Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Aadya
The moment I step out of Advik’s room, the panic I’ve been holding in doesn’t even get the dignity of settling.
Because standing there—back straight, face carved with what looks too much like heartbreak—is Vir.
I don’t have the energy for this. Not today.
“Not now,” I rasp, startled by how hoarse my voice sounds.
He nods. Silent. Civil. And we walk through the corridor in loaded quiet, past the nurses, past the machines, until we reach the front desk.
I pause just long enough to inform them Advik’s ready to contact his emergency contact.
The words taste wrong on my tongue. I shove aside the urge to stay beside him.
When we finally reach the parking lot, I instinctively glance around for my bike.
“You left it,” Vir says flatly, “at GenVault. Then you ran into the ambulance and didn’t look back for twenty-two hours.”
I scowl at his tone. “What’s the update? Mehul?”
He looks somewhere past me, his expression unreadable. “You’ve been fired.”
I go still.
“He thinks you’re compromised. That the attack meant for you was actually for him—and that you were either careless... or colluding.”
My jaw tightens. “So what now?”
“You’ll work with GenVault. Quietly. Discreetly. Off-books.”
He hesitates. “And... Mehul wants Dev back on your team.”
“He is on the team,” I snap.
Vir’s eyes narrow. “You know what I mean. Mehul doesn’t trust Advik. He wants eyes on your man.”
I freeze at his words. “He’s not my—”
“Isn’t he?” Vir turns to me fully. His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it. It wraps around me.
“He’s not,” I swallow, but the lie won’t form further.
“You don’t even believe that yourself, do you?” Vir’s face uncharacteristically crumples. “Do you even feel anything for me?”
He steps closer and I don’t stop it. Instead my eyes squeeze shut.
“Do you?” he asks again.
I don’t answer. I can’t.
I feel his hands on my neck, slowly brushing up to my jaw. “Jaan... look at me. Please.”
Reluctantly, I meet his eyes. They’re dark. Tormented.
“Because I do. I have for more than just this past year. Before you were injured. Before you sent those tiny slivers of texts when you married Karim. Before you even fucking accepted that job! I’ve loved you, Gree. Even when you refused to be loved.”
His eyes are imploring, almost pleading. And all I can think is that any moment he will switch gears. He will want me to put us aside—put me aside—and go back to the empty life of a soldier.
I blink. It’s not empty for him though. Vir functions solely on this life. He’s never known anything else. He’s given 25 years to this horrible world trying to fix it, and he doesn’t know anything else anymore. Other than to fix things.
I step back. He follows.
“Vir, I...” I whisper. “What do you like about me?”
He thinks this is his cue—his victory. He pulls me into a hug like he’s finally claimed me. But he’s not mine. And I’m definitely not his.
“You’re fearless. You go into any assignment with the confidence of winning it.
I love that. I love how you’re never afraid of failure and you pivot quickly.
I love how you wake up in the mornings, and just know exactly what I’m thinking.
I love the sound of your voice because it’s one more day you’re not dying in that god forsaken house where Karim almost took you from me. ”
The ache in my chest turns to ice.
He doesn’t love me. He loves the war-forged version of me. The soldier. The ghost.
The Aadya he molded me into. And I? I’m not her.
So for the first time, I may not know what I want, but I know what I don’t.
I step back again. His arms fall. My hands go up. A barrier he can’t cross.
“That’s not—”
“I know what you asked,” he cuts me off quickly. “But I’m telling you the truth. I love you, Greesha.”
His face rings with sincerity but I can’t stop thinking that it’s not me who he loves.
He doesn’t love the woman who wants to cook kofta because her significant other likes it.
He doesn’t love the woman who wants to sleep till noon instead of waking up and strapping a gun on her hips at a moment’s notice.
He doesn’t love Greesha. He loves... he loves Aadya.
“Vir—”
“Please.” His voice is almost broken. “I love you, Greesha.”
I shake my head. My breathing is erratic. “I...”
I know? No, I don’t.
And then I break the ritual for the first time in months. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes darken, a cruel sneer taking over. “I see.”
He steps back. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? That fragile little boy who couldn’t even handle a bunch of pills.”
My vision swims. The world tilting on its axis.
“What did you just say?”
He falters. “I... didn’t mean that.”
“No. Fuck that. I could care less about what you think of him. Tell me this. When did you find out?”
He clenches his jaw. “I always knew. From the moment he was hospitalized all those months ago.”
Air leaves my lungs in an instant. “You... you knew this whole time?”
“Yes,” he says but I can see his reluctance to admitting it.
“You kept tabs on him.”
“Well... you did too. What does it matter?”
I smirk, dots already perfectly connected. “It matters because then you knew all about him. Where he went. What he did. And you, Lakshit Rastogi, knew all about Khushi Joshi as well.”
His eyes widen at my use of his actual name. He thought I didn’t know. Well, I always did. He fails to remember that he’s not my asset. I’m his asset. The one he uses.
“Why?” I ask stepping closer but he stands his ground in a stupid show of strength.
“Because it wouldn’t have led us anywhere.”
“It led us to their exit point. The boats,” I offer, my voice feverishly sweet. I can hear my own condescension.
“Why?” My voice rises.
He sighs, running a hand through his gray hair. “Because our assignment is Mehul. Not running interference with the existing operations of his. GenVault was the asset we needed. Because we want to dismantle him. Not weaken him.”
And now I know what I need to. Assignment, ops, missions, assets, targets—that’s what his world revolves around. And I’m one of them, aren’t I? I’m not there as his woman. I’m there as his asset.
I sigh, feigning empathy and nod slowly. Like something inside me just settled.
“I get it now,” I say. “But I can’t do this—us—anymore.”
He tilts his head. “You’re choosing Advik?”
“No,” I whisper, finally admitting the truth that’s been nagging me for a year. “I’m choosing Greesha.”