CHAPTER 33
ADITI
The moment the door opens, my heart stops. My lungs forget how to function.
No. Freaking. Way.
Standing there, in all his annoyingly smug glory, is Aarav . My brother. My elder brother. My overprotective pain-in-the-ass brother.
He walks in like he owns the place—well, technically, knowing him, he probably has a stake in it somewhere. Black button-down, sleeves rolled, that devil-may-care smirk on his face. And those eyes? Locked right on me.
Shit.
No. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Why is he here? Why today? Why this meeting?
Abhimaan stands up to greet him, his posture straight, expression unreadable. “Aarav Malhotra,” he says, extending a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
Aarav accepts it, his smirk never faltering. “Likewise.”
I can’t breathe. My palms are clammy, knees weak. I press them together under the table and will myself to stay calm. Stay still.
Don’t react, Aditi. Don’t even blink weirdly.
“This is Aditi Rao,” Abhimaan says, gesturing toward me. His lips twitch. “My assistant.”
I swear to God, his mouth curved just a little too much when he said that. My name. My fake last name. The last name I’ve been hiding behind like a goddamn invisibility cloak.
Aarav’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Rao?” he echoes, his lips quirking upward. “Interesting.”
My jaw clenches. My eyes shoot daggers at him, a silent, violent threat: say one more word and I will personally poison your food tonight. And he knows it. That bastard knows it. His smirk deepens, but he doesn’t push.
For now.
I can feel Abhimaan’s gaze flicker between us, curious. Sharp. Observant. The kind that notices too much. I school my expression into professional neutrality and open my folder like it holds the secrets to world peace.
“So,” Abhimaan says, shifting his attention back to Aarav, “shall we go over the initial terms?”
“Yes, of course,” Aarav says, pulling out a chair across from me. “But first, just to clarify—Ms. Rao, was it? Any relation to the Malhotra Group by any chance?” He asks, “I feel like I have seen you somewhere.”
My throat locks. My pen stills. This fucker.
I look up slowly, meeting his smug expression, and tilt my head slightly. “No,” I say sweetly. “Common last name. Don’t you think?”
He chuckles, nodding. “Right. Of course.”
My foot finds his shin under the table and presses down. Hard. He barely flinches, but I see it. That tiny twitch of pain. Satisfaction floods through me for half a second.
“Shall we continue?” I say, plastering on my most cooperative smile.
The meeting carries on, but I feel like I’m in a pressure cooker. Every glance from Aarav is laced with unspoken words. Every question Abhimaan asks feels like a test. I try to focus, to be sharp, but my brain is on fire with panic.
And then—at the end—Aarav closes his folder and stands, stretching a little too casually.
“Well, this was fun,” he says, glancing at me. “I’ll see you back home for dinner?”
My soul leaves my body.
My fingers grip the edge of the table like it’s the only thing anchoring me to Earth. I feel Abhimaan’s gaze snap to me again. I nod quickly, like a broken bobblehead.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Sure.”
And just like that, he leaves.
The door clicks shut behind him.
The room feels heavier now. Quieter. Just me and Abhimaan.
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
Not until I absolutely have to. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask anything about Aarav’s last remark. The realization dawns on me: He knew. He always knew, didn’t he?
“You knew from the beginning, didn’t you?” I whisper, not wanting him to hear the question because I don’t want his answer; I already know his answer.
“Yes,” he replies, his voice as calm as ever, “I always do a background check.” He says softly, “You were going to be my assistant, so I had to check.” I let that sink.
He’s right; he is a known figure. He can’t let anyone and everyone get close to him; it could be dangerous.
But it doesn’t change the fact that he could have let me know at least that he knew; he let me act like a fool.
“Is that why?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend. Bitter, like the aftertaste of betrayal. “Is that why you let me get away with everything? Why did you treat me…differently?”
He frowns. “Aditi—”
“No, seriously.” I stand now, finally meeting his eyes, every cell in my body shaking.
“Was it because I’m a Malhotra?” My heart pounds.
“That’s why you never yelled when I missed that deadline.
Or when I left early or took a holiday without any prior notice?
” I laugh. Short, sharp. A lump forms in my throat.
“Aditi, no. That’s not—" He takes a step closer, hand reaching out like he wants to fix something. But I step back.
“Don’t.” My voice is a whisper now. “Don’t lie to me. Not now.”
His expression falls. “I wasn’t treating you differently because of your last name. I never cared about that.”
“Yeah?” I snort, “Then why let me act so long? You could have told me that you knew I was lying.” I rub the back of my palm against my eyes to stop the tears that are threatening to flow.
“Abhimaan,” I murmur. “I’m quitting,” I say quietly. My voice shakes, but I don’t take it back. “Thank you for being the best mentor I could’ve asked for.”
“Aditi—”
“There’s nothing to explain, Abhimaan,” I cut in, a sad smile on my lips. “I get it. Trust me, I do. I’ve lived with this name my whole life.” I pause, letting the silence sit between us. “I hate it.”
He steps toward me again, his eyes pleading. “Let me explain.”
But I’m already at the door. I glance back one last time. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
And I leave.
I don’t look back. I can’t.
Because if I do, I’ll break.
The tears start the moment the door clicks shut behind me. I duck my head, walking faster through the hallway, trying to find a place—any place—where no one can see me like this.
I hate crying in public. I look awful. My nose gets red, my face blotchy, and my breath all uneven.
Why am I even crying?
It’s not like we were anything . Not officially. Not publicly. He never promised me anything. But still...it felt like something.
And now it’s gone.
Like every other time, my name got in the way.
God, I’m so tired of this.
I wipe at my cheeks angrily, but the tears keep coming. I hate this. I hate feeling like this. I hate how much it hurts even when it shouldn’t.
Because there was nothing there.
Nothing.
So why does it feel like I just lost everything?