Chapter Fifteen
Ten Months Into Marriage
The morning started like any other Tuesday. Advika woke up wrapped in Sidharth's arms, his face buried in her hair, his breathing deep and even. She allowed herself a moment to just enjoy it—the weight of him, the warmth, the simple peace of being loved.
"I can feel you watching me," he mumbled, not opening his eyes.
"Prove it."
He cracked one eye open, a smile tugging at his lips. "Good morning, Mrs. Singhania."
"Good morning, Mr. Singhania." She traced patterns on his chest. "I have an early morning at the bakery. The Mehta wedding order needs to be finished today."
"Do you have to go?" His arms tightened around her. "I could think of much better ways to spend the morning."
"Tempting. But I have four staff members expecting me, and a bride who will have a meltdown if her cake isn't perfect."
"Fine." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But I'm holding you to a rain check."
"Deal."
She showered, dressed in comfortable clothes suitable for baking, and headed downstairs. Sidharth followed, still in his pajama pants and t-shirt, looking disheveled and gorgeous.
"Coffee first," he insisted, pulling her into the kitchen. "You're not leaving without caffeine."
They shared a quiet breakfast, his hand covering hers on the table, comfortable in a way that still sometimes surprised her. This—them, together, happy—felt like a miracle.
"I love you," she said suddenly.
He looked up, surprise and pleasure flickering across his face. "I love you too. What brought that on?"
"Nothing. Everything. Just wanted to say it."
"Say it as much as you want." He pulled her in for a kiss that tasted like coffee and promises. "I'll never get tired of hearing it."
At the bakery, her guards took their usual positions—one inside by the door, one outside. It had become routine over the past few months. She barely noticed them anymore.
"Morning, boss!" Meera called from the kitchen. "Ready to create magic?"
"Always."
They worked through the morning, falling into the familiar rhythm of creation. Advika loved this—the precision of measuring ingredients, the art of decoration, the satisfaction of building something beautiful from nothing.
She was in the zone, piping delicate sugar flowers onto the fourth tier of the wedding cake, when the front door chimed.
"We're closed for walk-ins today!" Meera called out. "Wedding order in progress!"
No response. Advika glanced up, frowning. Through the doorway to the front, she could see the guard who'd been stationed inside—Arjun—slumped against the wall.
Her heart stopped.
"Meera, get back—"
Three men burst into the kitchen, all wearing masks, all carrying guns.
"Nobody moves, nobody gets hurt," one of them said, his voice cold.
Meera screamed. Advika's mind raced, adrenaline flooding her system. The panic button was under the counter—if she could just reach it—
"Looking for this?" Another man held up the small device, already crushed. "We disabled your security system fifteen minutes ago. No alarms. No cavalry coming. You're coming with us, Mrs. Singhania."
"Like hell I am."
She grabbed the first thing within reach—a heavy marble rolling pin—and swung it at the nearest man. It connected with his shoulder with a satisfying crack. He howled, stumbling back.
"You bitch!"
She didn't wait. She ran, heading for the back exit, but another man blocked her path. She tried to dodge around him, but he was faster. His hand closed around her arm, yanking her back.
Advika fought like a wildcat—kicking, scratching, biting. She heard fabric tear, heard someone curse, felt her nails rake across skin.
"Hold her still!" one of them yelled.
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She stomped down hard on his instep, was rewarded with a grunt of pain. But there were too many of them.
Something sharp pricked her neck. Within seconds, her vision started to blur, her limbs growing heavy.
"No," she slurred, still struggling. "No, no—"
The last thing she heard was Meera screaming her name.
Then darkness.
Sidharth was in a meeting with a potential investor when Rishabh burst through the door.
"We have a problem," he said, his face pale.
Sidharth stood immediately, reading the panic in his brother's eyes. "What happened?"
"It's Advika. She's been taken."
The world stopped. For a moment, Sidharth couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't process what he'd just heard.
"What?" The word came out strangled.
"Her bakery. Fifteen minutes ago. They disabled the security, took out both guards, grabbed her. Meera called it in immediately."
"Is she—" He couldn't finish the sentence.
"We don't know. They left Meera and the other staff unharmed. Took only Advika." Rishabh's expression was grim. "This was planned, coordinated. Professional."
Sidharth's vision went red. His hands clenched into fists, every muscle in his body coiling tight with fury and fear.
"Find her." His voice was deadly quiet. "I don't care what it takes. Tear this city apart if you have to. Find my wife."
"Bhai—"
"NOW!"
The investor scrambled out of the room, clearly sensing the danger. Rishabh pulled out his phone, already making calls.
Within an hour, Sidharth had mobilized every resource at his disposal. Men flooded the streets, checking every known safehouse, every contact, every possible location. Security footage was pulled from every camera within a five-block radius of the bakery.
And Sidharth... Sidharth became someone even his own men feared.
"The Khanna family," Arjun reported, his arm in a sling from being knocked unconscious. "We found evidence linking them to the kidnapping. They've been making moves against the alliance for weeks."
"Where?" Sidharth's voice could have cut glass.
"We're trying to locate—"
"I didn't ask you to try. I asked you where." He grabbed Arjun by the collar. "My wife is out there, scared and alone, and you're telling me you're trying?"
"Sir, we're doing everything—"
Sidharth released him with a shove. "Do more. Everyone does more. Find her. Or I start eliminating people until someone gives me answers."
He wasn't bluffing. The men in the room could see it—the cold, lethal intent. The mafia king, fully unleashed.
Advika woke with a pounding headache and her wrists bound behind her back.
She was in a warehouse—she could tell from the echoing acoustics and the smell of dust and oil. Dim light filtered through high windows. Around her, she could hear movement, voices.
"She's awake."
A man appeared in her field of vision. Mid-forties, scarred face, cold eyes. "Mrs. Singhania. Welcome. I apologize for the rough treatment, but you didn't leave us much choice."
"Go to hell," she spat.
He smiled. "Spirited. I like that. Unfortunately for you, you're now a bargaining chip. Your husband has been getting too powerful, and we need to remind him that he's not invincible."
"He'll kill you for this."
"He'll try. But first, he'll have to find you." The man crouched down to her level. "We've taken precautions. This location is off the grid. No one knows we're here. And we'll be moving you soon, just to be safe."
Advika's mind raced. She needed to slow them down, give Sidharth time to find her. Her wrists were bound, but not well—whoever had tied them had done it hastily. She could feel a little give in the rope.
"Why target me?" she asked, buying time. "I'm just a baker."
"You're more than that. You're the bridge between the Pradhans and Singhanias. Break that bridge, and the whole alliance crumbles." He stood. "Nothing personal. Just business."
"Business that's going to get you killed."
"We'll see." He gestured to one of his men. "Watch her. We move in two hours."
As soon as he left, Advika started working on the ropes. The rough fiber bit into her skin, but she ignored it, twisting and pulling. Years of kneading dough had given her strong hands and wrists. She could do this.
The guard assigned to watch her was young, nervous. He kept glancing at her, then away.
"What's your name?" she asked quietly.
"Shut up."
"Come on. We're going to be here for a while. Might as well talk."
"I said shut up."
"Are you new to this? You look new. Young." She kept her voice conversational, non-threatening. "How old are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"
"I'm not telling you anything."
"Fair enough." She shifted, testing the ropes. A little looser. "But you should know, my husband is Sidharth Singhania. Do you know what he does to people who hurt what's his?"
The guard's Adam's apple bobbed. "Boss says he won't find us."
"Your boss is wrong." The rope gave a little more. Almost there. "And when he does find me—and he will—everyone involved in this is going to die. Badly. Painfully. He doesn't believe in quick deaths for people who cross him."
"You're just trying to scare me."
"I'm trying to give you a chance." One more pull and—there. Her wrists came free. She kept her hands behind her back, not letting on. "Walk away now. Disappear. Maybe you'll survive."
"I'm not—"
She moved fast, swinging her newly freed hands around and grabbing the gun from his holster before he could react. But she'd never handled a gun before, and her movements were clumsy. He recovered quickly, grabbing for it.
They struggled, both hands on the weapon. Advika kneed him hard in the groin, and he doubled over with a groan. She yanked the gun away, backing up.
"Don't move," she said, her hands shaking.
But he was already shouting. "She's loose! She's got a gun!"
Footsteps pounded toward them. Advika ran, heading for what looked like an exit. She burst through a door into blinding sunlight, momentarily disoriented.
Strong hands grabbed her from behind. The gun was wrenched from her grip. She was thrown to the ground, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs.
"Stupid bitch," someone snarled, kicking her in the ribs. Pain exploded through her side.
She curled into a ball, protecting her vital organs, as hands hauled her upright. Her vision swam.
The scarred man appeared, fury etched on his face. "Tie her properly this time. And if she gets loose again, I'm shooting whoever's watching her."
They dragged her back inside, bound her wrists and ankles this time, securing her to a metal chair. Her ribs throbbed where she'd been kicked. Her wrists bled from the rope burns.
But she'd slowed them down. Bought time.
Sidharth would come. She knew it with absolute certainty.
She just had to survive until he did.
Eighteen Hours Later
The location came from an unlikely source—one of the Khanna family's lower-level associates, who broke after fifteen minutes of Sidharth's... interrogation.
"Industrial district, warehouse 47," the man gasped, blood running from his nose. "Please, I've told you everything—"
Sidharth didn't wait to hear more. He was already moving, Rishabh and a team of his best men following.
They approached the warehouse at dawn, the sky just beginning to lighten. Sidharth's hand was steady on his gun despite the rage and fear coursing through him.
Let her be alive. Please, God, let her be alive.
"Four men outside," Arjun whispered, his night vision scope trained on the building. "At least six more inside, based on heat signatures. And one smaller signature, stationary. That's got to be her."
"We go in hard and fast," Sidharth said. "No survivors."
His men understood. This wasn't a negotiation or a warning. This was extermination.
They moved in synchronized silence, taking out the exterior guards before they could raise an alarm. Then Sidharth kicked in the door, and all hell broke loose.
The firefight was brief and brutal. Sidharth moved through the warehouse like death incarnate, his aim perfect, his fury absolute. Men fell before him, some dead before they hit the ground.
And then he saw her.
Advika, tied to a chair in the center of the space, her face bruised, her clothes torn, blood on her wrists. But alive. Conscious. Her eyes found his, and relief flooded her features.
The scarred man—the one who'd orchestrated this—had a gun to her head.
"Stop!" he yelled. "Stop or I kill her!"
Sidharth froze, his gun trained on the man's head. Around them, his men held position, weapons ready.
"Let her go," Sidharth said, his voice eerily calm. "Let her go and I'll make your death quick."
"Quick?" The man laughed, the sound slightly hysterical. "You're not exactly in a position to negotiate—"
Advika moved. Despite her bindings, despite the gun at her head, she threw her weight sideways, tipping the chair. The sudden movement made the man's aim falter for a split second.
It was all Sidharth needed.
His shot was perfect. The man fell, his gun clattering away, a neat hole in his forehead.
Sidharth was at Advika's side in seconds, cutting through her bindings with a knife, his hands shaking.
"Are you hurt? Did they—" He couldn't finish, couldn't voice his worst fears.
"I'm okay," she said, her voice hoarse. "Bruised, but okay. You came."
"Of course I came." He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. "Of course I came. Did you think I wouldn't tear the world apart to find you?"
She was crying, her face pressed against his shoulder. "I knew you would. I knew it."
"We need to move," Rishabh said gently. "This place isn't secure."
But before they could leave, a sound from the corner—one of the kidnappers, still alive, reaching for a gun.
Sidharth moved fast, positioning himself between the threat and Advika. He emptied his clip into the man, rage making his movements vicious.
When it was done, when the threat was eliminated, he turned back to Advika. She was staring at him, at the bodies littering the warehouse, at the blood splattered across his clothes.
"Did I scare you?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "No. You saved me."
He carried her out of the warehouse, refusing to let her walk. His men formed a protective barrier around them as they moved to the vehicles.
In the car, he finally allowed himself to really look at her. The bruises on her face, the rope burns on her wrists, the way she favored her left side.
"I'm going to kill everyone involved in this," he said, his voice cold. "Everyone who planned it, funded it, participated in it. They're all dead."
"Okay," she said simply.
He blinked. "Okay?"
"They hurt me. They took me. They threatened to kill me." She met his eyes. "I want them dead too."
The fierce protectiveness that surged through him at her words was overwhelming. This woman—his wife, his partner, his everything—wasn't afraid of his darkness. She embraced it when it protected her.
"I love you," he said roughly.
"I love you too." She leaned into him, exhausted. "Take me home."
"Anything. Everything. Always."