No Boss (Billionaire Boss Romance #3)

Prologue

The small brass diya flickered.

The flame cast moving shadows across the idols on the marble shelf. Ganesh ji, Lakshmi ji, and in the centre, slightly larger than the rest, Kul Devi.

The family goddess from Anand Mahal.

The protector.

Abhinav Kumar Anand stood in the doorway of his father’s bedroom, watching that small flame dance. And all he could inhale was antiseptic and medication. That smell of illness that no amount of sandalwood incense could cover.

They had been offered a hospital. Full-time supervision. Immediate intervention.

His father had firmly refused.

He wanted his own walls. His own light. His family moving in and out of the room without asking permission. His son within reach, not visiting.

So they had brought the hospital to him instead.

The king-sized bed had been replaced months ago with an adjustable medical bed.

An oxygen concentrator hummed in the corner.

An IV stand stood beside it. Monitors beeped softly.

Medications lined up on the dresser in neat rows.

Painkillers, anti-nausea, steroids, things with names Abhinav had memorized and wished he hadn’t.

This room used to smell like happiness. Like hope.

Now it smelled like dying.

He looked away from the diya and focused on the medical report in his hands instead.

He’d read it so many times the pages had gone soft at the creases. Every word memorized. Every number burned into his brain.

Pancreatic adenocarcinoma, stage IV. Metastasis to the liver confirmed. Prognosis: 4-6 weeks with palliative care.

Six weeks.

That had been eight weeks ago.

His father had outlived the prognosis through sheer stubborn will, the same way he’d done everything in life. But the cost of those extra weeks showed in every laboured breath, every wince of pain he tried to hide, every moment of confusion when the morphine dose went up.

Abhinav had called specialists in London, Boston, Zurich, and Singapore.

Had chartered planes to get second opinions, third opinions.

Had stayed up seventy-two hours straight reading research papers in medical journals, teaching himself oncology terminology, looking for the trial, the treatment, the miracle everyone else might have missed.

He’d offered to fund experimental treatments. To fly his father anywhere in the world. To build a research lab, if that’s what it took.

His father had refused it all. Had looked at him with those eyes that still held all their sharpness despite the illness, and said simply, “I’ve made my peace. Let me make it on my terms. Not as a science experiment.”

So, Abhinav had done what he always did when a problem had no solution.

He’d controlled what he could control.

The best palliative care team in the Emirates.

Round-the-clock nurses. A hospital bed that cost more than most cars.

Medications imported from Switzerland because they were marginally better than the local equivalents.

Climate control set to exactly twenty-one degrees because that’s what the pain management specialist recommended.

“Abhinav.” His father’s voice was thin but clear.

Abhinav folded the report and crossed to the bed.

Rajendra was awake, propped against pillows, looking surprisingly alert for nine in the morning. The doctor had warned them that sometimes, near the end, there were good days. Pockets of clarity between the fog.

Abhinav pulled the chair closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dying.” A ghost of his father’s old humour. “But slowly. That’s something.”

It wasn’t funny. Abhinav didn’t smile.

His father’s eyes moved to the small diya still burning.

“Your mother prays every day,” Rajendra breathed out the words. “Asks Kuldevi to take away my pain. To let me live.”

Abhinav said nothing.

His father looked at him. “You don’t believe it helps.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I think,” Abhinav replied carefully, “prayer makes the person praying feel better. If it helps Maa cope, then it serves a purpose.”

“But you don’t think anyone’s listening.”

“I think if someone was listening, you wouldn’t be in pain.”

The words came out sharper, harder than he’d intended.

His father didn’t flinch. Just studied him with those too-knowing eyes.

“You’re angry,” Rajendra stated quietly. “At the cancer. At the doctors. At God, maybe.”

“I’m not angry.” Abhinav kept his voice level. Professional. The same tone he used in boardrooms. “I’m accepting reality. Cancer is biology. Pain is neurology. Prayer is psychology. None of it changes the medical facts.”

“And the medical facts say I’m dying.”

“Yes.”

His father was quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you know what I pray for?”

Abhinav didn’t answer.

“Not for the pain to stop. That’s what your mother prays for, and I love her for it, but I know better.” Rajendra shifted slightly, wincing. “I pray that I raised you right. That when I’m gone, you’ll know how to live instead of just how to achieve.”

“Papa…”

“Abhinav, you’re thirty-three years old. You’ve built an empire. Multiple companies across three continents. You’re worth...” He waved a hand vaguely. “More money than we can spend in seven lifetimes. You’re brilliant, beta. Truly brilliant.”

Abhinav waited. There was a but coming.

“But you’ve never been in love. You’ve never stood anywhere and thought this is it. You live in office or hotels. You date women you don’t remember three months later. You work eighteen-hour days because when you stop working, you don’t know what else to do with yourself.”

“I built what you taught me to build,” Abhinav responded quietly.

“I know.” His father’s voice cracked on the words. “That’s what I fear. That I taught you too well how to be successful and not well enough how to… just be.”

The oxygen machine cycled.

Beep.

Hiss.

Beep.

“I want to go out,” his father declared suddenly. “Today. Now. Before I’m too weak.”

Sarita, Abhinav’s mother, appeared in the doorway as if summoned. “The doctor said…”

“I know what the doctor said.” Rajendra’s voice was firm. “I’m dying, not dead yet. I want to go to the beach.”

Abhinav was already standing. “I’ll get the car ready.”

“Just you and me, beta.”

Sarita and Naina, Abhinav’s sister, who’d materialized behind their mother, exchanged one of their looks. An entire conversation in two seconds.

Abhinav understood their concerns. The walk from bed to bathroom sometimes left his father needing to rest for ten minutes. But there was something in Rajendra’s eyes that was not a request.

“Fifteen minutes,” he stated as he moved through the house with purpose, already working through the logistics.

The Mercedes, not the sports cars. Cushions for the back seat.

Water bottles. His father’s medications in case they were gone longer than planned.

The route with the fewest speed bumps mapped automatically in his head.

The wheelchair, positioned by the door before he’d consciously decided to bring it.

He checked his watch.

Twelve minutes.

His father would be ready.

◆◆◆

The Arabian Gulf stretched before them, the afternoon sun turning the water molten gold.

Abhinav walked half a step behind his father, hands ready but not hovering, as they made their way to the bench overlooking the shore. The beach was quiet at this hour. A few joggers in the distance, the sound of waves, nothing else.

His father had insisted on walking from the car himself. Thirty meters took five minutes.

Rajendra lowered himself onto the bench with controlled effort. Breathed. Settled.

Abhinav arranged the cushion behind him and sat close, but not crowding.

The breeze came off the water. Cool and salt-sharp.

For a while, neither spoke.

“I always liked this spot,” his father said finally, eyes on the horizon. “The sea doesn’t care what you’ve built or what you’ve lost. It just keeps moving. There’s something honest about that.”

Abhinav nodded.

“Do you remember Jaipur?”

The question came out of nowhere.

“Some,” Abhinav nodded. “Pink stone. High ceilings. A courtyard where I played.”

“Anand Mahal.” His father said the name differently than he said anything else. Softer. “For hundreds of years those walls have been standing. Your grandfather made me promise, on his deathbed, to take care of it.”

Abhinav was quiet.

“I used to think he was being sentimental,” Rajendra continued. “An old man attached to old stones. I told myself I understood legacy better, that legacy was what you built forward, not what you inherited backward.” He paused. “I was wrong.”

In thirty-three years, Abhinav could count on one hand the number of times his father had said he was wrong.

“We left because I thought growth was what you achieved living outside a box. Dubai was booming. It seemed practical. The smart move.” He stopped, watching the water.

“But the cost... I didn’t see it until too late.

I raised you with no ground under your feet, beta.

No place that’s simply yours. That was my mistake. ”

“We did fine.”

“You did.” His father turned to look at him. “But fine isn’t the same as rooted.”

Abhinav didn’t answer.

“The Chauhan family has looked after Anand Mahal for four centuries now,” Rajendra continued. “Devendra sends me a report every month. Every single month, for twenty-eight years.” Something shifted in his voice. “I didn’t always respond the way I should have.”

“I’ll handle it,” Abhinav replied. “When things are…” he stopped.

The unspoken words hung between them.

“It’s not just about handling it,” his father pressed.

“They’re not just caretakers. They’re the people who kept our history alive while we were busy making money.

Devendra’s daughter, Meera, studied heritage conservation just to understand how to preserve it properly.

That kind of devotion to something...” he shook his head. “You don’t find it often.”

Abhinav filed the information away. Chauhan family. Daughter named Meera. Handle appropriately.

They sat in silence as the sun began its long slide toward the horizon. Waves broke and pulled back. Broke and pulled back.