The Deceit

CHAPTER 23

SIMRAN

Five Days Later

Five days have passed since that dinner disaster with Zane, yet the memories refuse to fade. My mind still replays the events that followed—the heated moment when Vishnu finally crossed that invisible line between us and the way I’d pulled back just in time when we were both teetering on the edge of surrender. The memory of his touch, his intensity, burns through me even now as I watch him from across the living room, cradling our fussy son.

These past few days have been an exquisite form of torture. Every time we occupy the same space, the air seems to crackle with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. The attraction pulses between us like a living thing, making even the simplest interactions feel charged with meaning. I’m always hyperaware of his presence—the way he moves, the subtle changes in his expression, the rare moments when his carefully guarded control slips just enough for me to glimpse the hunger simmering underneath.

That night, when he’d finally admitted that his fixation with me matched my own, something shifted between us. His quiet confession that I am the only woman he’s desired since our night together eighteen months ago still echoes in my head. The knowledge that I affect this controlled, commanding man as deeply as he affects me fills me with a sort of fierce pride. After all, making Vishnu Walia lose his legendary self-control is no small feat.

Sometimes, I wonder how this even happened—how this man, known for his impenetrable emotional walls, has allowed himself to be vulnerable with me. The fact that I alone can draw out this side of him both thrills and terrifies me. That night, when he initiated our intimacy, it had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed to pull away. Not just to give him a taste of his own medicine (though the thought had crossed my mind), but to make it clear that our relationship—whatever it is becoming—has to be built on equal ground.

Our courthouse wedding is now just four days away, and while my heart races at the thought, my mind is made up. If I am going to agree to some of his terms, he has to meet me halfway. He needs to compromise and agree to some of my conditions too. His need for complete control, while coming from a place of protection, can’t be the foundation of our marriage. I know I still carry the guilt of keeping Veer from him for so long, but I refuse to spend the rest of our lives as a puppet, forever dancing to the tune of my past mistakes.

We haven’t shared a room since that night at the club, except for that one evening when my guilt had overwhelmed me. After I’d apologised, he’d stayed and slept in my bed. That was the only night we were close together after the span of eighteen months. And I miss him now. I miss his warmth, his scent, and the way he makes me feel both completely safe yet dangerously alive. He is like a drug I can’t quit; each small dose only increases my craving. Even though we’ve already shared the most intimate of connections—evident by our beautiful son—I still want him with an intensity that sometimes frightens me.

I watch him now as he paces with Veer, who is unusually cranky and restless. My baby is teething, and it’s turning our days and nights upside down. The past three nights have been particularly rough, with Veer’s usual sunny disposition replaced by tears and frustration. His little gums are red and swollen, and his cheeks are flushed with discomfort. He’s constantly fussy, pulling at my hair, my clothes—anything to get my attention. He refuses to sleep for more than a few hours, and when he does, it’s always in my arms. The paediatrician has assured us this is normal, but watching my son in pain twists my heart.

Between managing my boutique and caring for a teething infant, I am at my wit’s end. And with our month-long trip to India after the wedding looming closer, there’s an endless list of things to organise before then. It’s exhausting, but what surprises me is Vishnu.

He’s stepped into fatherhood with the same intensity he brings to everything else. Right from handling Veer’s cranky moods while I work to picking up on our son’s cues and preferences with remarkable speed, he’s been simply amazing. Whether it’s rocking Veer back to sleep in the middle of the night, distracting him with toys during the day, or pacing the room with him when I need a moment to catch my breath, he has done it all.

Last night, when Veer woke up crying, I hurriedly stumbled out of bed to comfort him, but Vishnu was already there, his strong arms lifting our son as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say a word—he never does—but the way he looked at me, the way he handed Veer to me when it was time to nurse him, spoke volumes about his caring nature. He’s giving me the space I need, the support I never thought I’d get from him. And, honestly, it terrifies me how much I rely on it.

Like the other day, he showed up at the boutique in the afternoon with lunch because, by now, he knew I had a habit of skipping meals while working. It’s these little gestures that really show me how deeply committed he is to us.

So, amidst all this, the physical distance between us these past five nights feels like both a punishment and a promise. I know we need to sit and really talk before the wedding—about our expectations, boundaries, and the future we both want for our son. But for now, watching him softly whisper to our finally asleep baby, I allow myself to hope. Hope that the man who can be so tender with our son can learn to share control, that the passion between us can mature into something lasting, and that the walls he’s built so carefully can come down brick by brick, one at a time.

Because despite everything—the complications, the unresolved tensions of the masked man, the challenging road ahead of our future—one truth remains unchanged: in this complex web of feelings we’ve woven, we are equally entangled, equally vulnerable, and equally committed to finding our way forward together.

As I reflect on the past few days, I have this nagging feeling that something is off. Something about Vishnu’s team’s investigation into the masked man tugs at me. I’ve noticed how conversations stop when I walk into the room these days, how Vishnu and Abhay exchange these quiet, loaded glances. It’s like they are hiding something, but to be honest, I don’t have the energy to dig deeper with everything else that needs my attention.

Also, I’m well aware by now that the entire Walia family knows about me, Veer, and our connection to Vishnu. The silence from Meher and Devika, my best friends, speaks louder than anything. They haven’t called. Not even once. I can only imagine their hurt, how betrayed they must feel by me keeping their nephew from them.

The fact that I kept all this from Vishnu and my friends will haunt me forever. But there’s no undoing the past. I have no choice but to face the consequences. And when I step into Walia Mansion, I’ll have to face not just Meher and Devika but the judgment of everyone present there. How will I look into their eyes and justify what I’ve done? I’ve hurt their brother and kept his son away from him. No apology seems big enough, and the thought of facing them in India makes my stomach churn. They’re not just my friends; they’re Vishnu’s family. Their loyalty to him runs deep, and I’ve betrayed that too. The silence from them stings, but I know I deserve it. Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s one of them, but soon that hope deflates as I dread the conversation that’s bound to follow.

And then there’s Vishnu’s father, Pratap Walia, my future father-in-law. Surprisingly, of all people, he’s been the most kind and understanding of the lot. Now, he often texts me, asking about Veer and… and about me too. The man I once thought was intimidating has somehow become this caring father figure, especially after that scarf incident by the masked man at my boutique. He’s even asked me if Vishnu and I are okay, if we’re working things out. Vishnu must have shared everything with him. It’s strange how life works out sometimes. But one thing’s for sure—when it comes to ‘the Walias’, expect the unexpected.

Leila’s soft mew from the couch pulls me from my thoughts. I close my laptop and call it a night, taking a moment to stroke her fur before turning toward my bedroom, only to see Vishnu standing in the doorway.

“Veer’s asleep in his crib,” he says, his deep voice carrying across the room. “He should sleep through the night.”

I nod, grateful, though the gratitude feels insignificant compared to all the silent support he’s given me these past few days.

“Thank you,” I say softly, stretching my arms and neck to ease the tension in my muscles. “I think I’ll take a hot bath. My body’s begging for it.”

I catch the way his dark eyes flicker. His jaw tightens, and he steps toward me, closing the distance between us. His voice drops to that dangerously low tone that makes my insides quiver.

“You didn’t have to share that information,” he pauses meaningfully, “unless you want me to stay in your room to watch Veer while you bathe. In case he wakes up.”

I don’t miss the hunger in his gaze, especially when I’m acutely aware of my silk robe and the lingerie beneath it. I’d planned to take a bath earlier but was interrupted by work calls, leaving me in this state. His gaze deliberately travels from my face to my neck, lingering where the robe parts slightly. I wrap my arms around myself defensively, fighting my own rising desire.

“No thanks,” I say, aiming for casual, but the slight tremor in my voice gives me away. “You just said Veer will probably sleep through the night. I can manage twenty minutes in the tub alone without having to worry about him getting up.”

He swallows hard, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll say something else. I can see the internal battle in his eyes. We’re playing a dangerous game of wills, one we both know how to win but refuse to give in to.

Desperate to change the subject, I add, “You need to come to my boutique tomorrow. Set aside an hour or two from your schedule.”

“Why?” he asks immediately.

“For your wedding suit trials. We don’t have many days left, unless you plan to postpone our wedding,” I tease, knowing very well that he’s never going to even consider doing that.

“Don’t bother about my outfit,” he dismisses me with a shrug. “I can manage to find something appropriate for myself.”

My temper flares instantly.

“Did you ask me before deciding on this courthouse wedding and picking the earliest possible date?” I challenge him. “No, right? So now, I’m not giving you a choice either. Your future wife happens to be one of the most famous fashion designers in both India and New York. If I don’t get to decide what we wear on our wedding day, who does?”

His jaw ticks, but I’m not finished. I straighten my spine, meeting his gaze directly.

“Like I said before—we’re equals in this relationship. If you get to decide certain things for us, so do I. I expect you to be at my boutique tomorrow afternoon after lunch. Don’t be late.”

Without waiting for his response, I turn and head to my bedroom, fully aware that my commanding tone has probably ruffled his controlling nature.

As I close my bedroom door, I lean against it, my heart pounding with nervous energy. In four days, I’ll be Mrs. Simran Vishnu Walia. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. Why is it so hard to hold my ground with him? The way he looks at me, the way his presence fills every corner of my mind—it’s maddening.

But I meant what I said. If this marriage is going to work, we have to meet each other halfway. And I won’t ever let him forget that. He needs to understand that his days of making all the decisions alone… are finally over.

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

Simran’s Boutique – Next Day

The trial room feels cool, but I’m burning inside. I stand before the full-length mirror, my fingers trailing along the dangerously low neckline of the shimmery black blouse. My cheeks flush as I take in the sight—my blouse is daringly low-cut, with delicate straps barely holding it up, and an almost bare back. It hugs me perfectly, accentuating every curve. This is the third saree I’ve tried today, and something about this one makes my heart race.

“Now, this is a showstopper. Absolutely divine, darling!” Sarah exclaims, her designer’s eye sparkling with approval. “The way the crystals cascade down the neckline gives out this waterfall effect. And the cut...” She gestures animatedly. “It’s giving goddess energy meets the modern bride. The way it hugs your curves is freaking awesome. This blouse screams bold, sexy, and confident. It’s a statement piece, Simran. Trust me, you’re going to slay.”

She is absolutely right about every word she’s said. I adjust the pallu, watching how the fabric catches the light, glittering in its glory.

“It’s gorgeous, but isn’t it a bit too... revealing for a courthouse wedding?”

Sarah rolls her eyes dramatically.

“That’s the whole point, sweetie! By the time you and Vishnu finish signing those marriage papers, he won’t be able to wait to get you home and unwrap you like the present you are. He’s going to have so much fun peeling this off you. Trust me.”

My cheeks burn hotter, and I bite my lip, trying to wave off the vivid mental image her words stir up. The suffocating tension between Vishnu and me has been undeniable lately, each glance a spark threatening to ignite into an uncontrollable fire. And Sarah’s comment… well, it’s not far from the truth.

Just then, I feel the shift in the air and goosebumps ripple across my exposed back. That familiar sizzle returns, and I know he’s here even before I turn around. And when I finally do, my breath hitches at the sight of Vishnu standing in the doorway, his dark eyes drinking me in. I’ve never worn a saree in front of him before. And the way his jaw drops to the floor and his pupils dilate sends a thrill through me. His gaze feels like a caress, trailing fire across my skin as it moves from the low drape of my pallu to where the saree hugs my waist. My heart thunders as his intense gaze fixes on my exposed collarbone and the hint of cleavage peeking through the fabric. His jaw clenches, his eyes burning with a hunger that makes my knees go weak.

Sarah clears her throat pointedly.

“I’ll just... go fetch the groom’s attire.” She scurries out, but I barely notice, caught in Vishnu’s magnetic stare, as he steps into the room.

“How’s your mood today?” he asks.

My face flushes as I remember six nights ago, when I’d pulled away from him, claiming I wasn’t in the mood. The memory of his frustrated groan still haunts me in my dreams.

“I’m always in a good mood when I’m working,” I manage to say, though my voice isn’t as steady as I’d like.

His lips twitch in a smirk as he nods slowly. His eyes darken as they make another deliberate journey across my body. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, and when he finally meets my gaze again, my heart skips a beat.

“Is this what you’re wearing for our wedding?”

I lift my chin, trying to keep my composure despite the flutter in my stomach.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I say, my voice steady. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“Yes, it does. I don’t want every man in the courthouse to forget why they’re there. It’s… it’s too revealing for the wedding. So, you’re not wearing it.”

Again, an order!! I arch a brow, my determination returning full force.

“Actually, you know what?” I goad him. “I’m saving outfits like these for after the wedding. To torture you daily, until you stop ordering me all the time.”

Before I can blink, he grabs my wrist and pulls me closer, his breath hot against my face.

“What do you want me to do then?” His voice is tight with frustration. “Do nothing when some other man tries to cross a line with you, just because you don’t see it as crossing a line in your world?”

“Vishnu—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“No, let me finish.” His grip on my wrist loosens but he doesn’t let go. “You think I’m being controlling when I make decisions about us? When I insist on knowing your schedule? When I have concerns about certain people around you?” His jaw clenches. “Everything I do is to protect what’s ours. This relationship. Our future family.”

“Fine. But I’m mature enough to make my own decisions,” I counter, but he shakes his head.

“You’re brilliant at business, Simran. But politics? The vultures who circle around me, waiting for that one weakness to exploit? The people who’d use you to get to me? You know nothing of it.” His other hand comes up to cup my face. “You don’t see the undercurrents. The dangers. When I tell you to avoid certain social circles, it’s not control—it’s self-preservation.”

“And hence, coming to your biggest worry about me making all the decisions for us...” His eyes bore into mine, intense and unyielding. “I don’t think that’s even up for discussion. I am more capable than you to protect us, and if you call that controlling, then so be it.” He takes a deep breath. “Every choice we make affects our future. Where we live, who we associate with, how we present ourselves to the world—one wrong move in my position, and it could destroy everything we’re going to build together.”

His voice drops even lower, each word precise and measured.

“When I tell you to change your plans, it’s because I see the bigger picture. When I ask you to trust my judgement about people, it’s because I’ve seen what happens when you don’t. I’ve spent years in this world, Simran. Years learning which smiles hide daggers and which handshakes come with hooks.”

His thumb traces my cheekbone, the gentle touch at odds with his firm words.

“Yes, I’m controlling, and this control will never slip, Simran. Not for anyone... Not even for you. Because losing control means losing you, and that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

I take a step closer, emboldened by the way his jaw clenches.

“But you can’t expect me to act dumb and abide by your decisions all the time, Vishnu. I have a mind of my own. I know whom to trust, whom to keep close, and whom to ignore.” My voice grows stronger with each word. “Thankfully, Zane didn’t let your over-possessive interruption the other day go any further, or I’d have so much more to lose.”

The mention of Zane makes his eyes darken dangerously, but I press on. “And most importantly, you can’t just give me an order and expect me to follow blindly, like you did with our wedding date or when you asked me to clear my schedule for a month to go to India. Your alpha male routine will not work on me all the time, if that’s what you think.”

I poke a finger into his chest to prove my point.

“If I don’t make you lose that infamous control and meet me halfway in this relationship, then I’ll do whatever you say.”

He remains silent, which only encourages me further.

“And as for what I’m wearing for the wedding, I’ll wear whatever pleases me,” I continue. “You can’t make every decision for us. I’ll wear what I want and do what I want, until you give me my equal place in this relationship.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“And just so you know,” I lean in slightly, “a wife has many ways of making her husband agree to her demands.”

His brows arch, challenging me to name them.

“I’ll make sure you think of me and only me until you respect my opinions, trust my decisions, and meet my demands, just like you expect me to follow yours. No-Questions-Asked .”

His eyes blaze, his body rigid with tension.

“I’m going to try every trick I can think of to make sure you agree to this.” I lean closer, watching his eyes darken. “Imagine this: you’re stuck in those endless boring political meetings, and I’m sending you selfies that will drive you crazy. Until I’m the only thing you can think about. Until every other duty, every other responsibility fades away, and it’s just me, me and me.”

“Simran...” It’s a warning, but I’ve never been good at heeding those.

“I’ll send you pictures of all the sarees I try on, asking for your opinion.” My fingers play with his collar. “Or maybe just itsy-bitsy hints of what’s underneath...” I don’t know what made me say that, but it just slips out of my mouth, and I see the last thread of his self-control snap.

In a swift move, his hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him as his mouth crashes down on mine. The heat between us is instant, and every argument melts away in the intensity of the moment. I barely register when or how our heated clash transformed into this explosive kiss—one second, we were fighting about control, and the next, we’re both losing it completely. His kiss is demanding, dominant, trying to prove a point, and I meet him with equal force, refusing to back away. Neither of us is willing to concede.

But somewhere between his hands gripping my waist and my fingers tangling in his hair, the power play melts into raw need. His touch trails fire across my bare back, and I arch into him, gasping against his mouth as his fingers glide down my spine. The thin straps of my blouse suddenly feel non-existent, and the thought sends liquid heat through my veins.

Without breaking the kiss, Vishnu walks me backwards until my lower back hits the edge of the small table. In one fluid motion, his hands drop to my hips, and he effortlessly hoists me onto it, stepping between my legs. The position makes my saree hitch slightly, revealing more of my legs, and he takes full advantage. His hands slide beneath the fabric, his strong fingers kneading my thighs, making me whimper into his mouth.

The kiss deepens, growing more sensual as his tongue explores mine with slow, thorough strokes, enough to make my toes curl. One of his hands travels up my side and his thumb grazes the side of my breast through the thin blouse, while the other squeezes my thigh possessively. I run my hands down his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my palms, before sliding them around to grip his broad shoulders.

We break apart only when breathing becomes absolutely necessary, but his lips are instantly back again on my neck, trailing hot kisses down my collarbone. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, my fingers tangling in his hair. His teeth nip a particularly sensitive spot, making me gasp out his name.

“Vishnu...” I breathe, the sound coming out as half-moan, half-warning, because we’re still in the trial room, and Sarah could return at any moment.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark with desire. Our breaths are coming in shallow gasps, his hands still beneath my saree, burning against my skin. I can feel the barely restrained power in his grip. The way he’s looking at me—like he wants to devour me whole—makes me feel simultaneously powerful and helpless.

His thumb makes slow, deliberate circles on my inner thigh, making it hard to think straight.

“I don’t know about the rest...” he murmurs against my lips, “but every argument we have hereon is going to lead to this.” The promise in his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I want to challenge his assumption, maintain some semblance of the upper hand, but my body betrays me. The flush spreading across my cheeks and down my neck tells him everything he needs to know. Deep down, I can’t disagree—there’s something intoxicating about the way our fights transform into this explosive passion.

Just then, a sharp knock at the door makes us both freeze.

“Simran? I’ve got Mr. Walia’s outfits for the trial,” Sarah says from outside.

Reality crashes back in. I slide down from the table, painfully aware of Vishnu’s hands reluctantly releasing their grip on my thighs. I reach up to smooth my dishevelled hair, feeling a bit unsteady. The saree needs some arranging too—the pallu has slipped dangerously low, and the pleats are completely askew.

“Just... just a moment, Sarah,” I call out, proud that my voice sounds almost normal.

Vishnu doesn’t move to help. He just leans against the table where moments ago... I push that thought away before I blush even harder. His eyes follow my every move as I adjust the saree, tuck the loose strands of hair behind my ears, and try to cool my heated cheeks. There’s something deeply intimate about him watching me put myself back together, knowing he’s the reason I’m in this state.

I catch my reflection in the mirror—my lips are swollen from his kisses, and there’s a faint mark forming just below my collarbone, barely hidden by the saree. Vishnu’s reflection smirks behind me, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Stop looking so smug,” I mutter, shooting him a glare.

He pushes off the table and steps closer behind me, his breath tickling my ear.

“I can’t help it when you look like this,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “And I still stand by my words. You are not wearing this on our wedding day.”

What? Seriously? Before I can respond, he places a feather-light kiss on my shoulder that nearly undoes all my efforts to compose myself.

Sarah knocks again, asking if she should come back later.

“Come in, Sarah!” I call out, taking a steadying breath and smoothing down the front of my saree one final time.

Some battles, it seems, are destined to end in sweet surrender—not that I’ll ever admit that to him.