Chapter Eighteen
One Month Later
Advika was still half-asleep, curled against Sidharth's side, when his phone rang. He answered with a grunt, listened, then went very still.
"When?" A pause. "I see. Thank you for calling."
He hung up, and Advika felt the shift in his body—the tension that meant bad news.
"What's wrong?" she asked, pushing herself up.
"That was Rahul. Your father..." He turned to face her, his expression gentle. "Advika, he's dead. Heart attack this morning. He died before the ambulance arrived."
She stared at him, trying to process the words. Dead. Her father was dead.
"Oh," she said. And then, because she didn't know what else to say: "Okay."
"Okay?" Sidharth sat up fully, pulling her into his arms. "Advika, it's okay to feel something. Anything."
"I don't know what I feel," she admitted. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears—distant, disconnected. "Should I be sad? I barely knew him. He barely acknowledged me. But he was my father, so shouldn't I..."
"There's no 'should.' You feel what you feel."
"I feel..." She searched for the right word. "Empty. Like I'm grieving something that never existed. The father I wished I had, not the one I actually had."
"That's valid." He held her tighter. "All of it is valid."
The funeral was scheduled for later that day. Advika went through the motions, choosing a simple black salwar kameez, letting Sidharth handle the logistics of their attendance.
"I don't have to go," he offered. "If you'd rather face this alone, or with Rishabh instead—"
"No." She grabbed his hand. "I need you there. I can't do this without you."
"Then I'm there. Always."
The funeral was held at the Pradhan estate, in the same gardens where Advika had played as a child—when she was allowed outside, when she was permitted to exist in her father's world.
The turnout was large. Yash Pradhan had been an important man, and everyone who was anyone in both the legitimate and illegitimate worlds attended.
Advika stood beside Anjana, Abhishek, and Rahul in the receiving line, accepting condolences from people who barely knew her father was hers. More than one person did a double-take seeing her there, clearly surprised Yash had an illegitimate daughter.
"I didn't know Yash had another child," someone whispered, not quietly enough.
"The bastard daughter," another replied. "Married into the Singhanias. Smart move by Yash, using her like that."
Advika's jaw tightened, but Sidharth's hand found the small of her back—warm, solid, supportive.
"Breathe," he murmured. "You don't owe them anything."
Anjana was a study in bitter grief. She accepted condolences with tight lips and hard eyes, barely acknowledging Advika's presence. When their eyes did meet, the hatred was palpable.
"You got what you wanted," Anjana hissed during a brief lull. "Married up. Made something of yourself. Left us behind."
"I didn't want any of this," Advika replied quietly. "I never wanted to be part of this family. You made sure of that."
"Good. Because you're not family. You never were."
Abhishek overheard and smirked. He'd always enjoyed the family drama. Rahul, at least, looked uncomfortable, shooting Advika an apologetic glance she didn't acknowledge.
The ceremony was traditional, full of platitudes about Yash's business acumen and family dedication. Advika listened, stone-faced, as people who'd never seen Yash's cruelty praised his character.
Sidharth stayed beside her throughout, a silent pillar of support. When she trembled, his arm came around her. When tears threatened—not for her father, but for the father she'd never had—he pulled her closer.
After the ceremony, the will reading. Advika hadn't expected to be included, so it was a surprise when the lawyer called her name.
"To my daughter Advika," the lawyer read, "I leave the property located at 1247 Merchant Street—the original location of her bakery, Sinfully Sweet—with full ownership and all associated rights. Additionally, she is to receive a sealed letter, to be given to her privately."
The room went silent. Abhishek's face turned red.
"That property is worth—" he started.
"The will is clear and legally binding," the lawyer interrupted. "All other assets are divided as outlined between Mrs. Anjana Pradhan and sons Abhishek and Rahul Pradhan. The reading is concluded."
Abhishek stood, his chair scraping. "This is bullshit. She doesn't deserve—"
"Sit down," Anjana said sharply. "You're making a scene."
"But—"
"I said sit."
He did, but his glare at Advika was venomous. She ignored him, her mind reeling. Her father had left her the building. The actual property she'd once rented for Sinfully Sweet.
Why?
The lawyer handed her an envelope after everyone else had left. "He asked me to give this to you personally, Mrs. Singhania. Said it was important."
Advika took it with shaking hands. The envelope was thick, expensive paper, her name written in her father's bold handwriting.
She didn't open it there. Waited until they were in the car, Sidharth driving them home in silence, before she broke the seal.
The letter was two pages, handwritten.
Advika,
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Good. It means I don't have to see the disappointment in your eyes when you realize I was never the father you deserved.
I don't expect forgiveness. Don't want it, honestly.
I made my choices, and they were cowardly ones.
I loved your mother—truly loved her—but I wasn't brave enough to choose her.
Wasn't willing to risk my marriage, my reputation, my comfortable life.
So I kept her as a secret, and made you pay the price.
You were never supposed to exist, but once you did, you were inconvenient proof of my weakness. And instead of being a man about it, instead of owning my mistakes, I hid you away. Made you feel less than. Let Anjana and your brothers treat you like you didn't matter.
For twenty-three years, you lived in my house as a ghost. And you deserved so much better.
I don't know when exactly I realized what I'd lost—what I'd thrown away by not knowing you.
Maybe it was at your wedding, seeing you walk down the aisle with your head held high despite everything.
Maybe it was months later, hearing reports of how you'd thrived in the Singhania family.
Maybe it was that conversation we had at the café, when you looked me in the eye and told me you didn't need my approval anymore.
You were always stronger than your brothers. Smarter. More resilient. You had to be, given what I put you through. And instead of recognizing that, instead of nurturing it, I buried you in the shadows.
The building is yours now. Sinfully Sweet—your dream, your creation.
I bought the property years ago from the owner who was renting to you, told myself I was protecting your investment.
Really, I think I was trying to keep one small connection to you.
One thing I could point to and say 'I helped with that,' even though we both know you did it entirely on your own.
I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know that I see you now. See what you've become despite me, not because of me. You're remarkable, Advika. You always were.
I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to say it while I was alive. I'm sorry for twenty-three years of cruelty by omission. I'm sorry for everything.
If there's an afterlife, maybe I'll see your mother again. Maybe she'll forgive me. But I doubt it. She always was smarter than me.
Be happy. Be brilliant. Be everything I was too coward to let you be.
Your father, Yash
Advika's hands shook as she finished reading. Tears streamed down her face—hot, angry, grieving tears for the relationship that could have been, should have been, but never was.
"Pull over," she whispered.
Sidharth did immediately, turning off the engine in an empty parking lot. She crumpled, great heaving sobs shaking her body, and he pulled her into his arms.
"He said he was proud of me," she gasped between sobs. "He called me remarkable. But it's too late. It's all too fucking late."
"I know, baby. I know." He held her tighter, one hand stroking her hair. "Let it out. Let it all out."
"I wanted..." She couldn't finish the sentence. Wanted him to love her. Wanted him to choose her. Wanted him to be the father she'd needed instead of the coward he'd been.
"You deserved better," Sidharth said fiercely. "You deserved a father who claimed you, who was proud of you, who showed you off to the world. You deserved everything, and he gave you nothing."
"He gave me the building."
"Twenty-three years too late. A piece of property doesn't make up for a lifetime of neglect."
"I know." She pulled back, wiping her face. "But it's something. It's acknowledgment. It's... closure, maybe."
"Is it? Closure?"
She thought about it. "I think so. He can't hurt me anymore. Can't disappoint me anymore. And he finally, finally saw me. Too late to matter, but he saw me."
"What do you want to do with the building?"
"I don't know yet." She looked at the letter again. "Keep it, I think. Maybe expand Sinfully Sweet back to its original location. Create something beautiful from the ashes of his guilt."
"That sounds perfect." He cupped her face, wiping away the remaining tears. "Your mother would be proud of you, you know. Of everything you've become."
"You think so?"
"I know so. Because I'm proud of you. Every single day, I'm in awe of your strength."
She kissed him then, pouring all her grief and gratitude into it. He kissed her back with equal intensity, a promise that whatever she felt, whatever she needed, he was there.
When they finally pulled apart, she felt lighter. Not healed—grief didn't work that way—but better. Like she could breathe again.
"Take me home," she said.
"Wherever you are is home," he replied, starting the car. "But yes, let's go back to the estate. To our home."
That Night
Advika stood in her personal sitting room, the letter in her hands, reading it one more time. Sidharth found her there, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. I think I actually am." She leaned back against him. "It hurts. But it's a clean hurt, you know? Like lancing a wound that's been infected for years. It hurts, but now it can heal."
"Good." He kissed the top of her head. "And for what it's worth, your father was right about one thing—you are remarkable. You always have been."
"So are you."
"We're remarkable together," he amended.
She turned in his arms, looking up at him. This man who'd saved her in more ways than one. Who'd given her a home, a family, a purpose. Who loved her with an intensity that still sometimes took her breath away.
"I love you," she said.
"I love you too." He kissed her softly. "Always. Forever."
They stood like that for a long time, wrapped around each other, finding comfort in their connection.
And when they finally went to bed, when Sidharth held her through the night like he always did, Advika felt at peace.
Her father was gone. The relationship they'd never had was finally, definitively over. But she'd survived it. Thrived despite it.
And she had a future ahead of her that was bright and full of possibility.
With the man she loved. The family she'd built. The life she'd created.
Yash Pradhan had given her nothing when she needed everything.
But in the end, she'd become everything anyway.
And that was closure enough