Chapter Sixteen
They went straight to Dr. Sharma, who pronounced Advika bruised but not seriously injured. Cracked rib, rope burns, various contusions. Nothing that wouldn't heal.
"You were lucky," the doctor said.
"I was prepared," Advika corrected. She'd fought back, had injured one of her captors, had slowed them down enough for Sidharth to find her.
At home, Sidharth was simultaneously tender and terrified. He helped her into the shower, washing her with gentle hands, his jaw clenched as he catalogued every bruise and scrape.
"I should have protected you better," he said, his voice rough with self-recrimination. "The security at the bakery should have been stronger—"
"Stop." She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "This isn't your fault. You can't protect me from everything."
"I can try."
"And you did. You found me. You saved me." She kissed him softly. "That's what matters."
But that night, the nightmares came.
Advika woke gasping, her heart racing, the echo of gunfire in her ears. Strong arms immediately surrounded her, pulling her close.
"I've got you," Sidharth murmured. "You're safe. You're home. I've got you."
She burrowed into his chest, trying to slow her breathing. "They had guns. So many guns."
"They're dead. Every single one of them. They can't hurt you anymore."
"I know. I know that logically. But—" Her voice broke.
"But your body doesn't know it yet." He held her tighter, one hand stroking her hair. "It's okay. The nightmares are normal. Dr. Sharma said they might happen."
"I hate feeling weak."
"You're not weak. You fought back. You injured one of them. You freed yourself." His voice was fierce with pride. "You're the strongest person I know."
They lay like that for hours, Sidharth holding her through the shaking, through the tears, through the aftershocks of trauma. When she finally fell back asleep, he didn't let go.
Over the next few days, a pattern emerged. Daytime, Advika was mostly okay—going to the bakery (with tripled security), working, functioning. But nights were hard. The nightmares came regularly, and each time, Sidharth was there.
"I almost lost you," he said one night, after a particularly bad nightmare had her sobbing against his chest.
"But you didn't. I'm here. I'm okay."
"You're hurt. Traumatized. Because I couldn't—"
"Sidharth." She pulled back to look at him. "Stop taking responsibility for other people's evil. You didn't kidnap me. You didn't hurt me. You saved me."
"I should have prevented it—"
"You can't control everything. And honestly?" She traced the line of his jaw. "I think I needed to go through that. To prove to myself that I'm not helpless. That I can survive."
"You shouldn't have to prove that."
"Maybe not. But I did anyway." She kissed him, slow and sweet. "And now I know. I'm stronger than I thought. We're stronger than I thought."
"We are," he agreed. "Together, we can survive anything."
"Show me," she whispered. "Show me we're alive. That we're here. Together."
He understood immediately. This wasn't about passion or possession. This was about connection, about reaffirming life after coming so close to death.
He kissed her with infinite tenderness, his hands gentle as they moved over her body. Every touch was reverent, careful of her bruises.
"Tell me if anything hurts," he murmured against her skin. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"Don't stop." She pulled him closer. "Please don't stop."
He positioned himself above her, settling between her thighs. Their eyes locked, and when he entered her, it was slow and gentle and perfect.
"I love you," he said, his forehead pressed to hers. "I love you so much it terrifies me."
"I love you too." Her legs wrapped around him, holding him close. "You're everything to me."
He moved with slow, deep thrusts, each one deliberate, controlled. This wasn't about racing to climax. This was about connection, about being as close as two people could be.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "So perfect. Mine."
"Yours," she agreed. "And you're mine."
"Always." His hand found hers, fingers intertwining, pinning it gently beside her head. "For the rest of our lives, I'm yours."
When she said "I love you" again, he trembled, his rhythm faltering. The words still affected him like that—made him vulnerable in ways nothing else could.
"Again," he breathed. "Say it again."
"I love you. I love you, Sidharth. I love you."
He groaned, his movements becoming slightly faster, deeper. "I'm close. Are you—"
"Yes. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
They came together, crying out each other's names, their bodies locked in perfect synchronicity. The orgasm was intense but emotional, more about the connection than just the physical pleasure.
Afterward, he held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her hair.
"I need to ask you something," he said quietly.
"Okay."
"Children. Do you want them? Eventually?"
The question surprised her. "I... I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."
"That's okay." He pulled back to look at her. "I just want to know where your head is. Because if you want kids, I want them with you. But if you don't, that's okay too. I just need you. That's all I need."
Advika felt tears prick her eyes. "I'm not ready. Not right now. Maybe someday, but..."
"Hey." He wiped her tears with his thumbs. "Whenever you're ready. Or never. It doesn't matter. You're enough. You'll always be enough."
"What about you? Do you want children?"
"I want whatever future you want," he said simply. "If that includes kids, great. If it doesn't, that's fine too. My future is you. Everything else is just details."
She kissed him, pouring everything she felt into it. This man—who'd started as her enemy, who she'd been forced to marry, who she'd fallen in love with despite every reason not to—he was her home. Her partner. Her everything.
"We're going to be okay," she whispered. "Aren't we?"
"We're going to be more than okay." He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. "We're going to be incredible. Together."
They fell asleep wrapped around each other, the nightmares kept at bay by the warmth and safety of their connection.
Two Weeks Later
The shift in the household dynamics was noticeable.
Nisha sought Advika out one afternoon, finding her in her personal sitting room, reading.
"Can I come in?" Nisha asked, uncharacteristically hesitant.
"It's your house too."
"Actually, I've been meaning to talk to you about that." Nisha sat, her posture stiff. "About everything, really."
Advika set her book aside, waiting.
"I was wrong," Nisha said abruptly. "About you. About us. About everything. And I'm sorry."
"You've apologized before."
"I know. But this time I mean it differently.
" Nisha looked down at her hands. "When you were taken, when Sidharth was losing his mind trying to find you, I realized something.
You're not just his wife. You're family.
Real family. And I've been treating you like the enemy when you've never been anything but kind to me, even when I didn't deserve it. "
"Nisha—"
"No, let me finish." Nisha's voice cracked.
"I was jealous. You were right, that day you yelled at me.
I was the only woman in this house for so long, the center of my brothers' world, and suddenly there was you.
Beautiful, talented, kind you. And I was terrified they'd love you more than me. That I'd lose my place."
"You could never lose your place," Advika said gently. "You're their sister. That's irreplaceable."
"I know that now. I see how Sidharth looks at you—it's different than how he loves me. Not more, just different. And I was so busy being threatened by it that I couldn't see how good you are for him. How you've made him better, happier."
"He's made me better too."
"I know." Nisha finally met her eyes. "I'm asking for a fresh start. Not as enemies, not even as reluctant family, but as actual sisters. If you'll have me."
Advika studied her for a long moment. This woman who'd made her life hell for months, who'd sabotaged her marriage, who'd been cruel in ways both subtle and overt.
But who was also Sidharth's sister. Who was also traumatized by their parents' deaths. Who was also just scared and young and learning.
"Fresh start," Advika agreed, extending her hand.
Nisha took it, and for the first time since they'd met, her smile was genuine. "Thank you."
They talked for hours after that—really talked. About Nisha's fears, Advika's struggles, the family they were trying to build. It wasn't perfect. They'd probably never be best friends. But it was real.
And it was a start.
Rishabh found them later, both laughing over some story Nisha was telling about Sidharth's childhood.
"Am I dreaming?" he asked, pretending to pinch himself. "Or are you two actually getting along?"
"Shut up, Rishabh," both women said in unison, then looked at each other and laughed.
"Miracles do happen," Rishabh muttered, but he was smiling.
Family dinners became less tense. Conversations flowed more naturally. Nisha even ate Advika's pastries now, complimenting her skills.
"This is incredible," she said one evening, savoring a pistachio éclair. "How did you learn to do this?"
"Practice. Lots and lots of practice. And love for the craft."
"Could you... would you teach me sometime? I'm terrible at cooking, but baking seems more... precise. Scientific."
Advika blinked in surprise. "You want to learn to bake?"
"Only if you have time. I know you're busy with the bakery and the business and—"
"I'd love to teach you," Advika interrupted. "Weekends? We could make it a regular thing."
Nisha's face lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
Across the table, Sidharth and Rishabh exchanged glances.
"Who are they and what have they done with our sister and sister-in-law?" Rishabh murmured.
"I'm choosing not to question it," Sidharth replied. But his smile was warm as he watched his wife and sister bond.
Later that night, in their bedroom, Advika snuggled against Sidharth's chest.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For this. For family. For home." She looked up at him. "I spent my whole life feeling like I didn't belong anywhere. And now I belong here. With you. With them. It's more than I ever thought I'd have."
"You deserve it all," he said fiercely. "Every bit of happiness, every moment of peace. You deserve the world."
"I don't need the world." She kissed his chest, right over his heart. "I just need this. Us. Our family."
"You have us. All of us. For the rest of your life, you have us."
And for the first time in her twenty-three years, Advika truly believed it.
She wasn't the illegitimate daughter anymore. Wasn't the unwanted one, the shameful secret, the treaty bride.
She was Advika Singhania. Wife. Partner. Sister. Baker. Businesswoman.
Loved. Wanted. Home.
Finally, beautifully, completely home.