my son, I don’t need anyone’s permission—not even yours,” he says, a slight smile playing on his lips. I open my mouth to argue, but he continues. “And before you ask about security lapses, let me reassure you I didn’t do anything reckless. Ayaan arranged everything. His special guards handled my travel in a private jet. No one in India, apart from Ayaan and Meher, even knows I’m here in New York.”

“Meher knew you were coming?” The anger in my voice is now directed at my sister for not informing me. She’s going to hear from me later, as usual, for breaching protocol.

“She’s my daughter.” Dad simply shrugs. “And she did what I asked her to do—to keep it from you. Now, can we keep this question-answer round for later so that I can at least hug my son?”

His next words, laced with raw emotion, stop me cold.

“Besides, I have never been away from you for this long ever in my life. This was the first time, and I missed you, son.”

Something inside me cracks. He is right. This is the longest we’ve ever been apart. For years, I’ve been his shadow, standing by his side through everything—protecting him and guarding his every step. Wherever his political work takes him, I am always right beside him. These few days apart… this distance—it’s new to us both.

I close the distance between us and pull him into a tight hug. Dad’s hands stroke my back with a tenderness that still feels new—an affection he’d withheld for so many years before acknowledging me publicly as his son just eighteen months ago.

“I missed you too, Dad,” I admit quietly.

As we hold each other, memories flood my mind. The journey from being an unknown son to becoming his most trusted protector, the transformation of our relationship from distant and fractured to deeply connected. The political risks he faces daily, the constant threats to his life—all of these have only drawn us closer.

When we finally pull apart, I am still trying to process it all. This unexpected visit, the breach of our usual protocols, the emotional reunion—something feels off. But right now, those thoughts can wait. The comfort of having Dad here is all that matters.

“You should have told me.” I look at him, my protective instincts still at the fore. “Even if Ayaan has looked after everything, I am not happy because I am not in control of your security this time.” My voice is tight with tension. “You know your life is under constant threat because of the enemies you’ve made throughout your political journey. An unplanned visit like this, where I’m not planning your security measures, could leave a loophole for someone to exploit.”

“I know that. But stop worrying about me so much. I am old now... and so are my enemies.” Dad waves off my concerns.

I clench my jaw, hating his nonchalant ‘I-don’t-care-anymore’ attitude.

“Stop dismissing this, Dad! I don’t care how old they are—danger doesn’t age out, and neither does my duty to protect you.”

There’s a shift in his body language, and he becomes serious.

“Fine. Just so you feel better, I am flying back tonight as per the protocols of not staying at one place for more than a few hours during such unplanned visits. Ayaan has taken care of all that too. Are you happy now?”

“You shouldn’t have come here, Dad,” I mutter, still not happy.

His expression softens as he steps closer, grabbing my face with his firm but gentle hands.

“How could I not come here, Vishnu? After our last phone conversation, I knew something was wrong with my son. It was as if you wanted to tell me something but were unable to. I could sense it from miles away that something wasn’t right with you.”

His words pierce through my defences.

“I am your father,” he continues. “I may have been late in openly acknowledging our relationship before the world, but I have always read your pain. Even though you never spoke a word of it, I could read it in your eyes, feel it in my heart.”

His words hit me like a sledgehammer, bringing tears to my eyes. In that moment, I recall the pain my father sensed—the turmoil surrounding Simran, Veer, and our complicated relationship.

Being a father myself now, I can fully understand the depth of the connection he’s talking about. It’s an instinct. A bond that would make any father would react exactly as he has—even if it means flying across oceans to come straight to his son.

I pull him into a hug, holding on tightly. For years, I’ve craved his acknowledgment, his acceptance. And now, with our bond stronger than ever, his concern feels both overwhelming and reassuring. He pulls back and meets my tear-filled eyes.

“What is it that you are still not telling me, Vishnu?” His own eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Meher said she didn’t know much except that you are here to safeguard her and Devika’s friend, Simran, from some threat,” he says. “But I know my son. I could feel there’s more. I am here to know what’s troubling, son. You’ve always been tough, someone who rarely lets anything affect him, except when it comes to the Walia family.”

“Even this time, what’s affecting your son is related to the Walias, Dad,” I take a deep breath, interrupting him before he can speak further.

“Related to Walias?” The confusion on Dad’s face is palpable. But I’ve made up my mind. I know exactly what I need to do. There’s no turning back now. The truth has to come out. Dad deserves to know.

“What is it that’s related to the Walias and I am not aware of it?” he asks.

My hands tremble slightly as I clutch his arm, knowing this moment will change everything. The secret I’ve carried, the burden that has been eating away at my soul for days, is about to be revealed.

“What is it, Vishnu?” Dad looks at me, his eyes searching mine for answers.

As the head of the Walia family, my father has always prided himself on knowing everything and controlling every aspect of our lives. But today, I will shatter that illusion.

I grab his arm, and without a word, I lead him across the lobby.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks, confused, as he follows my determined strides.

I don’t answer. We directly stop in front of Simran’s apartment. I can feel Dad’s questioning gaze, but I remain silent. As I push open the door, Claire emerges from the living room, her eyes widening with instant understanding. She recognises the gravity of this moment and retreats to the kitchen, leaving us to our confrontation.

“Whose house is this?” he demands again, his tone sharper this time.

I’m afraid of his reaction once the truth is out, but it’s necessary—no more hiding. I stop in front of the nursery door, knowing very well my son is sleeping inside. My hand hesitates on the doorknob for a fraction of a second, but with a deep breath, I push the uncertainty aside and open the door.

The room is quiet, the soft glow of the evening light illuminating the baby cot, where Veer is sleeping peacefully.

Dad steps into the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the sleeping child. He turns to me, this time with a mix of curiosity and something deeper—something unspoken and vulnerable, as if seeking answers.

“That’s Veer,” I say, my voice breaking slightly. “Veer Vishnu Walia. Your grandson.”

The air stills. His expression shifts from confusion to disbelief, his gaze darting between me and Veer. For a moment, he stands frozen in place. His hands drop to his sides as he stares at Veer, his mind racing to process what I’ve just revealed.

“ My … grandson?” he finally manages, his tone rising as shock as the words slip from his lips. “How…? When…?” The questions tumble out in a rush, but I can’t bring myself to answer. The secret I’ve carried alone for the past week is now in the open, and it’s an overwhelming feeling. The truth is finally out.

I step out of the nursery, needing air, needing space. Claire rushes in to check on Veer to ensure the sudden outburst hasn’t disturbed his peaceful sleep.

Behind me, I hear Dad’s footsteps, knowing that the questions are coming—how, why, when. Simran’s secret, my secret, is no longer just ours. It’s the biggest shock for the Walia family. Veer—my son, born out of a passionate night that defied all expectations, a child who represents both my greatest joy and my most profound challenge—is now a reality my family must face.

“Vishnu, wait!” he calls after me, but I don’t stop until we’re back in the living room.

Dad catches up, gripping my arm with a force that makes my muscles tense. “What the hell is going on?” he demands, his voice sharp. “What did you just say?”

I turn to face him. “He is your grandson, Dad. Simran and my son.”

“Simran and your son?” he whispers in disbelief. “How is this possible?” His eyes search mine, confusion etched deep in the lines of his face. “I didn’t even know you two were ever... involved. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A hollow laugh escapes my throat. Where do I even begin? How do I explain something I barely understand myself?

“Simran and I were attracted to each other,” I begin. “I never admitted it openly, even to her. I was too blocked in my head, not wanting any such relationship, never yearned for it...” I pause, remembering how it felt when my walls first started crumbling. “But Simran… she saw through me. Broke all my defences. I tried so hard. I didn’t want to give fire to that spark, but… but it happened.”

The memories of that fateful time flood back, sharp and painful.

“Remember the day when Meher discovered my real identity—that I’m a Walia, your son?” I ask. Dad nods, and I continue. “When she confronted us at the Walia Mansion the day after her wedding, you know how hurt and dejected I was. I needed space, some time to myself. I didn’t even come home that night.”

My hands clench involuntarily as I recall those dark hours.

“I was grieving alone, trying to figure out how to fix things between all of us, how to unite us again as a family. I was licking my own past wounds that had reopened with Meher’s confrontation.”

I turn away, my voice growing softer. “And that same night... I ended up at the same club as Simran, purely by chance.” I pause, trying to control the wave of emotions building inside me. “She was the one who gave me strength not to give up. She… she was my anchor, Dad. Neither of us realised when things took a different turn, and...”

Dad looks away, his eyes shadowed with understanding. I skip the details—he doesn’t need to know every moment of that night.

“After that night… we never saw each other again. Not because I didn’t want to, but because life happened. The threats looming over the Walias and Ayaan’s family demanded all my attention, and I lost track of time. My responsibilities took over everything. And Simran—she flew to New York to chase her dreams. Expanding her business here had always been her goal.”

Bitterness creeps into my voice as I recall the betrayal. “She knew, Dad. She knew she was pregnant, and she didn’t tell me.” My fists clench at my sides, the sting of that truth as fresh as the day I first found out.

I feel his hand on my shoulder, offering support and empathy, but it does little to calm the storm inside me. I turn to face him fully, my jaw tight with tension.

“It was only when her life was in danger here, and she unknowingly confided in Meher that I found out. And I couldn’t stay away. I had to intervene. I came here to help her.” The words tumble out faster now. “For the past eighteen months, I was living with the guilt that I didn’t fight for her... for us. Of not telling her how I felt, even when I wanted to. I was so engrossed in everything else that she and my strong feelings towards her were pushed to the side.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration evident in every movement.

“So I came here, Dad, and that’s when I found out what she was hiding from me... that she was hiding my son.” The last words come out as barely more than a whisper, heavy with hurt and betrayal. “And I... I didn’t know how to tell you. Or Meher. Or anyone. I’ve been trying to process it myself.”

The silence that follows feels deafening, but in this moment, standing before Dad with my heart laid bare, I feel both stronger and more vulnerable than I ever have before.

“Simran’s deceit has completely shattered me,” I confess, my voice breaking. “Knowing that my son suffered the same fate I did when I was born—of not having his father’s hand over his head, his presence, his protection, his love... it broke something in me. Every child deserves that love, regardless of the relationship between his parents...”

I feel my composure crumbling. “It broke me, Dad. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my own child would share the same fate as me. It’s like a curse,” I whisper, the word barely escaping my lips.

And then, the tears come—uncontrollable, raw, filled with years of suppressed pain. Dad immediately pulls me into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around me, stroking my back, giving me the reassurance and comfort I’ve desperately craved my entire life.

“It’s not a curse. You’re not a curse,” he says firmly. “You are the biggest blessing in my life... and so is your son, Vishnu. To you, to me, to all of us.”

He pulls away, gently wiping the tears from my eyes. I know my breakdown is rare—I’m not someone who loses control easily, but letting it all out before Dad feels natural. It feels right.

“Maa had kept my birth a secret from you because of some misunderstanding she had about you,” I continue, my voice gaining strength. “But Simran... she had no reason. She could have told me. We could have handled this differently had she not fled to New York, keeping her pregnancy a secret.”

Anger starts to replace my vulnerability.

“She knew everything I had been through in my childhood. What I had missed. She knew how your decision not to acknowledge me as your son before the world had changed the course of my life. How it made me suffer—despite knowing who my father was, I could never call him ‘Dad’ openly.”

My fist clenches, and I can feel the rage building.

“She knew all of that, and yet she did the exact same thing to my son. I can’t even fathom what she was thinking.”

In a burst of uncontrolled emotion, I slam my fist against the wall, but Dad quickly stops me, grabbing my hand.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he snaps, his voice laced with anger and concern.

I turn back to him, guilt settling over me.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I admit. “I know this isn’t easy for you to accept either. You’ve always tried to stay away from scandals, never wanting our family’s personal life to be mocked openly in public.”

The political implications start to weigh on me as I continue, “With you launching me as the Party president of NEP, this truth is going to create another scandal. It might garner the same kind of attention that was generated when you openly acknowledged me as your son before the world.”

I look directly into his eyes.

“People might not want to put their trust in me because of this truth, and I know that will bother you.”

Dad starts to protest, but I cut him off.

“No, Dad. Let me finish. The mistake you made—choosing your career over accepting your son born outside of marriage—I won’t make that same mistake again. I refuse to let history repeat itself. I’m ready to give up everything I’ve worked for, everything you’ve dreamed for me. My career, my ambitions, even the future you’ve so carefully envisioned for me… I’ll sacrifice it all.”

I pause, my gaze locked on Dad. “Because… I choose Veer, Dad. I choose to accept my son in front of the world, to give him the life he deserves—a life filled with love, security, and pride. He will never feel the void I did. He will know his father chose him above all else.”

Dad places his hand on my shoulder, his eyes filled with pride.

“I already know that, Vishnu. In the Walia family, if there’s anyone who thinks from their heart, it’s you. All these years, I’ve prioritised my career over my family, but I know you would never make that mistake. For you, family is everything. You will always choose family over everything else. I know you’ll handle this situation as you always do—with strength and honour. And I’ll stand by you every step of the way.”

Relief washes over me at his words. His understanding, his acceptance—it means everything to me.

“Vishnu,” he continues, his voice filled with emotion, “if you, as a child, promised your mother to always stand by my side and protect me, then know that I, too, have promised myself to stand by you forever, through your ups and downs. You are my son —a son who has surpassed all of his father’s expectations. Don’t ever think that anything you’ve done has or will put my life or career at risk. None of this is your fault, and I will stand by you. Whatever you decide, I am with you.”

His words ignite a flicker of hope within me.

The moment my father places a hand on my shoulder, offering his support, I know it’s time to stop holding back.

“Dad, I’ve already decided,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. “I’m marrying Simran legally here within two weeks. That’s my first step towards correcting her mistakes and giving Veer my legal name.”

Dad’s gaze doesn’t waver. His silence urges me to keep going.

“I know it’s a big decision,” I continue, running a hand through my hair. “I should have taken your advice before jumping into action, but I just... I didn’t know what else to do. Every decision I make now is tied to Veer, and I couldn’t think of a better way to fix this mess. I’m still trying to absorb the fact that I’m a father to Veer.”

My voice catches slightly. “Obviously, I knew I had to share my plans of marrying Simran with you before actually signing the papers, but I didn’t know how. I was confused about how to bring it up with you.”

Dad nods, understanding evident in his eyes.

“It was that confusion, that state of mind, that brought me here to New York,” he says softly. “You have my blessings, Vishnu. Always.”

For years, this was the validation I longed for—a father’s acceptance, his pride in me. But just as relief begins to settle, his expression shifts, and I can see a question forming in his eyes.

“But are you doing this only for Veer?” he asks carefully, “Or do you still feel something for Simran? Is there still some spark between you two despite all that happened, to take a big step like marriage?”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. The truth I’ve kept buried for long rises to the surface. I’m surprised at my own openness. These are the feelings I haven’t even confessed to Simran yet, but I’m going to spill them out before my father.

“I might not have chased her in the last 18 months, but I knew she was the only one I would settle down with if life ever gave us a chance,” I admit.

Dad watches me intently, reading my every expression as I lay my soul bare before him.

“So to answer your question, I’m not just marrying her for Veer. I don’t know how we’ll bridge that gap of trust between us, or how to heal the pain she’s caused by keeping so much from me... I don’t know any of that. But I’m going to make this work. I’m going to make us work.”

A small smile appears on his face.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear from you,” he says warmly. “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re trying to fix now, I’m proud of you.” He pauses, considering. “But what about Simran? Have you talked to her about this? Is she ready to marry you within two weeks?”

“No.”

The single word cuts through the air like a knife, and we both turn toward the apartment’s main door. There stands Simran, her arms crossed, and her gaze fixed on me. My blood runs cold—how long has she been standing there? How much has she heard?

But what truly irks me is the defiance in that single word—her continued resistance to this marriage, voiced so boldly before my father. After everything, after all the revelations and pain, she still stands there, challenging my decision to make things right. The anger rises in my chest, hot and demanding, as our eyes lock across the room.