Chapter 21
“Your schedule is packed for the next ten days. No extra plans, no deviations. You’ll be in Mumbai for four days, leaving the day after tomorrow,” Sasha droned on, her voice mechanical as ever, while I half-listened.
“I need the coming weekend free. It’s Dadi’s birthday,” I replied, scrolling through emails during our video call.
“Dadi?” She paused, her eyebrow raising slightly.
“Kiara’s Dadi,” I clarified, glancing briefly at the screen.
“Fine,” she said with a resigned sigh. “The Mumbai deal will be wrapped up by then. After the weekend, you’ll need to be in the boardroom every day. The construction plan details are being finalized as we speak, and Justin will send them for your approval soon. Be prepared.”
“Sasha, stop micromanaging me. I’m not going to create any media circus. Relax.”
“You’ve already done enough damage, big boy,” she retorted sharply.
“What’s your problem?”
Sasha sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair on the video call. “My problem? Oh, let’s start with the fact that you, Manav Oberoi, have a knack for creating chaos just by existing. You’re a walking PR nightmare wrapped in a designer suit.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling my patience wearing thin. “Sasha, can you get to the point without the dramatics?”
“The point, big boy,” she said, her tone sharp.
“Is… that this deal in Mumbai is critical. The board is watching every move, and so is The Media. You might be the golden boy of the industry, but even you can’t afford to screw this up.
I’m trying to make sure your charming tendency to ‘improvise' doesn’t tank a deal worth millions.”
I glared at her through the screen, but she smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
“Dear brother,” Sasha squinted a little. “The project you’ve been waiting for—the list of palaces shortlisted for five-star resort conversion—has already been forwarded to the Queen. She’s impressed by the proposal. The Jaipur and Jodhpur deals are leaning in our favor. But…”
“But what…?”
“There’s a complication,” Sasha said, her voice steady but laced with concern. “The Queen is a staunch feminist. The rumors about your ex-girlfriend have resurfaced, and they’ve done enough damage to make her—and a lot of others—reconsider doing business with you.”
“The deal for the London palaces was already finalized,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Yes, but then you appeared publicly with your ‘little girlfriend,’ and now the old news is back in circulation.”
“Why do you have a problem with Kiara?” My voice sharpened.
“I don’t have a problem with her,” she replied, her tone hardening. “I have a problem with people talking shit about you. And right now, that’s exactly what’s happening.”
“She’s nothing like Shivanya,” I said, my voice softening instinctively.
“Yeah, I know that,” Sasha said with a sigh. “But the media doesn’t care. They’re digging up the past, and everyone’s asking the same question: What happened to Shivanya Patel? There are articles implying she was last seen with you, and—”
“For the hundredth time, Sasha, I didn’t kill her.”
“I know that, Manav,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “But the Queen doesn’t. If you don’t address this, the media will keep spinning their nonsense, and you could lose another few billion.”
“I’m not making any goddamn statement,” I said coldly. “Let people believe whatever the hell they want. And stop wasting my time.”
Sasha didn’t flinch. Of course, she didn’t. “Manav, this isn’t about her anymore. It’s about you. Your reputation. Your business. People need answers, and as much as you’d like to pretend this doesn’t matter, it does.”
“Kiara has nothing to do with this, and I won’t drag her into my mess.”
“Manav,” Sasha said quietly, her voice softening for the first time in the conversation.
“This isn’t just about Kiara or Shivanya.
It’s about you taking control of the narrative before it controls you.
You may not care about what the world thinks, but the people who depend on you—your team, your investors—do. ”
“I’ll handle it,” I said curtly.
“I’m Team Manav, remember?” Sasha’s exasperated sigh came through the screen. “But if you want to close this deal, I have a suggestion.”
I leaned back, already dreading her so-called solution. “Go on…”
“Take Kiara with you.”
“Take her where?” My brows furrowed.
“To Mumbai. If she’s seen by your side, the media will back off, and the Queen will be more inclined to trust you. Problem solved.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not dragging Kiara into this circus just to close a deal, Sasha. That’s not happening.” My voice was clipped as I disconnected the Zoom call and slammed the laptop shut.
Sasha’s words echoed in my mind: Take Kiara with you.
I stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window of my living room. It wasn’t just a deal. It wasn’t just about the money. It was about integrity, my name, my reputation—all of which were already hanging by a thread thanks to the rumors surrounding my past.
But dragging Kiara into this? Turning her into a shield against the vultures circling overhead?
No, Thank You!
My mind wandered—her fiery spirit, her unfiltered words, the way her laugh could light up an entire room. She deserved better than this circus. Better than me, even.
I stopped pacing, my hands bracing the edge of the desk as I stared down at the closed laptop.
If I took Kiara to Mumbai, it would change everything.
Not just for the deal but for us. The media would dissect every glance, every touch, every word between us.
And what if she got hurt in the process? Could I live with that? No.
I looked at the space beside me on the couch. If I asked her to come to Mumbai, she’d say yes. She’d come. She’d stand by me. And I wasn’t sure which terrified me more—bringing her into the storm or wanting her there so badly it hurt.
____________
“Sir… Are you sure about this?” Justin’s voice carried a hint of disbelief through the phone.
“Yes,” I replied firmly.
“The buyers are offering ten times the asking price. The Cape House property in Beaufort has attracted interest from some of the wealthiest clients worldwide.”
“It’s not for sale,” I said, my tone leaving no room for debate. “Let Mr. Bellington know it’s off the market.”
“Understood, sir. Also, regarding the four-day event in Mumbai, all preparations are finalized. The first day is the cocktail party, the second is the gala dinner. You’ll need a plus one for the gala, sir.”
“No, I won’t,” I said curtly, disconnecting the call just as Kartik’s voice echoed from the lobby.
“Are you serious? Why on earth aren’t you taking Kiara to Mumbai?” Kartik strode into the living room, his steps purposeful as he headed for the liquor cabinet. “You need her there, Manav. She could—”
“Don’t start,” I cut him off. I poured myself a drink. “This isn’t about her.”
“That’s exactly the problem—you’re pretending it’s not about her,” Kartik shot back, grabbing a glass for himself. “You’re so busy protecting her that you haven’t even asked her if she wants to be there. Maybe she does.”
I exhaled, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. I knew Kartik was right, but that didn’t make the decision any easier. “It’s not her fight.”
“Maybe not,” Kartik said, leaning against the counter. “But you’re going to push her away if you keep acting like she doesn’t belong in it. And let’s be honest—she’s already in it, Manav. Maybe it’s time you stopped pretending otherwise.”
My fists clenched, but I kept my composure. “Kiara isn’t a pawn in some business game. I’m not dragging her into this circus.”
Kartik sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration before slamming the folder on the table. “Here. The damn files.”
I didn’t respond. Kartik stood up, patting me on the shoulder. “Think about it before it’s too late.” With that, he walked out, leaving me alone with his thoughts—and a decision I couldn’t avoid forever.
I picked up my glass of whiskey and sat on the couch, closing my eyes. The phone buzzed on the coffee table. Without thinking, I picked it up, expecting another work notification. Instead, it was a message from Kiara.
Kiara: Guess who just got nominated for Bestseller of the Year?
A photo of her grinning face accompanied the message, her excitement radiating through the screen.
My lips curved into a faint smile, but the reminder of her leaving hit like a punch to the gut. She was already halfway out the door, and I haven’t done a damn thing to stop it.
I opened the chat, typing a response. Instead, I stared at her photo, her joy infectious even through the screen.