Chapter 38
The cars entered Anand Mahal just after lunch, two security vehicles flanking them, drawing eyes across the Haveli.
Guards stepped out first, men in plain clothes taking position near the arches and outer gates with practiced ease.
The main car stopped and Raghav stepped out.
He observed carved balconies and sandstone pillars, taking in living, breathing history. Approval showed without words.
Abhinav walked out from the inner corridor.
Raghav closed the distance and pulled him into a tight embrace before stepping back to look at him properly.
“Congratulations.” A hint of a smile. “I am glad you found someone.”
Abhinav’s grin came easy.
Vikram emerged next, arms spread wide.
“I have arrived,” he announced grandly, his voice echoing through half the Haveli, “to witness the woman who achieved what the global economy could not. To meet the legendary Meera who apparently dismantled Abhinav Kumar Anand from the inside out.”
“Vikram.”
“Yes, Abhinav.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Impossible. I rehearsed this entrance for three days.”
Abhinav shut his eyes in resignation while Vikram looked deeply pleased with himself.
Ishani stepped out next. She moved toward Abhinav and hugged him warmly. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Divya followed, glasses slipping down her nose, carrying the patience of someone who had endured six hours in a car with Vikram Khanna.
“Please ignore him. He has been unbearable since the invitation arrived.”
“I have been thrilled,” Vikram corrected.
“It lasted two weeks.”
“True excitement cannot be contained.”
Another voice reached them from the entrance. “Are we interrupting?”
Harsh stepped in beside Kavita.
“Not at all.” Abhinav moved forward. “Welcome to Anand Mahal.”
Harsh drew him in, one arm around his shoulders, his palm pressing once at the back of Abhinav’s head.
“Congratulations, beta. Your father would have been proud.”
Abhinav held him tighter.
Kavita crossed to Sarita, who had just entered the courtyard. They met halfway and clasped each other’s hands.
“Sarita.”
“Kavita.”
“It has been far too long.”
“It has.”
Kavita’s expression softened. “He would be proud of both your children.”
Sarita’s smile came soft.
A whirlwind burst from the inner corridor. Naina crossed the courtyard at alarming speed. “Raghav Bhai!”
“Naina.”
She threw her arms around him. He returned it with ease, patting her head before letting go.
She turned to Vikram. He opened both arms. “Come here, drama queen.”
“Coming, bigger drama queen.”
He laughed and pulled her into a proper hug. “Naina.”
“Vikram Bhai.”
“You’ve grown up.”
“I have not. I stopped at fifteen.”
“You grew into your personality.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It is accurate.”
Abhinav watched them with affection as Naina continued.
“Bhai,” she informed him, “your friends are nicer than you.”
Abhinav tapped her forehead and turned toward Ishani and Divya. “These are Ishani and Divya. Ishani is the CFO of Khanna Consolidated. Divya produces films.”
Naina’s face changed instantly.
‘Opportunity. Pure opportunity.’
She greeted both women with an even brighter smile. “Ishani Bhabhi. Divya Bhabhi. I adore both of you already. I own Naira. It is a textile and fashion label.”
Her eyes gleamed. “Also, I love my brother.”
Abhinav’s look turned wary. “That sentence never ends well for me.”
“I love him because he knows rich people with excellent wardrobes.” Naina folded her hands in dramatic appeal. “I remain available for styling consultations. Bridal wear. Event wear. International launches. Emotional recoveries after breakups. Everything.”
“Naina.”
“What, Bhai? Networking is important.”
“You already refuse half your orders.”
“I will make room for these two. They are family now.”
Before either woman could respond, Naina hooked her arms through theirs and began pulling them toward the inner wing.
“Come quickly. Meera Bhabhi is inside and the aunties have not trapped her yet. Also, I need opinions on a Mumbai collection before Bhai destroys my creativity with financial lectures.”
“I have done nothing.”
“You exist as a businessman. That is enough.”
The three disappeared, laughter trailing behind.
Abhinav watched them go.
Raghav studied him from the side. “She has always been this dangerous?”
“She sold embroidered handkerchiefs to the gardener at sighed. “The man kept buying them for twelve years.”
Vikram burst out laughing.
The three moved toward the banyan tree as servants arrived with lime juice.
Raghav leaned against a stone column.
“So.” His attention turned to Abhinav. “The man who came to India ready to sell his ancestral Haveli.”
“Raghav.”
“The same man is now marrying the woman who apparently stopped him from doing it.”
“Yes.”
Vikram raised his glass. “I want the entire story.”
“It is long.”
“We have two days.”
“It requires more than two days.”
“Excellent.” Vikram took a sip. “I enjoy vacations at historic places.”
Abhinav drank from his glass before answering.
“There was a Haveli. And there was a woman.” A smile touched his mouth. “Eventually I realised the woman was the Haveli.”
Silence followed.
Raghav stared at him. “That is the shortest emotional collapse I have ever heard.”
“I am still processing it myself.”
Vikram leaned forward, focused. “The press conference tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Does Meera know?”
Abhinav’s smile returned. Sharp. Private. Dangerous. “No.”
Raghav let out a laugh.
Vikram stared at him in delight. “Abhinav.”
“Yes.”
“That is theatrical.”
“I know.”
“That is the most dramatic act of your entire existence.”
“Possibly.”
“I want front row seats.”
“You will have them.” Abhinav rested back against the column. “So will everyone else.”
Vikram raised his glass. “To the Boss.”
Raghav lifted his. “To Meera.”
“To Meera,” Vikram corrected.
Abhinav smiled.
The wedding stood two days away. Tomorrow morning, the press would arrive.
And Abhinav Kumar Anand sat under the banyan tree, enjoying the future expression on Meera’s face when the announcement reached her.
One day before the wedding.
The auditorium filled row by row, voice layering over voice.
Press from Dubai, Singapore, London, Mumbai, and Jaipur took the back rows, cameras ready. Senior executives of Anand Group sat near the centre beside investors and old associates. The front section belonged to family and close friends.
Meera sat between Devendra and Gauri in a muted gold saree Sarita had sent that morning. Her hands rested in her lap while the noise swelled around her. Microphones were tested. Camera shutters clicked.
Inside, her pulse refused to settle from the moment she entered the auditorium.
This was Abhinav’s world.
Boardrooms. Media. Public attention. The sharp edge of visibility.
Assistants moved through the aisles with files and water bottles. Kishore, who had arrived the previous night, crossed the space with an earpiece in place, checking schedules, adjusting seating with practiced ease.
The doors opened exactly on time.
Conversation cut off.
Abhinav entered in a charcoal suit and muted gold tie, his hair set back, every line of him composed. The businessman and the Thakur stood in one form. Power sat on him with effortless ease.
He did not turn toward the stage.
He walked straight to Meera.
Heads turned. Cameras followed. He crossed the entire room without looking anywhere else and stopped beside her chair.
Meera looked up.
His hand came forward. “Meera.”
Her heart thudded. “Ji.”
“You stand beside me now.” His voice stayed low, meant only for her. “In every part of my life. Beginning with this.”
Emotion rushed through her so fast she forgot the room around them.
She looked toward Gauri. Her mother was already nodding.
Meera placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers as he led her to the stage.
Two chairs waited behind the podium. He drew one back for her and waited until she sat before taking his own seat beside her.
He faced the audience. “Thank you for being here today.”
Cameras rose in the back rows. Journalists leaned forward, pens poised, lenses trained on the stage. The last whispers faded.
“Many of you have been part of Anand Group’s journey for years. Some from the beginning. Others who chose to stay and build with us.”
A few heads inclined in acknowledgment. No one interrupted.
“When something of importance concerns both the business and my life, I prefer to address it myself.”
The room listened closer.
“And this is one of those moments.”
Silence.
“Tomorrow, I will marry Meera Chauhan at Anand Mahal.”
Camera flashes exploded.
“The ceremony remains private at our families’ request.”
His attention moved to Devendra and Gauri. “I would also like to acknowledge the parents of my bride.”
The room turned toward them.
“Chauhan family has served Anand Mahal for four generations with loyalty and honour beyond measure.”
Devendra lowered his eyes. Gauri raised her pallu to her eyes. A murmur moved through the rows.
“Meera is not merely their daughter.”
The line cut clean across the hall.
“She is the woman who taught me the value of my own home.” His eyes returned to her. “She reminded me what being an Anand actually means.”
Meera’s throat burned. Her fingers pressed into her lap.
His expression turned decisive. “There is a second announcement.”
The air inside the auditorium tightened.
Kishore stood near the stage stairs, unmoving. Raghav leaned back, aware. Ishani watched with open anticipation. Vikram sat beside Divya, one arm across her chair, both of them watching the room instead of the stage.
Watching impact arrive.
“As of next quarter, Anand Group headquarters will relocate from Dubai to Jaipur.”
Silence hit first.
Nobody reacted because the scale of the statement had not yet reached them.
Then the room erupted.
Executives turned to each other. Journalists spoke over one another. Questions rose from every side. A camera operator lowered his camera in disbelief.
‘What?’
Meera turned toward Abhinav.
Shock crossed her face. Her lips parted. Breath stalled because he had told her about the wedding announcement. Not this.
Abhinav looked at her.
And the roar of the room ceased to exist for him. Only she remained.
He faced the audience again. “My international operations continue. Dubai continues. Singapore continues. London continues.” His tone sharpened. “What changes is where I build my life.”
Meera kept looking at him. Her heartbeat turned uneven. She understood. God. She understood now.
“Anand Mahal is my home.”
His gaze returned to her without hesitation.
“It is my wife’s home. I will not ask her to choose between the place she loves and the man she is marrying.”
Silence lasted a moment before questions crashed in again.
“Mr. Anand, what prompted this decision?”
“What does this mean for international management?”
“Is this symbolic or operational?”
“What financial impact…”
In the front row, Divya exhaled, her hand pressed against her chest. Vikram kissed her cheek. “And you call me dramatic.”
Raghav shook his head. “This man,” he muttered toward Ishani, “turned a wedding announcement into an economic earthquake.”
“And a love confession,” Ishani whispered back.
Sarita’s eyes stayed on Abhinav. Naina looked close to bursting with pride.
On stage, Meera struggled for breath. This man sat beside her, rearranging companies, cities, boardrooms, billion-dollar structures with the same ease another man would move a chair.
As though there had never been another option. As though loving her had already rewritten his future.
Questions kept coming. Logistics. Timelines. Corporate restructuring. Expansion plans.
Abhinav answered each one with patience.
The room understood this was more than strategy. It sounded like devotion spoken by a man powerful enough to rearrange an empire around the woman he loved.
Meera’s hand moved toward his under the table before she realised it.
His fingers closed around hers. His thumb brushed across her knuckles while he responded to a question on market adaptation.
By the end, the atmosphere had transformed. The announcement was historic. Cameras lowered. People began to rise.
Abhinav leaned closer, voice meant for her alone. “Now you know.”
Meera looked at him, eyes shining with tears. “You moved your entire life here.”
“No.” His gaze held hers completely. “I came back home.”