Chapter 19
I don’t understand this feeling—this wave of nausea that just won’t quit. It’s like I want to vomit and never stop. I’ve barely slept in two nights, and now I’m stuck with this gnawing, relentless anxiety that refuses to let me breathe.
Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s regret. Maybe it’s both.
I shouldn’t have left Beaufort like that. I shouldn’t have left him like that.
I’d wanted to hug Manav goodbye. To tell him I’d miss him. And now, a few hours later, I already miss him more than I can bear.
I stared out the window of the plane, clouds blurring past as my thoughts circled the same moment. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was the kiss. The kind that undoes you from the inside out. The kind that leaves a blueprint on your soul.
The way his lips moved against mine—slow, cautious, like he was giving me the chance to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. The second his hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, everything else faded. Time. Sound. Sense.
And then he breathed my name like a secret he’d been dying to say aloud. His chest pressed to mine, his heartbeat just as erratic as mine. And when he pulled back, forehead resting against mine—something inside me trembled. It was terrifying. And exhilarating.
And I left.
Stop thinking about him, Kiara… You’re back in India.
God—what’s the point of a private jet if it still dumps you at a public airport? I asked the pilot, and he launched into a monologue about orders and clearances and blah blah blah.
But thank the universe for small mercies—Naira and Akash were waiting outside. And maybe I could do something about my face before I saw them. I didn’t want to look like I’d just crawled out of an emotional sinkhole.
As I stepped out of the terminal, the first thing I heard was Naira arguing with Akash about coffee flavors. The familiarity of it made me smile before I even saw them.
Then came two warm, bone-cracking hugs that felt like home.
They’ve always been my people—the closest I have to family. We don’t see each other often. Their mom, Aunt Sara, lives in California, and her visits to India are rare. But whenever they’re here, time just folds in on itself like we never left.
“Hi! You’re glowing, Kia,” Naira beamed. “Are you in love?”
“I—” I started.
But the rest never came.
Because the world stopped spinning.
My lungs forgot how to breathe.
There.
Right in front of me.
Like a hallucination.
Like a memory that refused to stay buried.
Manav Oberoi.
Standing there.
Smiling. Looking at me like I was still the only thing he could see in a crowded room.
I blinked once.
Twice.
No. This wasn’t real.
This was a dream. One of those cruel ones I’d had on the plane. The kind where he smiled, whispered to me, hugged me, and stayed.
But then he spoke.
“Hey… baby.” His voice—low, warm, infuriatingly real—curled around me like velvet. “I was looking for you. I came back to finish a call, and you were just… gone.”
Baby?!
BABY?!
My heart went into cardiac gymnastics. Was I hallucinating?!
He did not just call me that.
But before I could even process the mental tailspin, his hand slipped into mine—warm, steady, grounding me in the storm.
He leaned in, breath brushing my ear, voice low and laced with mischief. “You needed a boyfriend, right?”
My heart nearly stopped.
Every thought in my brain screeched to a halt like I’d slammed the brakes on my nervous system.
I turned—wide-eyed, breath caught mid-laugh—and there he was.
Standing at the airport.
Holding coffee.
Looking criminally handsome like it was no big deal.
He wore the kind of smile that wrecks hearts—soft, boyish, stupidly beautiful. His eyes were locked onto mine with that familiar intensity, the kind that made my lungs forget how to work.
What. Is. Happening?
Did he stow away in my luggage? Bribe the pilot? Hijack physics?
Because how in the actual hell was Manav Oberoi here—at Delhi airport, holding my hand, whispering in my ear, like we were in the middle of a casual Sunday date?
I was officially losing it.
“Who is he?!” Naira’s voice pierced through my panic spiral.
“Manav,” he replied, smoothly extending a hand toward her. “The boyfriend.”
What now?
“Wait, WHAT?!” Naira gawked. “You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend!?”
Oh God. Oh God. I was going to faint.
He turned to me with a smug little grin. “Can’t wait to meet Dadi.”
Dadi.
DADI?!
I needed medical attention.
“Yeah… Dadi,” he repeated casually. “We’re here to celebrate her birthday, remember?”
I couldn’t speak. My brain was buffering.
Before I could form a coherent sentence, he pulled me into another hug and whispered in my ear, “Cheeseball, your mouth is still open. And you might want to smile a little—you’ve finally found your fake boyfriend. Oh, and one more thing—how good are you at dealing with the media?”
Media?
What media?
I barely had time to register the question before chaos erupted around us—cameras, mics, reporters shouting questions in rapid fire.
“Manav sir, welcome back to India!”
“Sir, is it true you were on vacation with your girlfriend?”
“Sir, in a recent interview, you said you don’t believe in love—what changed?”
“What happened to your last girlfriend, sir?”
“Is she… alive?”
The flashing lights, the rapid-fire questions, the chaos—it was all too much. My hand instinctively tightened around Manav’s, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Thank you for the warm welcome,” he said smoothly, his voice steady and commanding. “I’m here for some personal matters. I hope you’ll respect that.”
What the hell is happening?!
When did I become Manav Oberoi’s girlfriend? Did I land in some parallel universe where people have lost their minds?
I barely remembered when Manav had grabbed my hand, led me through the crowd, and settled me into his car. And now, here I was—being dragged into an unfamiliar but insanely huge building filled with too many people.
And then, there was her. The tall, elegant, and very pissed-off woman was glaring at Manav like he’d just set the building on fire. Her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to burn a hole through his head with sheer force.
Her voice cut through the air like a whip as we stepped into a sleek, transparent-walled office. “Who the hell is this? Are you out of your mind?” she snapped, pointing directly at me, her gaze briefly flickering with disdain before she refocused on Manav.
Manav remained annoyingly calm. “Good to see you too, Sasha,” he said dryly, barely glancing at her. He didn’t even flinch under her glare, just kept walking deeper into this glass-boxed world like he owned the air.
“Do you have any idea how many millions of messages are flooding social media right now? I believe there’s already a hashtag trending—something like #ManavInLove or #ManavGoneCrazyAgain!”
Her voice rose with every word. “Do you realize the damage control we’re talking about here? Who is she?!”
I opened my mouth to respond, but no sound came out. I had no idea what to say—or even what was happening. Was this woman blaming me for the social media circus that he created?
Sasha, clearly not needing my input, continued her tirade.
“You can’t just pick random women off the streets and hug them in front of international media, Manav.
You are not a bachelor on sabbatical! You’re trending in over 40 countries right now.
You are the young entrepreneur gracing the front page of every business magazine.
Your next talk show is already sold out, and people are asking if you’ve officially lost your mind! ”
Manav finally turned to face her. “Cancel all my meetings for today.”
Sasha’s jaw dropped. “Do you have any idea… how many billions are at stake here? The ancient palaces you finalized for conversion into resorts. The Queen is in the country. She wants to set up a meeting with you asap. The contract needs your approval; Your Dad is waiting for you in the Mumbai office to close the Russian deal. Tonight, you are supposed to be at dinner with the Queen.”
“The Queen?” Manav looked confused.
“Yes, the palaces belonged to her after her husband’s death. She is the one who is going to close the negotiation with you.”
“I don’t negotiate. Send her the final copy of the contract.” Manav looked through a seemingly infinite stack of files.
I was still standing there like a mannequin, trying to process the fact that my life had somehow turned into an international incident.
“And in the middle of everything, you have this?” Sasha looked at me with the same disapproving look my neighbor gives me when I ignore her dog.
I caught my reflection in the glass—messy hair, jetlagged face, and panic clinging to my eyes. What the hell was I doing in the middle of this empire?
“Sasha, stop talking, or I swear I’ll fire you right here, right now.” Manav’s voice was calm but laced with a deadly finality. “And yes, I understand you’ll need to do an enormous amount of damage control, but—correct me if I’m wrong—that’s literally what your job is.”
Sasha’s mouth opened as if to interrupt, but Manav didn’t give her the chance.
“From this point forward, leave Kiara out of your interrogations and schedules. I’ve seen your list of events where I’m supposed to make an appearance, and let me be very clear—I am not going to have any business meetings or dinners today. ”
He leaned back in the chair, crossing his legs casually as he continued, his eyes fixed on the screen of his laptop. “And for the next few hours, I don’t want anyone bothering either of us because I’m this close to signing a stack of termination papers. For anything else, you can deal with Justin.”
The room fell silent except for the faint tapping of Manav’s fingers on the keyboard.
Sasha, who just moments ago had been breathing fire, now stood frozen, her mouth slightly open, looking like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her.
She mumbled something under her breath before finally mustering a response.
“I hope this new toy doesn’t break your spirit again. ”
Without so much as a glance in her direction, Manav continued typing. Sasha’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she left, the door shutting behind her with a definitive thud.
And then he looked at me.
Really looked.
And I swear—I’ve never been so terrified in my life. Not even when I broke Roy’s robot the day before his finals and had to pretend it exploded on its own. That was bad. But this?
This felt like standing in the eye of a storm—silent, still, but vibrating with the promise of destruction.
My eyes squeezed shut, like they could protect me from his stare. My breath turned traitor. My brain? A total no-show.
And the million-dollar question flashing in neon inside my head:
Why does it feel like he’s mad at me?