CHAPTER 32! THE THINGS HE NEVER SAYS
By the time Aadhira reached the dining room, she had almost convinced herself that the strange, suffocating tension from Aryav's study had never happened.
Almost.
The television mounted on the far wall immediately ruined that plan.
"Breaking News."
The anchor's serious, monotonous voice filled the room.
"A male body was discovered early this morning near the railway tracks. Authorities are currently treating the incident as a tragic accident. Identification remains pending."
Aadhira's attention sharpened.
The screen flashed to shaky, live footage from the scene.
Police barricades. Flashing blue and red lights. Reporters. Crowds of onlookers whispering behind yellow tape.
Then-for less than a single second-the camera caught a glimpse of a familiar, distinctively patterned fabric peeking out from beneath the white forensic sheet.
Aadhira froze.
The silver spoon in her hand stopped moving entirely.
No.
Her stomach dropped, turning into a hollow, icy weight.
She tried telling herself it was a coincidence.
A trick of the morning light.
A common pattern.
Her own mind violently rejected the lie.
She knew that shirt.
She had seen it yesterday.
Samarth.
Nahi.
Bas coincidence hoga.
Aadhira... tu overthink karti hai.
...Par agar coincidence nahi hua toh?
Ye galat hai.
Bohot galat.
Phir dil main itna sukoon kyu mahsoos ho raha hai?
"Stop apologising for wounds I chose."
Aryav's words from the day before echoed with sudden, deafening clarity in her mind.
He hadn't talk more.
He hadn't needed to.
The news reporter continued speaking over the graphic B-roll. "Investigators believe-"
Aadhira muted the television. Immediately.
Ayaan looked up from his breakfast, his dark eyes wide and curious.
"Mama?"
"Eat, sweetie," her voice came out much calmer than she felt.
A perfect, fragile mask.
"Why?"
"Because if you don't finish your breakfast, I'll eat it myself."
Ayaan narrowed his eyes suspiciously, instantly protecting his plate with both arms.
Good.
Distraction successful.
But inside... her thoughts were spiraling out of control.
A slow, terrifying chill crawled down her spine. For the very first time, the brutal reality of who Aryav Rai Shinghania truly was settled heavily in her chest.
Not the man who drank disgusting, overly bitter coffee.
Not the man who argued with her over trivial things.
Not the man Ayaan adored with fiercely innocent loyalty.
The other man.
The one who didn't threaten.
He corrected problems.
And afterward... people simply disappeared.
The heavy dining room doors suddenly flew open.
Tara practically bounced inside, a whirlwind of energy.
"Bhabhi!"
Aadhira blinked, forcing herself out of the dark trance. "Kisi ke paise churaye hai kya aise kyu bhaag Rahi?"
"I have good news... bad news... and emotional damage. Which first?"
Aadhira let out a soft sigh, rubbing her temples. "Good news."
Tara immediately grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Bua is coming."
Aadhira straightened up in her chair. "Roshni Bua?"
"THE Roshni Bua."
Now that was actually good news.
A genuine, effortless smile appeared on Aadhira's face.
Roshni oberoi was exactly like her name. Warm. Bright. Funny.
Entirely incapable of acting like a proper, intimidating, cold-blooded Rai Shinghania.
Children absolutely adored her.
Adults tolerated her beautiful chaos.
Aryav never reacted to her dramatic behavior, which, coming from him, was practically affection.
"She's finally coming back?" Aadhira asked.
"Yes."
"Good."
"Exactly," Tara said, before her vibrant smile instantly vanished. She slumped into a chair. "Okay... but the bad new is that... Ruhi is coming too."
Absolute silence fell over the room.
Across the table, Myra slowly lowered her coffee cup back to its saucer with a sharp clink.
Reyansh physically winced.
Aarush closed his eyes and muttered a quiet prayer under his breath.
Arjun looked ready to book the next flight out of the country.
Aadhira frowned, looking between them. "That bad?"
"That bad," Tara confirmed.
Aadhira sighed.
Ruhi. Roshni Bua's adopted daughter.
Beautiful. Elegant. And a woman who had spent years mistaking obsession for devotion when it came to Aryav.
The entire family had spent years explaining to her exactly why pursuing him was a terrible, dangerous idea. Ruhi had treated every single warning like motivational relationship advice.
"Still?" Aadhira asked. "After all these years?"
Reyansh took a slow sip of his coffee. "At this point, even destiny has filed a restraining order."
Aadhira couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her lips.
Then, Myra's expression suddenly turned deeply serious. The lingering amusement in the room faded into nothing.
Tara looked away, and Reyansh stopped smiling.
"There's something else," Myra said, her voice dropping to a quieter, measured register.
Aadhira set her cutlery down. "About what?"
"...About Ayaan," Myra hesitated, exchanging a long, heavy glance with Tara.
"People talk, Aadhira. Half the extended family thinks Ruhi is his mother."
"The other half refuses to discuss it when Bhai is in the same country," Tara added softly.
Aadhira's hand paused halfway to Ayaan's plate.
Only for a single, microscopic second. Then, with forced composure, she continued cutting his pancakes into neat little squares.
"Oh."
The word sounded surprisingly normal. Her chest, however, did not feel normal. Not at all.
Toh phir... Vo ayaan ki maa hai kya?
"If Ruhi really was Ayaan's mother... why didn't Ayaan live with her? Why did the little boy cling to Aadhira instead? And why had Aryav never once spoken Ruhi's name?
Across the table, Reyansh shrugged, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by genuine uncertainty. "Wish I knew, Bhabhi."
Aadhira looked up, her gaze locking onto him. "What do you mean?"
Reyansh leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Bhai has never been interested in relationships."
"Or people," Arjun added quietly.
The entire table fell completely silent.
Aadhira looked down at Ayaan.
The little boy had paused his eating. With an agonizingly familiar, slow precision, he picked up his cloth napkin and folded it neatly into a perfect rectangle beside his plate-a flawless, unconscious mimicry of the man upstairs.
He didn't say a word; he simply waited for the adults to finish speaking before picking up his fork again.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling settled deep inside her.
It wasn't jealousy. Which somehow made it worse.
Because for the very first time... she realized there was an entire, massive chapter of Aryav's life that absolutely nobody knew.
Not the cousins who grew up with him. Not the family who feared him.
Not even Ayaan.
And somehow, that dark, impenetrable mystery bothered her far more than it should have.
Upstairs, behind the closed doors of his study, Aryav signed the final page of a contract and slid it aside.
The door opened with a muted click. Vivaan stepped inside, placing a fresh file on the mahogany desk.
"The railway report is public," Vivaan said quietly.
Aryav didn't answer.
He didn't even look up.
He simply turned the page of the new file, his fountain pen fluidly scratching against the paper.
"Next," Aryav murmured.
Vivaan understood.
He bowed his head slightly and stepped back out, closing the door behind him.
The dead waited for names.
Upstairs, Aryav moved to the next signature.
.
.
.
Next morning The chaotic energy of breakfast had gradually dissolved into what the Rai Shinghania family considered a normal routine.
Which, admittedly, looked nothing like normal anywhere else in the world.
Aadhira wiped the corner of Ayaan's mouth before sliding his glass of milk toward him.
"No."
"Last pastey?" Ayaan bargained, widening his eyes into huge, pleading saucers.
"No."
"Mini one?"
"No."
"What if it's necessary mama?"
"Ayaan."
The seven-year-old let out a theatrical, world-weary sigh, slumping back into his chair with the profound exhaustion of a man paying off three home loans.
"I will complain to dad , mama."
"Do it," Aadhira said, fighting back a smile. "But firsr Drink your milk."
Ayaan stared at the glass as though it had personally betrayed him.
Before he could launch into a fresh round of negotiations, one of the housemaids approached the table quietly, keeping her eyes trained strictly on the floor.
"Ma'am."
"Hm?"
"Sir is calling you upstairs."
Aadhira looked up, her defenses instantly rising. "...Aryav?"
"Yes, ma'am. He asked who arranged his desk files yesterday afternoon."
Her eyebrows drew together in instant suspicion.
Gathering her breath, she headed upstairs.
When she entered the adjoining study area of the master suite, she found Aryav standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, finishing a phone call.
The sprawling estate stretched beyond the glass, washed in pale morning sunlight that outlined his sharp, imposing silhouette.
He tapped his earpiece, ending the call, and turned his dark, unreadable gaze toward her.
"My watch."
Aadhira blinked. "...What?"
"It's not where I left it."
"You own enough watches to open a showroom."
Aryav just looked at her, his expression devoid of irritation but radiating absolute, terrifying certainty.
"I want that one."
"Suniye aap har baat pe-"
"Bring it," he said, his voice dropping into a quiet, cold register that brooked no argument.
An entire, silent war of attrition passed between them in the span of three seconds.
Realizing he wasn't going to budge, Aadhira narrowed her eyes, giving him a sweet, incredibly fake smile before turning toward the side cabinet drawers.
Ten minutes later, her fingers brushed against cool metal tucked deeply between two thick legal folders.
She froze.
She slowly pulled it free.
It was a sleek, dark luxury watch.
A cold sweat broke out on her neck as memory rushed back.
Yesterday. While organizing the desk folders. She had moved it out of the way and completely forgotten about it.