The Deceit

CHAPTER 20

VISHNU

Simran sits beside me in the backseat of the Raptor as we sweep through the bustling city streets. Abhay is driving us back home while the black SUVs of our security team form a protective convoy behind us. My heart still races as I recall Simran’s state at the boutique. The image of her trembling form, when she told me about that blood-stained scarf, is seared into my mind. I should have been there sooner; I shouldn’t have slept in after seeing Dad off at the airport. Every second I was late feels like a moment I could have lost her.

Simran’s tremors haven’t completely subsided, though she’s visibly calmer now as she speaks on the phone with Claire, who reassures her that Veer is safe and sound, and is sleeping. I watch as her shoulders relax just a little, but her fingers still tremble as she ends the call. Her fear is palpable as the blood-stained scarf she received earlier continues to haunt her, just as it haunts me.

The moment she ends the call, I can’t hold back anymore. I pull her onto my lap, and for once, she doesn’t fight me. The fierce, independent woman I know melts into my arms, curling into me like a wounded bird seeking refuge. My hand moves in slow, steady strokes down her back, trying to calm her. She feels so small, so fragile in my arms—nothing like the strong-willed Simran I know. Just the thought of that masked man playing with her mind makes my blood boil.

“Faster,” I growl at Abhay, who’s already pushing the Raptor to its limits.

When we finally reach the apartment, I don’t let go of her. I can’t. She’s still shaking. I lift her effortlessly into my arms, ignoring her faint protests, and carry her straight to the bedroom, my grip tightening around her with each shudder that rocks her body. Claire’s shocked face greets us, her questions almost dying on her lips as she takes in Simran’s state.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Later,” I bark, not pausing to explain. “Run a warm bath for her. Now.”

Claire rushes to the bathroom, and I take Simran into the bedroom. I sit her down on the edge of the bed and crouch in front of her, my hands cupping her face.

“Simran,” I say softly, my voice betraying the anger and frustration boiling inside me. “I’m going to end this soon. I promise, this is the last time he’ll ever get this close to scare you. No more.”

Her lips part, but no words come out. Instead, her tear-filled eyes meet mine, betraying her fear and exhaustion. Claire returns quickly, nodding at me to indicate the bath is ready. I stand and pull Simran back to her feet, my fingers automatically reaching for the zipper of her dress. Her trembling still hasn’t stopped. I can feel her skin ice-cold against mine.

The dress starts to slide down her shoulders as I gently push the straps aside, but before it can fall further, her trembling hand moves to hold it in place against her chest. Just as I’m about to argue, to tell her that this isn’t the time for modesty, her eyes meet mine.

The look she gives me hits me like a punch to the gut. Those eyes, usually so full of fire, now hold a mixture of vulnerability and hurt that makes me freeze. It’s not about modesty; it’s about the other night, when I pulled away, when I stopped us from crossing that line. She’s silently asking me if I’m sure about this, that I won’t regret helping her undress the way I regretted our almost-intimacy before.

I swallow hard as I struggle between what I want to do and what I know I should do. I realise I’m on the verge of crossing a line again—one that I’m not ready to cross. Not yet.

Finally, I turn to Claire.

“Help her,” I manage to say. “I’ll be outside.”

Simran flinches slightly at my tone, her head bowing in defeat as I step back. A single tear escapes her eye, and it cuts through me like a knife. She turns away from me, her shoulders stiff, and I realise I’ve hurt her more than what she endured at the boutique today. This is the second time I’ve pulled away, and this time, I did it when she needed me the most.

As Claire helps her to the bathroom, I slam the door behind me, the sound reverberating through the apartment like my own internal conflict. My chest constricts painfully as I lean against the wall, struggling to breathe, to think, to make sense of what I’ve done. The look of rejection in her eyes burns into my memory—a wound far deeper than any physical pain.

I’m failing her. Not just now, but in every moment where I’ve allowed pain to build a wall between us. This is no longer about protecting her; it’s about choosing whether to fix what’s broken or let it shatter completely.

Yes, Simran made a grave mistake by hiding Veer from me. But that’s in the past now—a chapter we cannot rewrite, no matter how much we might want to. And now, standing here, I only have two choices.

The first is a path of continued bitterness—staying together for Veer’s sake, but allowing resentment to poison our every word, every touch, every shared moment. A life where we’re always haunted by past wounds, where every glance is a reminder of the betrayal I can’t forget.

The second path is even harder. It requires something I’ve never been good at—true forgiveness. Not just saying the words, but actually meaning them. Accepting her completely. Trusting her again. Giving her the love and support she deserves, without constantly dragging her through the mud for her past mistakes.

Forgiveness has never come easily to me. I’m not a man known for second chances. My reputation is built on hard lines and uncompromising decisions. But if I can forgive my own father—a man who failed me in ways that cut deeper than any knife—can I not extend the same grace to the woman who has always held a piece of my heart?

I close my eyes, feeling the conflict inside me slowly settle into a quiet resolution. Forgiveness isn’t about forgetting. It’s about choosing to love despite the pain. It’s about understanding that we are flawed, that we all make mistakes, and that true strength lies not in holding onto anger, but in letting it go.

Simran is not just the mother of my child. She’s the woman who has stood by me, even when I’ve pushed her away. Her mistake wasn’t born out of malice but out of fear—for her independence, for her dreams. And now, there’s only one question haunting me. Should I give her another chance?

I leave the apartment, heading straight to the one across the hall where my team is stationed. The room is a flurry of activity—guards on calls, others monitoring footage on the screens. My rage simmers dangerously close to the surface as I step inside.

“What the hell is happening?” I thunder, my voice cutting through the background noise. “How the hell did a package like that even make it into Simran’s office? How long are we going to take to find this creep who’s messing with my woman’s mind?”

The men exchange glances, understanding the depth of my fury. I’m not just angry—I’m beyond furious. This isn’t just about a package. This is about someone deliberately targeting Simran and trying to break her spirit.

Abhay steps forward, his expression serious.

“The package had a fake postal stamp,” he informs me. “The sender’s address is non-existent. And the reports from the forensics team have just arrived. Those stains on the scarf? It’s not blood. It’s paint. The whole thing was a psychological scare tactic.”

I grit my teeth, my hands clenching into fists.

“Or maybe it’s a warning,” I spit out. “A message that next time, the blood could be real. The blood of someone who matters to Simran.”

Abhay nods grimly. “We’re not taking this lightly, Vishnu.”

I pace the room, my hands fisting in frustration.

“He sent this to her boutique. Despite knowing we are protecting her, he hasn’t backed off. He’s playing games, Abhay—with her mind, with her safety. This isn’t just some competitor trying to scare her off. This is personal.”

“Exactly,” he agrees. “He’s trying to get inside our heads. And if it’s not a business competitor, then who could it be?”

Abhay raises an interesting point.

“What do we know about Simran’s past? Her family history?” he asks.

The question hits me like a punch. I go blank. Completely blank. I’m suddenly reminded of our heated argument where Simran accused me of not knowing anything about her beyond the basics. A wave of guilt hits me—she was right.

Just then, another team member steps forward, holding up a tablet.

“Sir, we’ve got CCTV footage from this morning,” he says, pulling up the video.

The footage shows a man in a black hat delivering the same package to the building’s reception area. His face is strategically obscured, but there’s something deliberate about his movements. As he hands over the package, he touches his hat—a small yet subtle gesture that feels more like a signal than a casual movement.

“Zoom in,” I command.

As the image enlarges, a distinctive ‘Z’ becomes visible on the cap. The same style of ‘Z’ that was on the package sent to Simran.

“Find out,” I tell Abhay. “Check Simran’s business records. See if she has any clients or customers with the initials ‘Z’.”

“Already on it,” Abhay nods in response, already issuing orders to the team. I lean over the table, my eyes locked on the paused image of the man in the footage.

“He wants us to find him,” I muse aloud. “He thinks he’s doing us a favour by leaving a clue.” A dangerous smile plays on my lips. “What he doesn’t know is that he won’t live long enough to regret crossing paths with me. The moment I find him, he’s dead.”

My protective instinct is in full force. Someone is targeting Simran, and they will pay for it. Every resource I have, every connection, every skill I’ve honed—they’re all focused only on one thing now. Finding the person who dared to threaten my woman and make them regret ever trying to scare her.

****************

I return to the apartment late at night, my body exhausted and my mind restless. The day’s events, especially Simran’s fear and distress, play continuously in my mind. Claire greets me as I step inside, her expression a mix of worry and exhaustion.

“Is she asleep?” I ask, hoping Simran is finally getting the rest she needs after today’s ordeal.

“No,” Claire replies, shaking her head. “She’s in the kitchen. I tried to get her to rest, but...” She trails off, helpless.

“I’ll take care of her,” I assure her. “Can you stay with Veer tonight?”

“Of course. I’ll sleep in the nursery, and if he needs Simran during the night, I’ll wake her.”

“Thank you, Claire.”

The moment I step into the kitchen, my heart clenches at the scene before me. Milk is spilling over the counter, yet Simran stands frozen, lost in her thoughts, until she suddenly snaps back to reality and turns off the stove. But there’s no relief in her movements. Instead, her shoulders sag, and she starts crying. Not soft, restrained tears—but bitter, heart-wrenching sobs that cuts through me like a knife.

“Simran,” her name leaves my lips in a rush as I hurry toward her. She doesn’t seem to hear me. She grabs a cloth and tries to wipe away the spilled milk, all the while crying.

“Leave it,” I say, pulling her back gently but firmly. “Claire will clean it up.”

She resists, shaking her head as if she can’t even hear me. “It’s just milk, Simran,” I try to calm her. “Stop crying over it. It’s okay.”

She struggles against my hold.

“It’s NOT okay!” she cries out, pushing me away. Her voice breaks as she runs her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Nothing happening with me these days is okay. Just... leave me alone.”

“I didn’t come here to leave you alone,” I say firmly, stepping closer, not willing to back away this time.

“I know that, but you being anywhere near me when I’m like this, emotionally vulnerable, is not good. I then start expecting things from you, when I know I shouldn’t. Not after what I did with you...” She chokes on her words. “So please… just leave.”

Her words sting as I know exactly what she means—my constant withdrawal whenever we get close, and the way I pull away just when she needs me the most. Seeing her bury her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs, breaks something deep inside me.

I step closer, gently pulling her hands away from her face. She finally looks at me, tears still streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “You don’t have to apologise. I know today was terrifying for you,” I say, my voice steady but soothing. “But that masked man—he’s just playing mind games with you. The stains on that scarf, Simran—they weren’t blood. It was just paint. He’s trying to mess with you using psychological tactics. Don’t let him get into your head.”

She shakes her head furiously.

“You don’t understand! This isn’t just about today. It’s my karma, Vishnu.”

Karma! I freeze, confused. What is she talking about?

“I deserved this… after… after what I did with you.” Her voice cracks, rising in hysteria, as she continues. “They say karma always hits back, and this is mine.”

She runs her fingers through her hair again in pure agony.

“Simran, stop.” My voice is sharper now, my hands gripping her arms. But she pulls away, her emotions spiralling further out of control.

“No, Vishnu, you listen to me!” she cries. “Today’s incident was an eye-opener. When I saw those blood stains on the scarf, my first thought was Veer.” Her voice breaks as she says our son’s name. “If that masked man wants to hurt me, he could also try to hurt my son... What if he did something to Veer?”

I grip her arms firmly, my protective instincts kicking in.

“I won’t let him touch Veer or you,” I declare vehemently. “Stop thinking like this. It could just be some jealous competitor who can’t handle seeing a strong, independent woman like you succeed.”

She pulls away from my touch, and her next words are filled with bitter self-loathing.

“Exactly... my success, my dreams, my independence. They were the three reasons that made me choose this life. The three things because of which I didn’t tell you about my pregnancy. Today made me realise how much I’ve risked everything.” Her tears fall faster now. “I’m sorry, Vishnu... I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

My chest tightens, watching her break down completely.

“I don’t want this success... this independence... I don’t want to achieve my dreams if this is what it means. Living in fear of losing my loved ones.”

I try to reach for her again, but she steps back, her voice becoming more frantic.

“I was such a fool to choose my dreams, my career over everything else, and I risked everything that truly mattered. I risked our son’s life too. If something had happened to me or Veer before you came to New York, who would I blame? Also, anything could have happened if you weren’t here to protect me now. And all this for what?” She’s practically sobbing now. “All this happened because of my own selfish choices... I had no right to risk Veer’s life.”

Standing here, watching the strongest woman I know break down like this, I feel my own walls crumbling. Her pain, her guilt, her fear—it’s all laid bare before me. In this moment, I realise that my own inability to forgive, to let go, has contributed to this breakdown. The woman I have always desired is falling apart before my eyes, and I’m partly responsible for it.

All the anger and hurt I’ve been holding onto about her keeping Veer from me suddenly feels insignificant in the face of her raw anguish. Right now, I don’t see the woman who kept my son from me—I see the mother of my child, terrified for our son’s safety and drowning in a sea of regret and self-blame. And in that instant, something inside me shifts, irrevocably.

My heart nearly stops when Simran suddenly drops to her knees on the cold kitchen floor, her hands folded in a desperate plea. The sight of her—this proud, independent woman begging for forgiveness, shatters something inside me.

“I am sorry, Vishnu... I made a huge mistake. I am sorry,” she sobs, her voice heavy with regret. Each word is raw, broken, and filled with emotion as tears fall freely down her face and onto her trembling hands.

My chest tightens painfully as I drop down in front of her, grabbing her wrists to move her hands away from her tear-streaked face. Her desperation, her regret, her anguish—it’s unbearable.

“What’s wrong with you, Simran? Calm down...” I say, trying to steady her. The urge to pull her into my arms is overwhelming, but I force myself to stay still, to let her speak. “For God’s sake, stop it.”

But she’s beyond reasoning now, tears streaming endlessly, leaving trails on her cheeks that glisten in the kitchen’s harsh light.

“It is because of me. I can see it... I can see it all very clearly now.” Her voice catches on a sob, and her entire body shakes with the force of her emotions. “I realise the pain I have caused you. I should have told you about my pregnancy the moment I found out.”

Her words tumble out in a rush of emotion, like a dam finally bursting after years of pressure.

“I knew you’d want the baby just as much as I did. There was never any doubt.” Her fingers grip mine tighter as if afraid I’ll pull away. “But I still... I still kept it from you… I was scared—scared of losing myself, my identity, my hard work in the sea of responsibilities once I told you about my pregnancy. Now I know that I should’ve discussed my dreams and my career with you, instead of running away the way I did.”

I flinch at her words, guilt and anger warring inside me. Seeing her like this—completely falling apart—is not what I wanted. I never ever want to see her like this.

“Simran,” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“And despite what I did, you’re still here,” she whispers, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You’re protecting me, standing like a shield between me and this threat. You didn’t have to do this for me, Vishnu. Not after what I did to you. Yet, here you are. And it’s killing me—this guilt. It’s drowning me.”

Something shifts in her eyes. I can almost see her retreating into her painful memories.

“Ever since I was small, I have always been alone,” she says, pressing her hands to her temples. “From the moment my parents passed, I had no one—no relatives, no well-wishers. No one to guide me or share my decisions with. I grew up in a world where every choice, whether right or wrong, was mine to make. I owned my independence, my freedom, but it also made me blind.”

My heart clenches as she continues, painting a picture of a lonely child burdened with adult responsibilities far too soon. Each word adds another layer to the woman I thought I knew, helping me understand her in ways I never had before.

“I had all the freedom in the world. No one to tell me what I should do or shouldn’t do.” Her voice breaks slightly. “All my friends needed their parents’ permission for something as simple as a school picnic, but I didn’t. Sometimes... sometimes I wished I had someone to say no to me, to guide me, to care enough to set limits.”

Her words about growing up alone—without family, cousins, or the guidance of the elders—hit me differently now. I see her in a new light, and for the first time, I truly understand why she values her independence so fiercely, why she’s always been so self-reliant. It wasn’t a choice—it was the only way to survive.

“I took responsibility for all my decisions,” she continues, “and that’s how I justified this one too—coming to New York, keeping my pregnancy a secret. I thought I was doing the right thing, Vishnu. But I was wrong. This wasn’t just my decision to make. It was ours. You had a right to Veer too. And I robbed you of that. I robbed you of the chance to decide, to be there for him from the very beginning.”

When she mentions our son, her entire body seems to crumble under the weight of her guilt, as though her choices are crushing her from within. My hands instinctively tighten on her shoulders, and it’s only when I feel her shiver beneath my touch that I realise how tightly I’m holding her.

“I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. By deciding everything on my own and raising Veer by myself, I was almost giving him the same life I had lived—a life without the love of both parents together, a life without a proper family. I’ve spent my whole life longing for a family, Vishnu. Then, how could I give Veer the same life I had?” Her voice cracks completely. “I didn’t want this for Veer. When your father met him—when Veer reached out to him—something broke inside me. Everything became crystal clear. I realised what I had done. I’ve been so blind.”

I see a scared little girl who grew up making decisions alone because she had no choice, who carried that burden into adulthood, and now is breaking under the weight of realising her mistakes. My anger melts away, replaced by an overwhelming need to protect her and heal the wounds she’s been carrying. The walls I’ve built between us after learning of her deception crumble in the face of her raw, honest pain.

“Your dad was right,” she continues. “I didn’t just take Veer away from you—I took his entire family from him. I kept him away from everything he deserved—a father, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. I realised it all when I saw him playing with your dad.”

My chest tightens as she pours her heart out.

“I was helpless as a child. I didn’t have my parents or a family to lean on, so I had to grow up on my own. But Veer had it all—both his parents, a big family that I know would love and pamper him so much, and yet, I took it all away from him—for what? My own independence? My career here? I kept him away from all these blessings.”

She looks utterly broken as she presses on, “I am not a good mother. I am sorry for what I have done... I understand now why you can’t forgive me, why you can’t forget. If I were in your place, I’d feel the same, Vishnu. You’re right to pull away from me, to keep your distance when we accidentally get close. I don’t deserve you... I don’t deserve anything except your rejection. I’ve never deserved anyone... This is my karma punishing me now.”

We’re still sitting on the cold marble floor of the kitchen, and looking at her now, my heart throbs painfully. Her eyes are red and swollen with tears still trickling down her face. She looks exhausted, pale, and sick.

I reach out, gently brushing away her tears.

“Shh! This is not the Simran I know. You can’t let yourself fall apart like this just because someone out there wants to hurt you, for whatever f*cking reasons.” My voice grows stronger with conviction. “And stop this bullshit nonsense about karma. It’s not your karma. If you’ve wronged me, then even karma has no right to punish you. Only I do.”

Her tear-filled eyes meet mine, her lips trembling as I continue.

“It’s between us. Only I get to decide what you deserve after what you did with me... no one else.”

Before she can respond, I rise to my feet and scoop her into my arms. Carrying her feels so natural now, as if she belongs in my arms—despite everything. Her body tenses for a brief moment, but then she relaxes against me. I look down at her and notice how her hands clutch weakly at my shirt. I carry her out of the kitchen and head straight to her bedroom. When her eyes dart around the room, searching, I know exactly what she’s looking for.

“Veer is sleeping tonight in the nursery with Claire,” I assure her. “She will wake you up if he needs you in the middle of the night. I have told her that.”

As I lay her on the bed, she clings firmly to my t-shirt. The need in her eyes is unmistakable—she wants me to stay. But just as quickly, she releases me, her hand dropping away as if realising I will again withdraw like all the other times.

I see the tears welling up in her eyes again, and something inside me snaps. Before she can pull away further, I surprise us both by climbing into the bed beside her. Without breaking eye contact, I turn off the lights and pull the duvet over us.

“What… what are you doing?” she stammers.

“I don’t trust you to sleep if I leave,” I reply simply, settling into the pillow beside her. “So I’m staying here tonight to make sure you take proper rest. To make sure you’re okay.”

Her lips part slightly in surprise, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, a faint, tired smile crosses her face as she closes her eyes. I watch her for what feels like hours, her breathing evening out as she finally drifts into a peaceful sleep. Her face is still pale, her cheeks damp from her tears, but she looks calmer now. She was exhausted and needed to rest, but how am I supposed to find my own peace with her so close?

Her confessions tonight—about her childhood, about the burden of making decisions alone—have opened my eyes. I now understand where her fierce need for independence comes from, why the freedom to make her own decisions means so much to her. I finally understand why she did what she did, why she ran, and why she kept Veer from me. It doesn’t erase the hurt, but it softens the edges.

I rub a hand over my face, exhaling slowly. This confrontation has changed everything. I can’t hold onto my anger anymore, not when I see what it’s doing to her, how deeply it’s affecting her. Somewhere in this mess of emotions, I realise that I’ve already forgiven her.

But she’ll have to wait a bit longer before I tell her that openly. For now, I’ll let her sleep, safe and protected, while I watch over her and think about how different our future could be now that I’ve finally let go of my anger.

Tonight feels like a turning point for us—not just because of her confessions, but because I’ve finally allowed myself to look beyond the pain and see the woman who’s always held my heart, even when I tried to fight it.