Chapter 15
Holy God.
I’m sleeping in Manav Oberoi’s arms. Big, muscular, unbelievably cozy arms.
He has absolutely no right to make me feel this comfortable. I am ruined for life. His hands are wrapped around me like I’m some kind of lifeline, and his perfect nose—yes, perfect nose—with that steady, warm, and utterly intoxicating breath, is brushing against my forehead.
This isn’t just unfair; this is downright evil. No man has the right to smell this good while being this unimaginably perfect.
I should move. I should. But how can I? Every inch of me is melting into this moment, and if I move even slightly, I’ll ruin it.
My entire body is on high alert.
I tried—tried—to slip away, but the universe had other plans. He muttered something in that deep, husky voice of his and, without warning, pulled me closer.
God. He’s cute.
His breath might be my new favorite thing. I wouldn’t mind waking up like this more often—way more often. Especially when his lips are that close to my skin.
And let’s talk about his body temperature. The man sleeps hot. Like, radiating-enough-warmth-to-bake-a-pizza-hot.
And he smiled at drunk Kiara last night.
“What are you thinking about this early in the morning?” His voice. That deep, husky, unfairly attractive voice—now whispering way too close to my ear.
I might not survive this.
“Good morning…” I smiled awkwardly, trying to wriggle out of his arms without making it a big deal.
“So… is it time to end the birthday hug?” he asked, sleepy and tousled—and unfairly attractive for this hour.
“Drunk Kiara gives hugs. Not me,” I muttered, bolting upright and pretending I wasn’t still melting from the warmth of him.
“Tell her I said thanks,” he murmured, gaze steady.
“We’re not on talking terms,” I grumbled, reaching for the water glass. “It’s already 8:30. Be ready. We leave at nine.”
He didn’t budge. “Kiara…”
“I’m leaving with or without you,” I snapped, and marched toward the door, ignoring every cell in my body begging me to stay.
Behind me, I heard a groan. Low. Frustrated.
Drunk Kiara – 1. Manav Oberoi – 0.
Last night was chaos. But somehow, I convinced him to take me to The Cape House today. It’s not like I believe in magical closure. But he needs this. He needs to face whatever ghosts live there.
I rubbed my temples. Ugh. Too much wine. Too much emotion. Too much Manav.
Because here’s the thing—Drunk Kiara? She’s reckless.
She touches him like he’s home. Sleeps in his arms like it’s the safest place in the world. She smiles at him like he’s light in all the wrong places.
And the worst part? He lets her.
And now, I’m the one stuck—feeling too much, thinking too much.
This needs to stop before I fall any deeper. Before we both get burned.
____________
“Good morning, sir, ma’am!” A small parade of staff rounded the car as soon as we rolled through the magnificent gates of The Cape House.
Holy God…
If I’d ever thought I’d seen some of the most beautiful houses in the world, I was, undeniably, laughably WRONG.
This isn’t just a house. It can’t be. Not in this universe or any other.
Somebody will have to physically drag me out of here if I ever decide to leave! Honestly, I’m pretty sure my soul has already unpacked its bags and decided this is home forever.
I turned to Manav, my eyes wide in disbelief. “This is The Cape House?”
He stood there, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the grand entrance of the mansion. His expression was unreadable, but the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed something—something. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, but his gaze didn’t waver.
“Good morning, Sir…” A tall, middle-aged man in a sharp suit approached us with an easy smile.
“Mr. Bellington?” Manav finally blinked. His voice was calm and collected, but his tightly clenched fists at his sides told a different story.
“Pleasure to finally meet you, Sir. Please, come inside,” Mr. Bellington said, his smile almost too enthusiastic, like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
“The papers are ready?” Manav’s voice was cold and distant—a side of him I hadn’t seen before.
“Everything is waiting for you. The realtors are going over the quotation you mentioned,” Mr. Bellington replied, straightening his tie as he gestured toward the grand entrance.
Manav turned to me, his glassy eyes softening just a fraction. “Make yourself comfortable. It’s going to take some time.”
I nodded and walked around to have a full view of this beauty.
The massive glass-walled living room was filled with people in very expensive suits who all seemed laser-focused on whatever high-stakes deal was going down.
I watched him for a second longer, wondering how someone could command so much attention without saying a word. Then I slipped away to the garden.
And oh my God, the garden.
It was like the flowers had decided to throw a festival of colors, outdoing the entire rainbow just for fun. Roses of every size and shade seemed to rule the place, their petals so perfect it felt almost surreal.
The energy here… wasn’t just serene—it was alive, buzzing with magic. Every inch of this place seemed to hum with a history I couldn’t quite place but desperately wanted to understand.
This garden had its kind of power, and I was more than happy to get lost in it.
Without a second thought, I slipped off my sandals and let my feet sink into the soft grass.
The cool, velvety blades tickled my skin as I strolled through this wonderland.
Butterflies flitted around like they were performing a choreographed dance, while bees hummed softly nearby, and the gentle rustle of leaves whispered a rhythm only this garden knew.
As I settled onto the old-fashioned swing tucked under a canopy of blooming vines, something just clicked. And maybe, just maybe… this house had its own kind of magic. Because for the first time in months, the words didn’t feel stuck.
My brain, which had been stubbornly blocked for ages, finally roared to life.
I grabbed my laptop, barely able to open it fast enough, and dove headfirst into writing.
My fingers flew across the keyboard faster than they ever had before, each tap feeling like a small victory.
That impossible chapter I’d been stuck on for months?
It was finally alive, bursting onto the page.
And as I wrote, I swear, I might have been glowing.
That rare, euphoric feeling—when everything you’ve been struggling with just clicks—lit me up from the inside out.
It was the kind of moment that reminded me why I fell in love with storytelling in the first place.
____________
“Hey…” Manav's deep voice broke through the haze, pulling me back to the present.
I blinked up at him, startled, and only then realized how many hours had vanished since I first opened my laptop. My neck ached, and my eyes were dry from staring at the screen for too long. “Hii…” I leaned back and stretched, trying to appear less exhausted than I was.
“I'm sorry. It took longer than expected,” he said, his gaze flickering to my laptop before settling back on me.
“No problem…” I replied, my grin stretching so wide it probably made me look ridiculous.
I reached out, taking his hand and giving it a gentle tug to coax him next to me on the swing. He hesitated for only a second before sitting down, his gaze briefly dropping to our joined hands.
“Did you eat anything?” He asked, his voice low and concerned.
“Not hungry…” I murmured, suddenly hyper-aware that neither of us had let go of the other’s hand. “How was the meeting? Is the deal finalized?”
“Not yet,” he admitted, his eyes drifting toward the tall tree in front of the gazebo. “There’s one more round of discussion tomorrow.”
He leaned back into the swing, his eyes closed for just a moment. Instead of pulling away, his hand slipped from mine and rested lightly across my shoulders. It wasn’t intentional—more like a reflex, as though he needed something to hold onto.
For the first time, I noticed the fatigue etched into his face, barely hidden beneath his usual composure.
“Cheeseball…” he said softly. “I think…” he started, then paused, his eyes opening slowly to meet mine. “I could use one more hug today.”
This wasn’t the grumpy, sarcastic Manav I’d grown used to. This was someone raw, vulnerable, and barely holding himself together.
I shifted closer and rested my head against his chest. His arm wrapped around me tightly, pulling me in like he needed the contact to keep himself grounded.
His cheek tilted to rest against my head, his breath warm and unsteady as it brushed through my hair.
I pressed my cheek against his chest, and the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat filled my ears.
It wasn’t steady; it was fractured, like him, and I wanted so badly to fix it.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s comfort. When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was dipping low, casting a warm, golden glow across the garden, painting everything in soft hues of amber and pink.
I tilted my head to look up at him. His eyes were closed, lost somewhere far away. Yet his thumb moved gently, tracing slow, absentminded circles against my arm. And suddenly, I didn’t want to be anywhere else.