Chapter 9 Kiara
The long, hot shower had done wonders for my mind, but as I stepped into the dining room, it was still hard to believe that both Roy and Myra were there. My eyes naturally drifted toward Manav, and when our gazes briefly locked, he quickly returned to his plate.
He’s been acting strange for the past few days—ever since the night Rocky attacked me. That disastrous night could’ve shattered me completely, but he didn’t leave my side, not for a second.
I had another panic attack, and he held me through it.
His arms were like a shield, cocooning me in safety.
Holy God, I can still recall the scent of him, that unique, calming warmth his presence carried.
His hands stayed steady, never letting go of mine, his fingers wiping away every tear before it could even fall.
At some point, while I was half-asleep, trembling from a dream, I remember him calling me baby. Twice. His voice was so soft, so comforting, as his hand gently caressed my hair.
Now, it’s like he’s disappeared into his own world, leaving me alone to piece myself together again.
He’s impossible to read—one moment, he’s the most caring person I’ve ever met, and the next, he’s this impenetrable wall.
This man’s poker face is like a fortress—he probably looks like that even during…
God, Kiara, stop! Do not dare to think about him in bed.
Before my thoughts could do some tangible damage, Myra pulled me into a warm hug. “Good morning, babe.” She guided me to the chair beside Manav.
“Are you ready, baby girl? Tonight is the party night…” Roy announced with a big smile.
“Party? What's the occasion?” I asked, curious.
“I'm finally seeing you after ages!”
I rolled my eyes. “Bhai, please stop being so cheesy. I’ve told you, girls don't like that.”
Roy laughed while throwing a cherry at my head.
Manav was watching me with an intense focus as if trying to understand my place in this world. When our eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on his plate.
Why is he acting so strange?
Oh, right, because he is strange!
____________
“Hey… You’re not seriously wearing that to the party, are you?” Myra's voice rang out loud and clear as I tried to finish putting on some concealer.
“What’s wrong with this?” Absolutely nothing when I wore the same dress to the last girls’ night eight months ago. Everything went fine except for a coffee stain, but that is not visible now.
“Where should I start?” She said, crossing her arms. “Your faded jeans? That sad beige top?”
Sometimes, I want to murder my best friend.
“You want me to dress like one of those hot bimbos in a gathering of a million people whom I know absolutely nothing about except that they make oceans full of money and mountain-sized lies. Sorry, babe. Not happening.”
“And… What's wrong with my beautiful bimbos?”
“I’m not wearing a saree…” I quipped, eyeing the fabric with suspicion.
“I came all this way to see my favorite person, and you can’t even fulfill my one small wish?” Her dramatic pouts can talk to the walls.
Right… She had arrived here in Manav Oberoi’s private jet.
A private jet?
This is the same man who was supposedly jobless just weeks ago, and now he magically owns a private jet?
Right… because, of course, he can.
Manav Oberoi—the land king of the planet.
He has uncountable country-sized properties scattered around the world that he probably can’t even keep track of in that overstuffed little brain of his.
He owns half of India, a quarter of the world—and probably has a claim to Mars too—after all, he’s probably already claimed Saturn, and Venus by now.
Am I ever going to forget that he lied to me? No. Absolutely not. He tricked me into buying him those cool t-shirts he never wears, only to parade around shirtless. Honestly, he could establish a whole “Naked Nation” where people get the death penalty if they dare wear even underwear.
And no, I am not imagining him in underwear. Nor am I imagining his hands on me while he's in underwear. Nope.
But I can’t seem to erase the memory of this massive, magnificent, ridiculously sexy, maddeningly adorable, frustratingly patient, and undeniably masculine human calling me “baby” twice that night.
Twice. This outrageously attractive human lives in a tiny guest cottage and somehow manages to cook the world’s best food, all while looking like he’s downed gallons of some magical avocado smoothie three times a day.
How do I know this? Because I am blinded by how much his skin glows, and his hair looks unreal. And I hate my traitorous, confused body for not letting go of the fact that he took care of me the entire night.
“No saree,” I said, giving my soon-to-be-unfriended best friend a firm look.
“Why not…? Fine!… I’m going to kiss your beautiful chef tonight,” her voice was dripping with mock determination. “And I’ll tell him how utterly, hopelessly crazy you are about him…”
“Myra, stop it! Don’t be insane.” I snapped, but I could feel my face heating up.
“Babe, you’re falling for him, and it’s written all over your face.”
“Myra, I swear, if you even try—”
“What?” she laughed. “Now, go put on this modal Silk saree because this chef deserves to know what he’s dealing with!”
“No wonder you entertain the whole planet with this emotional circus…” I sighed, grabbing the saree from the bed. “But remember this—you owe me. And I’m not crazy about him. Just… his beautiful body.”
Myra just grinned, unfazed. She’s owed me about a tetra-billion times by now, but does she ever follow through? Of course not.
Once, I covered for her when she somehow lined up two dates with two different guys on the same day, only for a third one to show up at her massive mansion to surprise her.
I had to abandon my favorite movie halfway through and rush over to handle the chaos.
Don’t ask for details—it was messy. It involved three mushroom pizzas, seven and a half cheese slices dunked in soda, and, in the end, Myra walked away with only nineteen boyfriends instead of her usual twenty that night.
“How do I look? Stop grinning…” I tossed a pillow at her. “And where did you find such a revealing blouse? I feel like I’m practically naked!” I glanced at her, pulling at the fabric nervously.
“Your brother’s invited the biggest business tycoons tonight… I think they’ll need some serious medical attention after…this,” she laughed, clearly enjoying every moment of my discomfort. Her laughter was showing no signs of stopping.
I looked at my reflection. Maybe it wasn’t just the saree that made me feel… exposed. Maybe it was the memory of his voice last night—low, warm like he wasn’t just calling me ‘baby’… he meant it.
“Speaking of medical help, I swear I’ll break your neck in the next two seconds if you don’t stop grinning at me like that,” I shot back, exasperated.
“Whatever… and your sweet chef isn’t going to recover from your sexy looks anytime soon,” she smiled mischievously, adding the finishing touches to my makeup. “Now, go knock him dead… And hey… I’m dying to know what position he prefers while—”
“Shut up! I hate him… and now I hate you too,” I huffed, standing up to slip into my sandals. “Myra Sharma has officially lost it… Please take note, people: she’s now a walking threat to national peace!”
She just laughed harder, then casually yawned and stretched out on the bed. “I had phone sex last night, and can you imagine how many orgasms I had in twenty minutes?”
I am this close to losing my love for my best friend.
It’s becoming clear that keeping Myra under some sort of lock and key—or sending her off to an eternal yoga retreat—might be my only option if I ever want peace. This girl just can’t go a day without talking about sex.
But honestly, how hard could it be to live without it?
I mean, here I am, managing just fine. No sex, no heart-thumping encounters, no ridiculous “soul connections.” Just me, my work—and the occasional—okay, very rare—self-care moment.
That doesn’t count, right? Touching yourself once in a blue moon, only because you got curious from all the over-the-top girl talk, doesn’t exactly put you on the “obsessed” list.
But before I could retort, we both froze.
A throat cleared behind us.
Oh no.
OH. NO.
I turn slowly, every cell in my body begging for this to be a false alarm. Maybe just the wind. Or a polite ghost.
Nope. It’s him.
Standing at the doorway like some brooding monument to bad timing, arms crossed, expression unreadable—except for that one eyebrow arched just enough to make me want to trip over my own dignity.
“Umm… Roy asked me to tell you he’s waiting,” he cleared his throat, low and casual, as if he didn’t just walk in on a moment he wasn’t meant to witness.
I stared at him.
He stared back.
I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees.
His gaze flickered down to my hands, which are now fidgeting with the edge of my saree.
What is happening to me?
Oh God, now I’m thinking about his mouth. Why is it slightly open? Does he not realize? Should I tell him?
No. No, Kiara. You stay far, far away from anything that involves thinking about his mouth. Or his face. Or that look he's giving you like he just saw you for the first time and isn’t sure whether to yell or… kiss you?
Nope. Absolutely not. Delete that thought.
I clear my throat, trying to remember how language works. “I am ready.”
He nods once, still watching me. That stupid, infuriating, way-too-handsome face completely devoid of expression—and somehow still managing to judge me.
“Hey… hi, Manav! Isn’t someone looking beautiful?” Myra chirped, bouncing off the bed with a grin so wide it could bring peace between countries.