CHAPTER 15
SIMRAN
I watch as the media team packs up their equipment, feeling a sense of satisfaction with how the interview went. Peter approaches me with his characteristic warm smile, and I can’t help but glance at Vishnu from the corner of my eye. He’s standing a few feet away, his posture stiff, arms crossed, and jaw clenched
“That was brilliant, Simran,” Peter gushes. “You absolutely nailed it!”
“Thanks to you for setting this up,” I respond, giving him a quick hug. “Although someone wasn’t too happy about our friendly interactions today,” I whisper, nodding discreetly toward Vishnu.
Peter’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “Oh honey, if only he knew...”
I stifle a giggle, watching Vishnu’s jaw clench from across the room. If only he knew, indeed.
An hour later, as Vishnu and I make our way to his imposing Raptor—a vehicle that screams ‘Vishnu’ in every way possible—I feel something change within me. The man walking beside me, with his characteristic commanding presence, is no longer just my protector or Veer’s father. He’s the one who’s about to become my life partner, my supposed future husband, whether I’m ready for that or not.
The idea of marriage used to be a distant dream, something I never really allowed myself to fully consider. But now, with Vishnu’s declaration and the upcoming wedding, it’s an unavoidable reality. As he helps me into the passenger seat, his slight touch on my arm sends unwanted tingles through my body. It’s not the commitment itself that scares me. It’s the thought of being caged, forever under the shadow of Vishnu’s powerful political family, that fills me with dread. Their world is one of constant threats and high-stakes manoeuvring. And now, with Vishnu officially entering politics himself, the sacrifices would only intensify. The freedom I’ve fought so hard for, the life I’ve built on my terms, would inevitably have to adjust, even shrink, under that relentless scrutiny.
More than that, I want our marriage—if it happens—to be about us. About these confusing, exhilarating feelings that spark between us, and not simply because we share a child. There has to be more, something that’s deeply ours, and I need to feel that it’s because we want each other fully, openly, without the pressure of responsibilities or expectations. Because without that, what are we even doing this for?
Vishnu checks in with Abhay about Veer and Claire, and as soon as he hangs up, he surprises me again.
“Julie shared your work schedule for the week. I’ve forwarded it to the security team.”
“Wait, what? You’re actually going to allow me to work? Not keeping me locked up in your fortress of protection?”
His silence catches me off guard. Does this mean he’s actually giving me the green light to go to work? Of course, I’m grateful, but I’m curious too. And when I see the slight twitch of his jaw, I can’t help but push a bit further.
“Oh, I get it! This way, you get to announce our ‘upcoming forced marriage’ to all my clients, right? Poor Peter still hasn’t recovered from that shocking announcement. He’s just a client. You didn’t have to act so territorial.”
Vishnu’s grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“He was touching you,” he grits out, “inappropriately.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “He was holding my hand, Vishnu. That’s hardly inappropriate.”
“It was longer than necessary,” he snaps.
“So? He’s also my friend. Are you jealous, Vishnu?” I ask directly, watching his reaction with barely concealed interest.
He barely misses a beat before answering.
“We’re getting married in two weeks. Of course, I’ll keep every man away from you who can’t keep their eyes and hands to themselves.”
My amusement turns to anger.
“Correction, we’re not getting married in two weeks—YOU are forcing me to marry you. And secondly, Peter wasn’t flirting with me. In fact,” I pause for effect, a mischievous grin spreading across my face, “he can never be interested in me... if anyone should be jealous here, it’s me. Peter… likes men.”
The car jerks slightly as Vishnu processes my words. His questioning glare makes me laugh out loud.
“Do you know, while you were busy playing watchdog, Peter was totally checking you out?”
The look of absolute shock on Vishnu’s face is priceless. His fingers clench and unclench on the steering wheel as he processes this information, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.
“Not so threatening now, is he?” I tease, enjoying every moment of this. I watch the colour rise up his neck. “Though I must say, your caveman act was quite entertaining. ‘I’m Veer’s father and Simran’s fiancé,’ ” I mimic his deep voice. “Very smooth.”
He remains silent, but I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. It’s oddly endearing to see this powerful man so thoroughly rattled. Despite my reservations about our forced marriage, despite my fears about losing my independence, I can’t deny the warm flutter in my stomach when I see him like this—protective, possessive, and completely oblivious to his own charm.
“You know,” I continue, unable to resist one final jab, “Peter asked me earlier if you always look so intense, or if your ‘sexy brooding look’ is reserved for special occasions only.”
Vishnu nearly chokes on his breath, and I burst into another fit of giggles. For just a moment, the weight of our complicated situation lifts, and I let myself enjoy this—whatever it is—between us. Even though I’m not ready to admit it out loud, even if the future terrifies me, there’s something undeniably right about sitting here beside him, teasing him and watching him squirm.
Suddenly, I sense a shift in the air. My heart nearly stops when I notice Vishnu’s eyes darting repeatedly to the rearview mirror, his jaw set in that all-too-familiar way that signals trouble. Following his gaze, I spot a white sedan trailing us at what seems like a calculated distance.
“Keep an eye on that white car behind my Raptor,” Vishnu speaks into his phone to one of the guards following us. “Don’t engage.”
After ending the call, he steers us off the main route onto a more secluded freeway. The moment he takes a sudden turn onto an isolated stretch of freeway, my stomach lurches with unease.
“Vishnu, what’s going on?”
“Let’s find out,” he responds grimly, pressing down on the accelerator. The Raptor surges forward, and I grip my seat tighter, watching the speedometer climb.
The white sedan follows suit, mirroring our every move, closing the distance between us quickly. It’s clear this isn’t a coincidence. My pulse races, each nerve on high alert as I realise this vehicle is following us. And that could only mean one thing—it could be him.
“It’s definitely him,” Vishnu mutters darkly, his voice cutting through the tension. “The masked ma—”
Before he can finish his sentence, a violent impact rocks our vehicle. The white sedan slams into us from behind, jolting us forward. The phone flies from Vishnu’s hand, and before I can catch my breath, the sedan rams us again, harder this time.
“Vishnu!” I scream, terror clawing at my throat. My fingers grip the door handle with more force than necessary as we lurch forward.
“Hold tight,” he commands, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I’m not letting him get away this time.”
The sedan now drives alongside us, and my blood runs cold as the passenger window rolls down just enough for us to see him—the man behind the chaos. That face—that horrifying white joker mask with its unnerving grin—stares back at us. With a mocking wave, he lifts his middle finger in a taunt.
The audacity of the guy infuriates Vishnu, whose response is immediate and violent. With a sharp turn, he slams the Raptor into the sedan, our car scraping against it with a shriek of metal. The impact reverberates through my bones. The sedan swerves, the masked man briefly losing control, but with a burst of speed, he pulls ahead.
The second car with Vishnu’s guards closes in, ramming into the white sedan from behind, trying to force it off the road. But the masked man’s car zooms forward, slipping from their hold.
My stomach tightens as we dodge the oncoming vehicles, our chase far exceeding the speed limit. The speedometer needle climbs past any permissible limit, but Vishnu is unbothered. Catching this monster has become our only priority. I catch glimpses of the passing cars, their wide-eyed passengers staring at us, but all I can think about is escaping this nightmare.
“Vishnu,” I gasp as we narrowly avoid clipping another car. The masked man is good—really good at evading us. Vishnu’s frustration mounts with each passing second.
And then, I see it. A massive truck slowly turns onto the freeway ahead of us. Time seems to slow as Vishnu yanks the wheel to avoid collision, but the white sedan appears out of nowhere, ramming violently into our side. The impact sends us careening toward the guardrail. I’m thrown sideways, pain tearing through my arm and knee as I hit the door. My vision blurs for a moment, and I feel the sting of a cut on my forehead.
Pain explodes through my body as something warm trickles down my forehead. My thigh burns where my dress has torn, and I can’t hold back the cry of pain that escapes my lips.
“Simran!” Vishnu’s voice cuts through the pain, his face taut with worry.
The Raptor screeches to a halt, and I hear the distant roar of the white sedan speeding off, our guards still in pursuit. Before I can gather my wits, Vishnu’s hands are on me, gentle yet urgent.
“You are bleeding,” he states, his voice hoarse with worry.
I wince, trying to steady my breath, as his fingers brush the gash on my thigh, the torn fabric revealing an angry red wound.
“I’m… I’m fine. Just a few scratches.”
“You are anything but fine,” he snaps before retrieving his phone from the floor where it has been ringing continuously.
“We’re fine,” he barks into it, throwing instructions to his guards. “Follow that sedan. Don’t lose him!”
The moment he ends the call, his attention is fully on me again. His strong hands cradle my face, his intense gaze locking onto mine. I watch, mesmerised, as he unwraps the scarf from my neck, his touch surprisingly tender. He uses it to bind the wound on my thigh, but as he tightens it, I let out another yelp of pain.
He immediately pulls me against his chest, his lips pressing against my forehead in a kiss that sends warmth spreading through my entire body.
Even through the haze of pain and adrenaline, I’m hyper-aware of his proximity, of the strength in his arms as he holds me, and of the rapid beating of his heart against my cheek. It’s terrifying how right it feels, how safe I feel in his embrace despite the ordeal we’ve just survived.
With one final, steadying breath, he releases me, turning to restart the engine.
“We’re going home.”
He starts the engine and guides us back toward the city, his voice calm yet firm as he calls Abhay to check on Veer. I steal glances at his profile, noting the tension in his jaw and the worry lines around his eyes. This man—he can switch from fierce protector to gentle caregiver in seconds and can drive like a madman to keep me safe, yet touches me like I’m made of glass. He’s becoming more than just my son’s father. And that realisation, more than my injuries and the terror of the chase, is what truly shocks me.
****************
My heart pounds as Vishnu brings the car to a stop in our residential tower’s parking lot. Before I can even fumble with my seatbelt, he’s already at my door, opening it with practiced ease. My breath catches in my throat as he leans in, his one arm sliding beneath my knees, the other supporting my back. Without a word, he lifts me effortlessly into his arms as if I weigh nothing.
“Sir!” The guards rush toward us, their faces filled with concern. One of them quickly takes Vishnu’s keys to lock the car, while the other hurries ahead to the elevator, speaking rapidly into his cordless phone. “Have the first aid kit ready upstairs,” I hear him say.
Instinctively, my fingers grip Vishnu’s grey t-shirt, curling into the soft fabric as I cling to him. His body is solid against mine, all hard muscle and strength. The familiar scent of his cologne fills my senses, making my head spin—or maybe that’s from my injury. Either way, I find myself drawing closer, almost burrowing into his chest.
As the elevator doors slide shut, I’m aware of every breath, every heartbeat between us. Although Vishnu’s eyes remain fixed on the digital display showing our ascent, the space around us shrinks with each passing second, intensifying the connection that pulses between us. His jaw is clenched tight, worry lines creasing his forehead. His breathing, though controlled now, betrays his concern. I know I should probably look away, but I can’t. This side of him, the one that’s so openly focused on my pain, on me —it’s leaving me breathless.
Every small movement of his arms as he adjusts his hold on me sends tingles through my body. The guard in the elevator with us keeps shooting worried glances our way, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is how Vishnu’s muscles flex beneath his shirt as he holds me, his heartbeat thundering against my ear where I rest against his chest.
The elevator doors slide open, and Abhay stands there, waiting on the other side. He walks with us to my apartment while briefing Vishnu on the current status.
“The team is still in pursuit of the masked man.”
“Get him,” Vishnu’s voice comes out as a growl, low and dangerous. “Don’t let him escape. He hurt her. He’s going to regret it.” The raw emotion in his voice makes me shiver. I’ve never heard him sound so... lethal.
Claire appears as we enter my apartment, her face pale with worry.
“Oh my God, Simran! What happened? Are you alright?”
Before I can even muster a response, Vishnu cuts in, his voice brooking no argument.
“The first aid kit, Claire. Now.”
She nods quickly and hurries off while Vishnu carries me to my bedroom. The gentleness with which he lays me on the bed, it’s almost enough to make me forget the tension I can feel radiating from his body. Claire returns almost immediately with the kit.
“Where’s Veer?” Vishnu asks Claire, not taking his eyes off me.
“In his nursery, playing,” Claire responds, hovering uncertainly.
“Stay with him,” he commands softly, taking the kit from her. Claire gives me one last worried look before leaving us alone.
I want to say something—anything—but words seem impossible right now. My throat feels tight, my mind too scattered. Vishnu rolls up his sleeves, and I nearly whimper at the sight of his tanned and muscular forearms. He leans in close to examine the bruise on my forehead, his expression tight with concern. His proximity makes my breath hitch.
His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they probe the injury, his face so close that I can see every single line on it—the slight furrow between his brows, the determined set of his mouth, and the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he concentrates. His unique scent envelops me completely, and I fight the urge to lean in closer.
“This might sting a little,” he murmurs, his breath fanning across my face as he begins to clean the wound. I barely register the pain, too caught up in watching him work. His touch is precise but tender, his entire being focused solely on taking care of me.
I’ve never felt so cherished, so protected, ever in my life. My control is slipping away with every passing second, every gentle touch, and every worried glance he casts my way. I can barely breathe as he tends to my wounds. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“Are you okay?” He pauses, studying my face. “Is it hurting too much?”
When I don’t respond, can’t respond, his voice grows softer, more urgent.
“I know whatever happened today out there has shocked you, Simran. You don’t have to put on a brave face.” His fingers still against my skin as he pleads, “Just say something. Anything.”
The raw worry in his voice breaks something inside me—the impenetrable walls I’ve built around myself over the years.
“You are right,” I finally whisper, my voice trembling as I continue. “I am shocked. But not because of the incident.”
He watches me, a slight frown pulling at his brows.
“I’m shocked because, for the first time, I’m living in a moment where Vishnu Walia is showering all his care and attention on me. Only me.”
His hands slow their ministrations on my forehead as his eyes meet mine, dark and intense. I can’t stop the words that tumble out next.
“I have always seen you protecting others... caring for Meher, taking care of your father. But until now, there was never a moment where you showed that same care and concern just for me. This… this is new to me.” I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “And to be honest, I’m not just shocked... I’m scared... very scared.”
“Scared of what?” His voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes never leaving mine.
I take a slow, shaky breath before answering, our gazes locked in an intense connection. “I’m scared to give in... Give in to this feeling that has sparked between us again.”
The surprise on his face at my confession is evident, though he tries to hide it. That’s always been our dynamic—me, wearing my heart on my sleeve, openly telling him exactly what I feel for him, while Vishnu pretends to be oblivious, as if ignoring it would make it any less real. And today is no different.
For a long moment, he just stares, as if absorbing my confession, trying to make sense of it. He then silently kneels at my feet to tend to the injuries on my thigh and knee. My breath catches as he pushes aside the torn slit of my dress, revealing the small cut on my left thigh that needs attention. I’m acutely aware of every movement between us.
I flinch slightly as he carefully unwraps the scarf he’d tied around my thigh, exposing the tender skin beneath it. His response is immediate—his thumb gently strokes the area just above the bruise, a little away from the cut. The brush of his hand against my inner thigh sends a jolt through me so intense that I struggle to keep my breathing in check. I can hear the desperate hiss of his own unsteady breath as he tries to control himself before pressing the cotton gently against the wound.
I wince again, and this time, he leans closer, blowing soft air against my skin. The sight of him kneeling before me, his face so close to my inner thigh, his fingers stroking the smooth flesh to ease my pain—it’s almost too much. Memories of our only night together floods my mind, and though this touch is meant to be purely clinical, my body responds just the same.
My breaths come in shallow gasps, the intimacy of his touch reminding me of those raw, unfiltered moments of that night—the night I’ve tried so hard to bury. The sensation is maddening, so familiar yet so foreign. He gently dabs the cut, each touch stirring something in me I don’t want to name.
Almost of their own accord, my fingers slide into his hair at his nape. I’ve always loved how he keeps it slightly longer than most men. I tug at those strands, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control over my racing hormones. I’m holding onto the last remnants of my self-control. My heart pounds in my chest, my breaths coming in ragged bursts.
I watch as his jaw clenches, his own struggle for control evident as he continues cleaning my wound with gentle strokes. I can’t help but grip his hair tighter—it’s always been my weakness, holding onto him like this.
Just when I think he is going to push me away, reminding me of the distance he wants to keep between us because of my deceit, Vishnu does the unexpected. His other hand shifts to my right thigh, squeezing gently, just enough to let me know he’s losing his own battle for control. A soft moan escapes my lips before I can suppress it, my eyes fluttering shut as he continues to massage my right thigh. His palm is rough, creating the perfect friction that makes me feel more desired than ever, while his other hand tends to the bruise on my left thigh.
His breathing has grown ragged, matching my own, and I can tell his hands are no longer fully under his control. We’re both caught up in this moment, teetering on the edge of something dangerous and beautiful, neither of us quite ready to pull away.
In a fraction of a second, before I can even open my eyes, I feel the pull of Vishnu’s hand on my right leg. He lifts it over his left shoulder, his lips immediately finding my knee. All my control shatters in that instant. My eyes shoot open, a loud moan filling the space between us as his lips press against my skin.
The cotton slips from his hand, forgotten, as his mouth finds the inner thigh of my right leg—the uninjured one—and begins licking the sensitive flesh with a familiar madness. The passion matches that night we spent together: wild, all-consuming, and desperate. I grab his head, trying to guide him where I need him the most, but Vishnu has other plans. He pushes me back suddenly, and I fall onto the bed, his body hovering over mine.
The weight of his body feels achingly familiar, so right that I instantly pull him closer, unwilling to let this moment end. His mouth crashes against mine in a desperate kiss, all tongue and heat as we explore every corner of each other’s mouths. Everything else fades away. It’s just me and him. Us . His kiss is fierce, like he’s claiming everything that he’s kept at a distance for so long. I rub against him, needing that friction to ease my aching core. Vishnu doesn’t hesitate. His hand moves lower, without breaking our kiss, to take care of my need without a word.
Just as his fingers stroke the wet spot on my panties, a low moan escapes me, and Vishnu freezes. Reality crashes back in like a bucket of cold water.
I open my eyes to meet his, and the hunger I see in his gaze mirrors my own. It’s maddening to stop here, like this, when I’m so vulnerable that I could literally beg him to continue. I can see the same desperate desire reflected in his eyes, but this man was never easy. The moment he remembers the barriers between us, the past issues that have kept us apart, he immediately pulls away.
He gets off the bed while I lie there, waiting, hoping against hope that he’ll change his mind. I can’t believe how much I need him, that I’m willing to cross that line again, consequences be damned.
Vishnu gazes at me, something like shock flickering across his features, as if he can’t quite believe what just happened. He stands there, staring, as if he’s fighting some internal battle, and with one last conflicted look, he turns and walks out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
He’s gone.
I remain on the bed, my body still humming with unfulfilled desire, my heart aching with the knowledge that no matter how much we want each other, some walls seem impossible to break down. I close my eyes, knowing deep down that he’s the one man I may never be able to resist, no matter how hard I try. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin, a cruel reminder of what we could have—if only the past would let us go.