Chapter 28
The week after the chai incident changed something.
Divya stopped saying "two years." She stopped calling it a contract. The word temporary quietly disappeared from her vocabulary.
She didn't pull away when Vikram touched her in public anymore. She didn't measure every gesture for duty or guilt. The walls she had built around herself began to crack in small moments she hadn't planned for.
Five days later, Kavita announced at dinner that the annual Khanna Consolidated charity gala would be held that weekend.
Divya's stomach had dropped. There wasn't enough time to prepare her to become the host of such a high profile event.
But now, standing in the glittering ballroom of the Taj, surrounded by Mumbai's elite, business magnates, Bollywood royalty, politicians, she felt steadier than expected.
Vikram stood close behind her. Anchoring her.
The Khanna family had arrived together. Harshit and Kavita commanded the room with effortless grace, Raghav and Ishani worked the crowd with practiced charm. This was Raghav's domain. Khanna Consolidated. The business empire he'd been groomed to lead since childhood.
Vikram was here as family. As support. The famous twin who drew cameras but left the business to those who understood it.
"Mr. Khanna!" A business associate approached, all polished charm. "And this must be your lovely wife. We've heard so much."
"Divya," Vikram said, and there was unmistakable pride in his voice. "This is Rajesh Mehta, one of our oldest investors."
She shook hands, made polite conversation, played the role she'd been terrified she couldn't fill. But Vikram never left her side. His presence remained steady beside her. When conversations turned technical or boring, he'd lean close and whisper commentary that made her bite back laughter.
"See that man by the bar?" he murmured during one particularly dull exchange about market projections. "That's Bisht. Made his fortune in textiles. Also collects vintage cars and won't shut up about them. If he corners you, pretend your phone is ringing."
She had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.
Across the room, she caught Ishani's eye. Ishani was holding court with investors' spouses, looking effortlessly at ease. She caught Divya's gaze and winked. A small gesture that said you're doing fine.
Kavita glided past, pausing just long enough to squeeze Divya's hand. "Breathe, beta. You're doing wonderfully."
Then she was gone, moving to greet a minister with effortless grace.
Halfway through the evening, Harshit called Raghav away to meet with a potential investor. Kavita was engaged in animated conversation with a philanthropist. Ishani had been pulled into a discussion about the foundation's new projects.
And Vikram excused himself when a group of producers cornered him near the entrance.
"Go," Divya said before he could protest. "I'll be fine."
He hesitated, clearly torn. "Two minutes."
"Take your time."
She watched him go, weaving through the crowd. Then she stood there, glass in hand, surrounded by hundreds of people.
The noise felt suddenly overwhelming. Conversation and laughter and clinking glasses creating a wall of sound. She wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just... aware of the space beside her. The absence of his solid presence.
Her eyes found him in the crowd. Twenty feet away, maybe less. He was nodding at something a producer was saying, his expression polite but distracted.
The tightness in her chest was absurd. He was right there. Visible. Close enough to reach in seconds. But her fingers gripped the glass tighter anyway. Her breathing felt slightly off. The crowd seemed to press closer.
When had this happened? When had Vikram Khanna become the person she looked for in crowded rooms? The person whose proximity she measured like temperature or air pressure. Essential, necessary, the thing that made everything else bearable?
As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met across the ballroom.
His expression softened immediately. Changed from polite interest to something warmer, more focused. He said something brief to the producers, gestured in apology, then excused himself mid-sentence.
He crossed back to her with a single-minded purpose.
"Okay?" he asked when he reached her, his hand settling at her waist.
The tightness eased. The noise receded to manageable levels. The world righted itself.
"Fine," she said. "Just... lot of people."
"Want to leave?"
"We just got here."
"I don't care." His fingers laced through hers. "If you're uncomfortable, we leave."
But she wasn't uncomfortable. Not with him beside her. Not anymore.
"I'm okay," she said, and meant it. "Just... don't disappear again."
Something flashed in his eyes. Satisfaction. Possessiveness. Triumph barely contained.
"Not going anywhere," he said, voice low and certain. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her temple.
Her breath hitched. She looked up. Vikram was looking at her with an expression she didn't dare name.
For the rest of the evening, he remained exactly where she could reach him. Where she could feel the solid warmth of him. Where the world felt steady and right.
Across the room, Kavita watched her sons with their wives. Raghav and Ishani moved through the crowd with practiced synchronization. And Vikram, who'd spent the entire evening orbiting Divya, his world narrowed around her.
"She kept looking for him when he stepped away," Harshit murmured. "Like she'd lost her bearings."
Kavita smiled. "The walls are finally coming down."
◆◆◆
The breakfast table at Khanna Sadan buzzed with its usual morning energy, but Divya sat frozen, staring at her untouched plate of poha. Today was her Viva, the final exam for her post graduation. A questionnaire about the thesis she’d submitted months ago.
"Beta, you need to eat something," Kavita said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You can't walk into your viva on an empty stomach."
"I can't." Divya's hands trembled. "I feel sick."
"That's just nerves," Harshit said from behind his newspaper. "Perfectly normal. I threw up before my PhD defense."
"That's not helping, Dad," Raghav said mildly, spreading butter on his toast.
"I'm just saying, nerves are natural."
Beside Divya, Vikram reached over and plucked a piece of fruit from her plate, holding it in front of her mouth. "Eat. At least this."
She shook her head. "I can't."
"One bite." His voice was gentle but firm. "For me."
She opened her mouth reluctantly. He popped the fruit in, looking entirely too satisfied with himself.
"There. See? The world didn't end." He nudged her shoulder with his. "Now try the poha."
"I'm going to mess this up," she said quietly. "What if I freeze? What if I can't answer their questions? What if…"
"What if you walk in there and boss them around the way you boss me around?" Vikram interrupted, tone light.
Her head snapped toward him. "I don't boss you around."
"You absolutely do." He pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger, the gesture casual and intimate. "Every single day. 'Your schedule.' 'You're late.' 'Stop being impossible.' You're terrifying when you want to be."
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched. "That's different."
"It's the same. Except this time, you're the expert. You know this material better than anyone in that room." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "So you're going to walk in there and show them why you earned this degree. Just like you show me every day why I'm lucky to have you managing my chaos."
Something warm bloomed inside her. The anxiety didn't disappear, but it felt manageable. Contained.
"Eat," he said again, pushing the plate closer. "You need energy to be properly intimidating."
This time, she picked up her spoon.
Ishani grinned from across the table. "See? Vikram's good for something after all."
"I heard that," Vikram said without looking away from Divya.
"You were meant to."
By the time Divya finished eating, not everything, but enough to satisfy Vikram's watchful gaze, she felt better. Still nervous, but no longer paralyzed.
This was it. The final stage. Everything she'd worked for culminating in this one presentation.
And despite the terror, she felt something else too. Hope. The kind that came from knowing she'd done the work, that she'd earned her place in that room.
And maybe some of that hope came from the man sitting beside her. The one kept showing her in a hundred small ways that she mattered.
An hour later, Divya stood at the front door, bag packed with notes and printed thesis copies. The entire family had gathered to see her off, Kavita adjusting her dupatta one last time, Harshit offering final words about handling difficult examiners, Raghav and Ishani giving encouraging smiles.
But it was Vikram who walked her to the door.
"Car's arranged," he said. "Ravi will drive you. He'll wait."
"I know. Thank you."
"You sure you don't want me to come? I can sit outside, wait in the car…"
"No." She shook her head quickly. "I need to do this myself."
Pride flashed across his face. "You're going to be brilliant."
"I hope so."
"I know so." He squeezed her hand. "And when you come back, we'll celebrate."
She managed a smile. "Deal."
She turned toward the car, took two steps. His hand caught hers. Pulled her back gently.
She turned, a question forming, but before she could speak, he'd closed the distance between them. His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones with aching tenderness. For a heartbeat, he just looked at her, drinking her in like he was memorizing every detail.
Then he leaned down, slow and deliberate, giving her time to pull away if she wanted.
She didn't want to.
His lips pressed against her forehead, soft and lingering.
But this wasn't the casual affection he'd shown before.
This was different. His mouth stayed there, warm and reverent, while one hand slid from her face to cradle the back of her neck.
His fingers threaded through the hair at her nape, the touch sending shivers down her spine.
"Good luck," he murmured against her skin, the words a caress. His breath warmed her temple as he pressed another kiss there, then another at the corner of her eye. Feather-light. Devastating.
Her heart hammered so hard she forgot how to breathe.
His other hand moved from her face to her waist, drawing her closer until there was no space between them. Until she could feel the solid warmth of him against her entire body. Until the world narrowed to just this, his arms, his heat, the gentle pressure of his lips against her skin.
"Show them what you're made of," he whispered, and the roughness in his voice made something flutter low in her stomach.
For a moment, she stood frozen. Every nerve ending aware of exactly where his body touched hers. Where his fingers pressed into her waist. Where his breath ghosted across her temple. The overwhelming need to stay exactly where she was clashed with the practical knowledge that she had to leave.
Then, giving in to instinct, she let her hands slide up his chest. Slowly. Feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms. Feeling the way his breath caught when she touched him.
She rested her forehead against his shoulder, breathing him in. Sandalwood and something warmer, more him. Let herself sink into this, the solid strength of his arms, the certainty radiating from him, the way he held her like she was precious.
His embrace tightened. One hand still cradled her neck while the other splayed across her lower back. She could feel the warmth of his palm against her skin through the cloth.
He bent his head, his cheek resting against her hair. "You've got this," he said quietly, just for her. His lips brushed the top of her head. "I know you do."
She made a sound. Not quite agreement. Not quite surrender. Just a soft exhale that might have been his name.
His arms tightened further in response, pulling her impossibly closer. Like he was trying to imprint the feel of her against him. Like letting go took every ounce of willpower he possessed.
For a few moments, neither moved. Just stood there, wrapped around each other, the rest of the world forgotten.
Finally, reluctantly, she pulled back. Just enough to look up at him.
The expression on his face made her breath catch. His eyes had gone dark, intense in a way that made heat bloom across her skin. His thumb traced her jawline, slow and deliberate, the touch sending sparks of awareness through her entire body.
"I should go," she managed, voice barely above a whisper.
"You should." But his hand didn't leave her face. His thumb brushed across her lower lip, soft, possessive, the barest hint of pressure that made her lips part involuntarily.
His eyes tracked the movement. Something flashed in them, hunger, restrained but visible.
"Before you're late," he added, voice rough and low.
Still, he didn't step back. Didn't release her. Just stood there, hand cupping her face, thumb resting against her lip, looking at her like he wanted to devour her and protect her in equal measure.
It was Divya who finally found the strength to step away. To put necessary distance between them before she forgot entirely why leaving mattered.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips tingled where he'd touched them. Her entire body felt overheated, hypersensitive, acutely aware of every place he'd held her.
"Go," he said again, dropping his hand. But his eyes never left hers, and the hunger in them hadn't diminished. "Before I give you a reason to be late."
The implication in those words made her stomach flip.
She turned on unsteady legs. Walked to the car feeling his gaze on her like a physical touch. Slid into the backseat, heart racing, skin still tingling.
When she looked back, he stood in the doorway. Hands shoved in his pockets like he didn't trust himself not to reach for her again. Watching her with an expression that promised this wasn't over.
The car pulled away.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, feeling the ghost of his touch there. The warmth of his hands still imprinted on her skin. The memory of his body against hers making it hard to think about anything else.
Whatever happened in that examination room, she thought distantly, she'd carry this with her. This moment. This certainty.
This overwhelming, terrifying awareness that their marriage had become something else entirely. Something that made her heart race and her skin flush and her body ache with wanting.
Vikram watched the car disappear around the corner, that familiar twist in his chest. Pride. Possessiveness. Something deeper he'd stopped fighting.
She'd come home tonight with flying colours. He knew she would.
He was already planning how he'd celebrate with her. How he'd make her smile that radiant smile he'd come to crave.
Already thinking about the moment he could pull her close again and keep her there.