Chapter Twenty The Anchor and the Heir #2
“That isn't funny!” Anshira hissed, swatting him again, though she couldn't suppress the reluctant, amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She was all too aware that his teasing was not unfounded.
There very well could be a few starry-eyed romantics in that very room, nursing the exact same, absurd fantasy she once had.
“Leave them alone. They are just nervous.”
Rovanth’s teasing expression melted into something incredibly tender, grounded, and fiercely devoted. He reached out, his large hand cupping the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. He didn't care who was watching. He didn't care about corporate decorum.
“They can read all the novels they want,” Rovanth murmured, his voice dropping to a rough, intimate whisper that belonged only to her. “But they don't stand a chance. I am completely and irrevocably devoted to my wife. The billionaire is already taken.”
He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead, right there in the wings, before pressing another quick kiss to her lips.
“I have a board meeting,” he whispered against her mouth. “I will see you at lunch.”
Anshira smiled, her heart swelling with an emotion so vast she felt she might float. “Go. Run your empire.”
As Rovanth strode out of the hall, Anshira stepped out from the wings to gather the orientation schedules from the front desk.
In the third row, Kavya, Malini, and Ila sat in stunned, absolute silence.
“Was that... was that his wife?” Ila whispered, her eyes wide.
“She has to be,” Kavya breathed, staring at Anshira as she organized the papers.
They observed her closely. Anshira Kalresh-Dhen was nothing like the elite, polished, aggressively tailored socialite heiresses they had expected a man of his stature to marry.
She wasn't dripping in diamonds, and she didn't carry herself with an air of superiority.
As Anshira looked up and offered a warm, genuine smile to a passing intern who had dropped a pen, stopping to help him pick it up, the three women were quietly surprised.
There was something profoundly real, incredibly sincere, and beautifully grounded about her.
The fantasy of the brooding, available billionaire died a swift, quiet death in the third row.
But as they watched the way the most powerful man in the city had looked at her—with a devotion so absolute it was practically a physical entity in the room—the fantasy was instantly replaced by a deep, lingering awe.
They didn't want to be the girl who caught the billionaire's eye anymore.
They wanted to be a woman who commanded that kind of respect.
***
Two weeks later, the Kalresh Bagh estate was transformed into a breathtaking vision of celebration.
It was Veersen and Ishwari’s 60th wedding anniversary.
For a family that had survived mergers, betrayals, and the chaotic evolution of a modern dynasty, sixty years of marriage was a monumental triumph.
The central courtyard was draped in thousands of white marigolds and jasmine garlands.
The entire extended family had gathered, filling the durbar hall with the sounds of clinking silver, classical sitar music, and joyous conversation.
But the true celebration had begun hours before the guests arrived, in the quiet intimacy of the family breakfast room.
The morning sun had streamed through the large bay windows. Veersen and Ishwari were seated at the head of the table, opening small, sentimental gifts from Chandrasen and Nandini.
Rovanth and Anshira sat next to each other. Rovanth’s hand was resting on Anshira’s knee beneath the table, his thumb rubbing soothing, encouraging circles against her skin. Anshira was glowing, a nervous, electric energy vibrating through her entire body.
“Dadi, Dada,” Rovanth spoke up, his voice cutting through the gentle morning chatter.
The table quieted, all eyes turning to the undisputed heir.
Rovanth stood up, pulling Anshira gently to her feet beside him.
He laced his fingers tightly with hers. He looked at his grandfather, the man who had built the empire, and his grandmother, the woman who had fiercely guarded it.
He looked at his parents, who had finally learned to love without conditions.
“We did not buy you a gift this year,” Rovanth announced, a massive, irrepressible smile breaking across his face. He looked down at Anshira, his eyes shining with tears he made no effort to hide. “Because we thought you might prefer this instead.”
Anshira took a breath, looking at the formidable matriarch who had once been her greatest terror, and who was now one of her fiercest protectors.
“I am pregnant,” Anshira said softly, the words ringing like silver bells in the quiet room. “We are having a baby.”
For three seconds, the room was silent.
And then, pandemonium broke loose.
Nandini burst into immediate, joyful tears, leaping out of her chair to pull Anshira into a crushing embrace. Chandrasen let out a shout of pure triumph, slapping Rovanth on the back with such force he nearly knocked him over.
But it was Veersen and Ishwari who provided the most profound reaction.
Veersen, the hardened founder of the KDG group, a man who had not cried in fifty years, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it to his eyes, his massive chest heaving with silent, overwhelming emotion.
Ishwari slowly stood up, leaning on her cane. She walked around the table, her hands trembling. She bypassed Rovanth and reached for Anshira, pulling the younger woman into a fierce, protective embrace.
“My beautiful girl,” Ishwari whispered into Anshira’s hair, the matriarch’s voice cracking with tears. “You have given us the future. You have given us light.”
Ishwari pulled back, looking at her grandson, and then at her husband of sixty years. “It is the best gift we have ever received. In all our years, it is the best gift.”
The joy of that morning carried through the entire day, infusing the grand anniversary gala with a radiant, electric magic. The Kalresh-Dhen dynasty was no longer just surviving; it was growing. It was healing. It was alive.
Hours later, long after the final guests had departed and the estate had settled into the quiet, dark embrace of the night, Anshira found herself in the master suite of the East Wing.
She had changed into a soft, silk nightgown. She didn't climb into the massive king-sized bed. Instead, she walked over to the large, cushioned window sill that overlooked the sprawling, moonlit gardens of Kalresh Bagh.
She sat down, pulling her knees up slightly, resting one hand gently over her lower stomach. It was still perfectly flat, but the knowledge of the life growing inside her filled her with a peace so profound it felt holy.
She thought about the girl who had first walked into this estate, terrified, drugged, and alone.
She thought about the dark, agonizing year where she had sat in a guest room, praying for an escape.
And she marveled at the impossible, beautiful journey that had brought her to this exact window, as the matriarch of the next generation.
She heard the soft padding of bare feet on the carpet.
Rovanth stepped up behind her. He had shed his formal suit, wearing only a pair of soft cotton trousers. He didn't say a word. He simply sat on the edge of the sill behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back until she was resting completely, securely against his broad chest.
He rested his large, warm hand directly over hers on her stomach.
Anshira let her head fall back against his shoulder, letting out a long, contented sigh.
“Are you tired?” Rovanth murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear.
“A little,” Anshira whispered, turning her head slightly to press her cheek against his jaw. “But mostly, I am just happy. I am so perfectly happy, Rovanth.”
Rovanth tightened his arms around her, holding her and the child growing inside her against his heart. He looked out over the vast gardens, the dark silhouette of the hills rising in the distance.
He thought of the arrogance of his youth. He thought of the empire he controlled, the billions in the bank, the power he wielded with a single signature. He knew, with absolute, unshakeable certainty, that all of it combined meant nothing compared to the weight of the woman in his arms.
He had almost lost her to his own pride. He had almost let the greatest treasure of his life slip through his fingers.
But as he held her in the quiet sanctuary of the master suite, breathing in the scent of jasmine and rain, Rovanth Kalresh-Dhen closed his eyes. He buried his face in her dark hair, overwhelmed by a wave of pure, consuming gratitude.
He was at peace. He was grounded. He was exactly where he was always meant to be.
And as Anshira sighed softly in her sleep, safely wrapped in his embrace, Rovanth knew, unequivocally, that the universe had finally given him everything.