The Deceit

CHAPTER 28

SIMRAN

My heart pounds against my ribcage as our car approaches the Walia Mansion in the dying light of the evening. I smooth down my embroidered salwar suit—one of my own designs that I changed into before landing. The soft fabric, though, offers little comfort against my mounting anxiety. As the new bride, the new bahu of the renowned Walia family, I know what’s expected. No casual pants for this moment. Devika and Meher have drilled into me countless times in the past that the Walias are sticklers for tradition. And I didn’t want to look out of place in front of a family so rooted in traditions.

The car slows to a stop, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window. My nervousness is written all over my face. I swallow hard, adjusting my dupatta, but before I can lose myself in my thoughts, Vishnu’s hand slips over mine.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs, his deep voice pulling my gaze to him.

I can only manage a nervous nod, my throat too tight for words. He lifts my hand and brushes a kiss over my fingers. Although I’m still angry at him for what he did with Zane back in New York, this little gesture brings me some calm. I give him a smile and then step out of the car.

Vishnu cradles a dozing Veer in his arms as we step out. Veer stirs but doesn’t fuss, his tiny head turning around to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. His sleepy confusion is almost endearing.

“This is your papa’s home, Veer,” Vishnu says to him. “Your real home.”

Veer responds with a drowsy smile before laying his head on Vishnu’s shoulder, clearly exhausted. Servants quickly rush out to unload our luggage, but I barely register their movements. My attention is fixed on the mansion before me. Its entire exterior is glowing with decorative lights, twinkling like stars across the evening sky. My breath hitches as I take in the celebratory atmosphere.

I hadn’t expected this at all. After everything I’ve done—hiding Veer from this family, from Vishnu—I never imagined they’d all welcome me with such grandeur. But then again, I know this isn’t for me. This is for Vishnu, the pride of the Walias, and Veer, the grandson they’ve only just found.

The other thing that catches my eye is the overwhelming security presence around. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Armed guards patrol the perimeter, their faces stern and vigilant. Also, police vehicles line the street, and I spot several plainclothes security personnel trying to blend in with the gathering crowd of servants and staff. This isn’t just a home; it’s a fortress safeguarding the Chief Minister of the state.

“Is it always like this?” I ask Vishnu, gesturing at the heavy security presence.

“Of course,” he replies, his voice matter-of-fact. “After Dad’s promotion from Deputy CM to Chief Minister, security had to be increased. And now, with me stepping in as party president, it’s going to get even tighter.”

He glances at me, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

My stomach churns at the implications. I remember Meher and Devika’s endless complaints about having to pre-plan everything, even simple salon visits, with Vishnu overseeing all security arrangements back then. Now, it’ll be even more restrictive.

I’ve never lived with such constraints—I’ve always been free, independent. The thought of losing that freedom makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. But I push the thought aside as we approach the main entrance.

My feet feel heavier with each step. The massive wooden doors swing open, and there they are—the entire Walia clan. At the forefront stands Pratap Walia, his presence commanding on his home turf, and next to him is his nephew, Aksh. Seeing them, my usual confidence deserts me completely. This is it—I officially step into the Walia Mansion as part of the family, not just as a guest.

The joy on Pratap Walia’s face is unmistakable as he steps forward and pulls Vishnu into a proud, affectionate hug. His gaze then shifts to Veer, who is nestled in Vishnu’s arms, his bright, curious eyes taking in the new surroundings.

“Veer,” he calls gently, his voice full of love. To my surprise—and relief—Veer gurgles in recognition, his little face lighting up as he leans toward his grandfather with tiny outstretched arms. The sight makes my heart swell with warmth.

“He remembers me!” Pratap Walia exclaims, his grin widening as he takes Veer into his arms. “My grandson knows his daadu.”

Veer grips the edge of his kurta tightly, babbling in his baby language as if he’s trying to converse with his daadu. Pratap Walia’s face softens even more as he gently bounces Veer in his arms.

Aksh steps forward, ruffling Veer’s soft hair with a chuckle.

“Of course, he remembers, uncle. He’s a Walia, after all—sharp and quick, just like the rest of us.”

Vishnu lets out a low laugh as Aksh pulls him in for a firm hug, their bond evident by their smile and the playful slaps on the back. I stand a step behind, watching the ease and love in their interactions, feeling both comforted and slightly overwhelmed.

Pratap Walia, who’s lovingly watching the brothers, turns his attention back to Veer. “You’re going to have a great time here, little one. Your daadu will spoil you more than anyone else.”

Veer squeals happily in response, his tiny hand patting his grandfather’s cheek.

As per customs, I step forward and bend slightly to touch my father-in-law’s feet—recalling how Devika mentioned doing this every morning for over a year after her marriage to Aksh. But before I can complete the gesture, a firm yet gentle hand stops me.

Pratap Walia lifts me upright and pats my cheek instead, the gesture surprisingly paternal. “No need for this, beta,” he says softly. “Congratulations on the wedding.”

His eyes crinkle with kindness as he notices my obvious nervousness. “You’re part of the family now, Simran. This is your home. You don’t need to feel nervous.”

His words are kind, but they only make the lump in my throat tighten.

“Thank you,” I manage to say.

I’m a Walia now—a name that carries so much weight, so much expectations. All my life, I’ve been fiercely independent, answering to no one but myself. And now, I’m a part of this huge family, with its traditions, its politics, and its constant scrutiny.

As everyone ushers us inside, I catch Vishnu watching me with concern. He knows me too well. He knows how hard this transition will be for me. But what choice do I have? I have to somehow find a way to make this work—for Veer and for our family’s sake.

Vishnu places a hand on my back, a gesture of silent support. I glance at him, and he gives me a small nod as if to say, You’ve got this.

I manage a weak smile as Aksh steps forward. His polite congratulations do little to ease the storm brewing inside me.

“You gave us quite a shock, Simran,” he says, and I know exactly what he means. Veer’s secret .

Before I can fumble for a response, Pratap Walia intervenes firmly, much to my surprise. “Aksh, didn’t I make this clear to everyone in the family? Let bygones be bygones. We are not here to dwell on the past. We’re moving forward now. Simran is new to the family, and I want her to feel welcomed here in this house.”

My eyes instinctively find Vishnu’s, searching for answers. The knowing look between father and son tells me everything—this acceptance, this fresh start, it’s all Vishnu’s doing. My husband is trying to smooth my path into this family despite everything I’ve done.

Sensing the tension, Aksh raises his hands in mock surrender, his expression sheepish.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Aksh defends himself. “I just—”

“It’s okay, Aksh,” Vishnu cuts in. “You have every right to talk freely with Simran. We’re family, after all.” He glances at our sleepy son. “But first, let’s get inside before Veer becomes cranky. We’re too jet-lagged to handle his mood swings today.”

The men chuckle lightly. The servants stand to the side, holding out trays of sweets and flowers, while someone whispers about bringing out the aarti thali.

Vishnu shifts closer to me, leaning down to murmur in my ear. “See? Not so bad.”

I glance at him, a slight frown on my face.

“Not yet,” I whisper back, my nerves still gnawing at me as I glance at Veer, who starts fussing in his grandfather’s arms, his tiny hands reaching out towards me. I instinctively take him back into my arms and get ready to take my first steps into the Walia Mansion. Just as I’m about to cross the threshold, a familiar voice halts me in my tracks.

“Stop right there!”

The silence that follows is deafening. My heart stutters as I look up to see Meher and Devika stepping forward with puja thalis in their hands. My two best friends—or rather, my former best friends. Tears spring to my eyes instantly. One secret. One massive secret drove away the two people I trusted the most.

Meher ignores me entirely and rushes to Vishnu first, engulfing him in a fierce hug. No words pass between them, but her tight hug and tears say it all: she’s sharing his pain, his happiness, his everything in this moment.

Meanwhile, Devika’s cold glance in my direction cuts through me like a knife. She moves closer and touches Veer’s cheek gently. He stirs but doesn’t go to her, too drowsy to even acknowledge her gesture.

Then, Meher finally faces me. Her eyes, once filled with warmth and laughter for me, are now cold, distant, and guarded. There’s so much unspoken between us—anger, betrayal, hurt—but she says nothing. Instead, she touches Veer’s cheek briefly before turning to Devika.

“Let’s get on with the ritual.”

Devika nods and steps forward. I glance at Vishnu, who takes Veer from my arms, holding him protectively as we stand side by side. Devika performs the griha pravesh ritual with precision, officially welcoming me as the new bride. As the flickering diya circles around us, blessing us as a newlywed couple, I can’t help but feel like an outsider. Veer, who is now fully awake, claps his hands, his innocent joy making everyone laugh. Once the ritual is complete, Pratap Walia steps forward, gesturing for us to come inside.

As we step over the threshold, Meher and Devika linger behind, their focus shifting to Veer. Vishnu introduces them to our son, his voice filled with pride. I stand quietly, watching as Meher and Devika interact with our son. Their smiles are genuine, but the tension between us remains. I feel like I’m fading into the background, overwhelmed and out of place. These two women were once my confidantes, my sisters in all but blood. Now, it’s as if they can barely look at me.

I’m about to turn away and retreat into myself when Vishnu’s hand finds mine. He holds me firmly in place, his eyes meeting mine. His message is clear: I’m not alone in this. Whatever storms we must weather with the family, friends, and the past—we’ll face them together.

As I stand here, surrounded by people who were once my closest friends, but now feel like strangers because of the choices I’ve made, I wonder how I’ll survive here for the next month.

As we move further into the house, with Vishnu leading me to our room, I steal a glance at Meher and Devika. Their smiles may not be for me yet, but I hope, someday, they will be. For now, I take comfort in the fact that I have Vishnu and Veer by my side. And that this is our home. My home!

The moment I step into Vishnu’s bedroom, I’m speechless. It’s nothing like what I imagined. I expected something more practical from someone like him, maybe, functional and impersonal. But this… this is so different. The room exudes warmth, the kind that feels lived in and cared for, and is clearly meant for a family.

“Come on in,” he says as he walks ahead, holding Veer, who is babbling happily in his arms.

I follow, taking it all in. The king-sized bed, with its deep navy and grey bedding, is complemented by soft golden lighting that gives the room a cosy glow. A plush armchair sits by the window, next to a small table with a stack of books. Everything feels intentional, designed not just for him but for us.

But what truly stops me in my tracks are all the thoughtful additions for Veer. There’s a beautiful wooden crib near our bed, perfectly placed with colourful toys dangling above it.

“When did you do all of this?” I ask, taking in the baby-proofed corners, the changing station, and the custom-built shelf at the far end of the corner, stacked with diapers, toys, and baby essentials, all organised neatly. Everything Veer needs is already here.

I don’t know what to say. My throat tightens as I take another step forward, my hand brushing over the soft wood of Veer’s crib. Vishnu adjusts Veer in his arms, our sleepy son clutching his shirt.

“I told Dad about what we’d need, and you know him—he couldn’t wait to welcome Veer the way he deserves. He got it all done in no time. I just supervised to make sure this wasn’t just Vishnu Walia’s bedroom anymore, but our family space.”

The lump in my throat grows as I follow him to another door in the bedroom that I hadn’t noticed before. Vishnu opens it to reveal what used to be his study. My heart melts at the sight—it’s now fully transformed into a perfect nursery, mirroring the setup we had in our New York apartment. I can already feel the comfort it will bring to Veer, making the transition so much easier for him.

The room is painted in soothing shades of pastel blue and white. There’s a playmat sprawled on the floor, filled with more colourful toys. But then I notice something else too—a modern, cosy work desk by the window, perfectly positioned to keep an eye on Veer’s play area. I turn to Vishnu with a questioning look.

He smirks knowingly. “I thought you’d need a space to work while keeping an eye on Veer. I know how much you juggle between him and your business, so I wanted this room to have everything you might need. If there’s anything missing, just let me know. I’ll make sure it’s here.”

Tears spring to my eyes at his thoughtfulness. This man—this stoic, infuriating, yet caring man—he’s something else entirely.

“There’s only one thing missing,” I whisper, thinking of Meher and Devika’s cold reception downstairs. “But that’s something I need to fix myself. They’re my friends, and it was my mistake. I’ll find a way to make things right with them.”

Veer chooses that moment to fuss, his tiny face scrunching up as he lets out a little whimper. Vishnu shifts his attention to our son, bouncing him slightly. “Looks like someone’s a bit cranky.”

Before I can move to take him, Vishnu says, “Go get changed and freshen up. I’ll look after him.”

“He needs a diaper change,” I warn, but Vishnu just nods confidently. It doesn’t surprise me anymore—he’s been such a hands-on father since coming back into our lives, making up for lost time with dedication that fills my heart.

“His diapers are in the blue bag,” I tell him, heading toward the bathroom. But something makes me pause. Turning around, I watch as Vishnu gathers the supplies and carefully places Veer on the changing station. Stepping closer, I stand on tiptoe to press a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you. For everything,” I whisper, my heart bursting with gratitude.

His eyes light up, but I’m not finished. “But I’m still mad about what you did with Zane,” I add firmly, though I can’t keep the smile completely out of my voice.

Vishnu tries to hold back his grin but fails miserably. He leans in, clearly intending to kiss me back, when Veer lets out another demanding cry.

“Papa’s coming, Veer,” he says, pulling back with obvious reluctance.

“I’ll let you handle that.” I stifle a laugh, biting my lip as I move toward the bathroom to freshen up.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I can hear Vishnu’s voice through the door, talking softly to Veer as he changes him. The love I feel for this man—for this family we’re building—leaves me breathless. Vishnu Walia may infuriate me at times, but there’s something about him, the way he’s always there for us, that pulls at my heartstrings in ways I never thought possible.