Chapter 27 Manav
I watched her fingers toy with the corner of her napkin as that fake, practiced smile doing a poor job of masking the storm beneath. Her eyes flicked between faces, never settling, like she was trying—really trying—not to let her father’s words ruin the night.
She was holding it together with a fragile thread.
And then he walked in.
Vihaan Singhania.
Swagger dialed to the max, whiskey in hand, entitlement trailing behind him like an expensive cologne. He didn’t glance at anyone else. His eyes locked on Kiara like a moth to a flame he thought he once owned.
“Well, if it isn’t the prodigal daughter,” he drawled, lips curling in that smug grin he probably practiced in the mirror.
I stiffened.
He leaned lazily on the back of a chair, elbows casual, tongue sharp.
“You know, all this family drama could’ve been avoided,” he continued, “if you’d just married me. Kiara. Imagine—your dad might’ve finally loved you.”
A few guests turned awkwardly toward us, some pretending not to listen, others clearly too stunned to look away.
Kiara didn’t speak. She didn’t even look at him. But I saw it—the way her spine tensed, the way her lashes fluttered like she’d been sucker-punched from the inside.
That was it.
I didn’t care about the crowd, the cameras flashing, or the fact that this was supposed to be a birthday celebration.
She was hurting.
And he made her flinch.
That was enough. My chair scraped loudly against the floor as I stood. Conversations around us dimmed to a hush. I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to. I simply walked—slow, deliberate steps—until I stood in front of him.
“Vihaan.” My voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous. “I’m going to say this once. So listen carefully.”
He arched a brow, still riding that high horse of self-importance. “Well, this should be fun—”
“If you ever speak to Kiara like that again—especially here, in her grandmother’s home, on a night meant to celebrate her family—I won’t care if you’re her ex, a guest, or the damn Prime Minister of India.”
His smirk faltered. Not much. But enough.
“You’ll leave. On your own,” I continued. “Or I’ll show you the door myself.”
Vihaan let out a theatrical scoff. “Jesus, Oberoi. Getting all knight-in-shining-armor now? It’s not like she—”
“Enough.”
I stepped forward—just an inch—but the kind of inch that makes a man instinctively reevaluate his life choices. He moved back. Barely. But I saw it.
“I know your type,” I said. “The kind who masks cowardice as wit. Who mistakes cruelty for charm. But let me tell you something about Kiara.”
He opened his mouth again, some lazy quip loading on his tongue.
“She doesn’t need your approval. Or your jokes. Or your smug commentary on things you’ll never understand. She’s better than you. Always was.”
I turned slightly, my gaze finding her—my anchor in a sea of rage.
“And now,” I said, voice softening just enough, “she’s mine.”
The room held its breath.
“So run along, Vihaan Singhania,” I added. “You’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one night.”
I took another step forward. Calm. Intentional.
One that said: test me again, and see what happens.
“She’s not your past. Not your mistake. And sure as hell not your punchline. She’s my present. My everything. And the next time you even think about using her pain for your entertainment, I’ll make sure you’re not welcome at a single table again. Got it?”
Vihaan opened his mouth. He scoffed—a weak, guttural sound—and turned, retreating with whatever shred of ego he had left. No parting jab. No clever exit. Just silence.
Behind me, I caught the faintest smile tugging at Dadi’s lips.
I turned back and walked slowly to my seat. Kiara was staring at me, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly like she couldn’t decide whether to thank me or throttle me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered, voice thick with something she didn’t want to name.
I leaned in, letting my hand find hers under the table.
“Yeah,” I murmured, brushing my thumb over her knuckles, “I did.”
Because someone had to remind her she wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
____________
The party had thinned out. Guests were scattered in the garden under strings of warm lights, sipping their drinks and murmuring over dessert. Kiara was with Dadi and Roy, laughing softly, though I could see the tightness still lingering around her eyes.
And I knew exactly where he’d be.
Apart from the family. Shoulders stiff. Spine straight. Staring into his drink like it held the answers to everything he’d refused to face.
Jay Randhawa.
A man who had mastered the art of detachment. But not tonight. Not after everything he’d said.
Not after everything she still carried.
I walked over—slow, deliberate steps, hands tucked in my pockets.
“Mr. Randhawa.”
He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. “Oberoi.”
No small talk. No forced civility. Just silence stretching between us like a line drawn in the sand.
“You really hate her, don’t you?” I said quietly.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. But he said nothing.
“Did you ever stop to ask why she left? Why she build a life miles away from here?” I took a step closer. “Because this house stopped being home the moment you made her feel like a burden. A mistake.”
His eyes hardened. “She wasn’t supposed to live,” he said, the words escaping like venom. “She lived. And her mother died.”
There it was. The wound he’d never cleaned. Never closed. Just… let it rot.
I didn’t flinch.
“You think punishing her fixes that?” I asked, my voice low, razor-sharp. “You think blaming her will bring your wife back?”
His lips parted like he wanted to speak, but nothing came.
“I’ve held her while she cried,” I went on. “While she questioned her worth. While she begged the universe to explain why the man who gave her life made her feel like she didn’t deserve it.”
He looked away, eyes focused on the bottom of his glass. Like he couldn’t bear to meet mine.
“You lost your wife,” I said. “But Kiara? She lost both her parents that day. One to death. The other to silence.”
His throat bobbed. A flicker of something broke through—guilt, grief, maybe just the weight of hearing it said aloud.
“You made her carry a guilt no child should bear. And still, even after everything… she wants your love. Your approval.”
I shook my head. “She shouldn’t. But she does.”
He still didn’t speak.
“You don’t have to love her,” I said. “But you will respect her. Because I do. Fiercely. And the next time you try to shame her, or let men like Vihaan near her—just know, I won’t stay silent.”
He didn’t respond.
But his shoulders sank. Just slightly. Like a man unraveling for the first time in years. And in that small, almost imperceptible shift, I saw it.
A crack in the armor.
A beginning.
____________
“Get us something stronger.” Roy’s voice broke through my thoughts as he slid onto the barstool next to me, gesturing to the bartender.
After the conversation with Mr. Randhawa, I’d escaped to the bar for some quiet, a place to sort out the whirlwind in my head. I needed to figure out how to tell Kiara. How to put into words everything I was feeling.
“Hey, buddy,” Roy tapped me on the shoulder, his tone light but familiar.
“Hey…” I set my phone down and turned to face him. “When did you get back?”
“This morning.” He picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip.
“How’s the project coming along?”
“Everything’s ready for launch.” His smile was proud, but there was something else in his eyes—a knowing gleam, like he was sizing me up.
“Congratulations,” I offered with a small nod.
“Thanks.” Roy leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in that way they always did when he was about to get serious.
He raised his glass to his lips but didn’t drink. Instead, he fixed me with a pointed stare. “Please tell me the media is only talking about you and Kiara because it’s her stupid way of keeping Dadi off her wedding crusade—and not because you’ve lost your damn mind.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off with a sly grin. “And why?” He continued. “Do you have that same look in your eyes that you did back when you were—what’s the word—smitten?”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. I glanced down at the condensation pooling around the base of my glass, tracing the pattern with my thumb. The words came before I could stop them. “Because I am in love.”
Roy froze mid-sip, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”
“No,” I said, my voice steady but low.
For a moment, he just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then he set his glass down with a soft clink, exhaling a long breath. “Well, shit.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“You’re serious about this?” Roy asked, his voice softer now, almost cautious.
I turned to look at him fully, my gaze unwavering. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
His eyes widened, disbelief flickering across his face before he slowly set the glass down on the counter.
“Manav Oberoi…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re telling me you’re in love? And with my sister?”
“Roy…” I started, but he raised a hand to stop me.
“Wait.” Roy rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath. “You know I’d trust you with my life. But Kiara…” He looked at me, his expression softening. “She’s been through a lot, and I can’t—no, I won’t—let her get hurt.”
I nodded, my grip tightening around my glass. “She deserves the world. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure she gets it.”
“I can’t decide if I should hug you or break your damn nose,” Roy muttered, swirling his glass of whiskey as his sharp eyes bore into mine.
I smirked. “Feel free to choose either.”
“Does she know?” He asked, his tone softening slightly, though the underlying protectiveness was unmistakable.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”