69| Memorable night?
"She embraced the darkness in him. He awakened the darkness in her. Neither of them walked away unchanged."
Stop.
Just stop being so delusional.
He is literally your husband.
Standing before the mahogany-framed mirror, I remind myself of that fact as I perfect my appearance for the soirée, realizing that everything I'd imagined until now was nothing but another dream. Aayansh hasn't returned yet.
Lovesick bitch.
That's what I've become.
That too for a man who has woven himself so deeply into my soul that even his absence feels like a presence. No matter what he is. No matter how deeply he still haunts me. But maybe... I've made my own heaven out of his hell.
Well, right now, my appearance needs more attention than all these thoughts.
And the worst part? Knowing no concealer is ever enough for what he leaves on my skin. I mean, these hickeys and marks are almost impossible to conceal.
What an animal of a man I've got.
I let out an irritated sigh and drag my gaze over my reflection.
Maroon net saree. Hair falling in soft curls down my back. Minimal makeup and light diamond jewellery.
I look effortlessly elegant.
Once my self-obsessed ass is satisfied drooling over me, I pick my phone and unlock it. Scrolling through the gallery, my fingers pause on a photograph-Aaina mom-I stubbornly took this pic of hers from Aashika.
In it, she's dressed exactly as I am tonight.
Uh, correction, I'm dressed exactly like her tonight.
As I wanted to look like my mother-in-law, at least once... and tonight felt like the perfect opportunity.
I gaze at the photograph. She's beautiful. Big blue eyes just like Aayansh's. Soft features, a quiet smile resting on her lips, and a kind of confidence that feels effortlessly her own.
Then I glimpse up at my reflection.
"Perfect," I murmur, before my eyes flick to the clock. 08:43 PM. Seventeen exact minutes of waiting for him.
Oh God, if he doesn't come back soon, we're going to be late.
Bro, Aashika and everyone must be waiting for us.
I grab my phone again and just when I'm about to press on 'horny Oberoi' it rings.
I gawk at the glowing screen-fuck-Alie.
Now she's going to fuck my mind for at least half an hour.
But as an ideal best friend, I pick her call anyway.
And before I can say a word-
"So married bitches know how to answer anyone's call who's not their husband!?"
"Alie, I-"
She doesn't even let me speak. "Don't you dare."
I sigh and let her spill. "As you're my best friend and you have the right to know what's going on in my life. I've called to tell you something very important."
Uh-oh, alright.
"I'm turning into a lesbian."
My eyes bulge out. "What--"
"Yeah, don't overreact," She says seriously. "After having such a long experience with these XY chromosomes, I've understood-No man in this world deserves me. So, here we go."
"Stay away from me!" I collapse onto the bed, utterly doomed. "I've been straight since birth and now... I love my husband."
She groans dramatically, then. "As If I'm coming to f-uh, wait! Plan changed."
Double shit.
"Now what?" I ask, bracing myself for another explosion.
"Now I'm going to date a mafia guy," She declares like a high on hormone teenage girl.
"Mafia?! Ma'am, do you even know how dangerous they are?" I ask like I'm not the one surviving it myself.
"I don't care unless they're hot," I roll my eyes at her comment, "well, your husband is mafia too."
"Yeah, he is," I answer, flipping my hair in pride.
"So-tell me, how do mafias' fuck?"
I choke on absolutely nothing at her question. Is she serious?
"I mean, come on, I'm going to date one. So, I need to have a little information, and you have a whole goddamn experience. Care to share with your bestie?"
"Alie, don't fuck my brain, I have to leave for somewhere in a while--"
"Oh, the attitude," she taunts in her typical tone. "Well, I'm not going to back off."
Her voice drops, low and curious now. "Tell me, do you see stars when he fucks you? Or it's just a plain fucking? Or something exciting?"
How do I tell her that he makes me travel the whole universe in the first round itself?
"Why do you think I'm going to give you my bedroom details-"
"Because, I'm your favourite person," She interrupts and I regret even picking her call.
But suddenly, an idea blooms in my beautiful brain, and I moan. "Aah-aayansh, my friend is on call, ah-not now. What will she think..."
And then, I disconnect.
I exhale and turn-and, I'm so dead.
────────────
Missing her and longing for her embrace have always been my routine. Every night, I would just turn the lights off until darkness is all that stays, then close my eyes and pretend she was there, holding me in her arms, like she used to.
Oddly enough, it brought me peace.
But this... this moment is different.
Because right now, I'm not mourning her absence, but wearing her name with pride, fulfilling something she spent an entire lifetime building.
And I want Aayansh and Tara to be here, to be a part of this moment. But they still haven't arrived. I wouldn't be surprised if you tell me they're busy making out-
Well, let's not go there.
At the private viewing deck, I'm still standing beside Arsh Jindal. The two of us wait for our siblings, our eyes drawn to the dark sky above as the cool night breeze caresses our faces.
It's been a while since he voiced his concerns about Tara, and I couldn't completely disagree.
After all, he had every reason to feel that way.
After what we witnessed that day, even I was horrified.
And no sane brother would want his sister to end up with a man like Aayansh...
someone who corrupts far more than he protects.
But how do I tell him that my brother has always been this way?
His love was never safe. Never healthy.
Not even for our mother.
AJ's concerns may be justified, but that doesn't change how I see it.
I just don't want anyone becoming a hurdle in Aayansh and Tara's relationship... not even Tara's own brother.
I shrug all these thoughts off, for now.
Pulling out two cigarettes and a lighter from my coat, I settle one between my lips and offer the other to him.
"I don't smoke," he says, firm and final.
"Neither do I, usually." I reply in the same tone. "But sometimes, morals can take a break."
He glances at me once, his expression unreadable, then takes the cigarette and places it between his lips. I light mine and hand him the lighter.
"Well, the way you hate Aayansh," I murmur, taking a slow drag. "I wonder how you let Tara marry him."
A bitter smile tugs at his lips. "That's more like a tragedy."
Of course, it is.
He brings the cigarette back to his lips and exhales a slow stream of smoke into the night air.
I note his reactions closely.
He's deliberately keeping things to himself.
Well, he is over-protective when it comes to Tara, and I can relate to that quite well. Spending years apart from my brother, and then seeing him again... that feeling was something I can't quite put into words.
"So," I interrupt, intentionally shifting the conversation. "What are your thoughts on marriage?"
"I have no interest in women," he says without even looking at me.
My brows pull together. "So you're a ga-"
"Control your dangerous brain, Ms. Oberoi," he cuts in sharply. "I mean I have no interest in marriage... And everything related to it."
I don't respond.
And then, quietly, he turns to me, "And you?"
That leaves me strangely still.
I was too consumed with surviving and destroying the ones who destroyed me to ever think about something like having a partner.
"Binding myself to someone for an entire lifetime is not my thing." In a dry tone, I answer after a few moments of silence.
And to that, a secretive smile pulls at his lips. "Having a partner isn't about binding yourself to someone," he responds, his gaze resting on me this time. "It's about finding the right person who grows with you, who brings respect and warmth into every phase of your life. Bright or dark."
Too philosophical.
"Coming from a man who wants no part in it himself?" I smirk in a taunting tone, without wasting a second.
He disposes the cigarette with a smooth flick into the nearby bin, then says quietly. "Understanding the depth of something and wanting it are two different things."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Well," with the same composed elegance, he glances slyly at me. "I hope one day you find someone who brings that understanding into your life."
I blink, not entirely sure how to respond to that.
Much to my own irritation, the corner of my lips lifts slightly.
Not that I'd ever admit it out loud, but I find his emotional maturity admirable. There's something about him that keeps you curious, always wanting to know more.
Although, I don't know him well. But in Rome, he stood by me... when I was bleeding, fighting, surviving, and instead of making me feel like I needed saving, he chose to let me be. And not every man knows how to respect power that isn't his.
The sudden ping of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts. I spare Arsh a brief glance. "Excuse me," I say before heading toward the outer deck.
My eyes drop to the screen.
Anyone else would've known better than to call me right now. Enzo doesn't.
I picked it up. "What is it?"
His voice is rough, edged with panic. "Donna, the shipment on the Ninth Route was hit. Seven of our most trusted men were butchered, and the entire cargo was destroyed."
My eyes sharpen. "Who the fuck-"
"It was Mr. Aayansh Oberoi. The orders came from him."
For a moment, I think I misheard him.
But then, I disconnect the call and stare at the screen in silence.
Aayansh hit my shipment. Had seven of my men butchered...
Enzo would never come to me with anything unless he was certain.
Rage and humiliation burn through my veins, my fingers tightening around the phone as if I could just crush it in my bare grip. But I won't decide anything blind. I need to confront Aayansh.
And If he's truly done this, the cost will be exact-and brutal.
I shut my eyes and exhale.
Not this moment. I won't let anything or anyone ruin it.
Around ten minutes later, after finally breaking away from the business associates and media, I head toward the edge of the tower to ease the tension in my shoulders.
That's when my eyes land on a figure leaning against the side wall. Malang Deewan. Still in the exact spot where I shoved him moments ago. But his face isn't smug or cocky like always. It seems serious... restless. His phone is held near his face as he speaks into it.
I come to a halt, watching him quietly from where I stand.
"Hey, Siri?" He murmurs into the phone.
"Yeah, Dr. Deewan?" the mechanical voice chimes back.
"If someone's curses keep turning me on, is there something psychologically wrong with me?" He asks in a tone that looks genuinely concerned.
"No. But that indicates you've developed a strong humiliation kink."
"The fuck?" Malang scowls before exhaling slowly. "But what if the curses are coming from a very fine woman?"
I swear there's some serious glitch in this man's operating system.
"That changes nothing medically, only emotionally embarrassing for you. And that confirms... you have no dignity around fine women."
His face twists with irritation. "Fuck you."
"You can't fuck me, Dr. Deewan. I'm an artificial intelligence tool. I'M REALLY SORRY."
Malang shoves the phone back into his pocket, letting out an irritated sigh before moving ahead.
I turn on my heel, ignoring his existence as I'm not in the mood to murder someone. At least not here.
────────────
She sighs, glancing back at them. "No, I don't want anything. You all should go and get some rest."
"But we can't leave you like this. You'll fall sick if you keep-"
"I'm not a kid!" she interjects firmly this time. "I'm fine. All of you leave. Now."
Powerless to argue, they nod and retreat.
"I won't forgive you for this, Aayansh!" Tara keeps chanting this, the anger in her voice fading as slowly fear begins to creep in, realising she's now alone in this dim, enormous hall.
And of course, her timid ass can no longer dare to roam around alone.
So-she turns to get back to their floor.
Moving toward the elevator and halfway there, her gaze snags on a dark, shadowy form looming behind her.
And then... someone's large hand on her belly.
Her eyes widen in pure horror as she whirls around abruptly, only for her to collide into something hard.
A sharp scream rips out of her.
Her body loses balance, but that arm around her waist holds her right there.
And as soon as his scent mixes in her breath, she stiffens, her head tilts up, trying to see his face clearly... desperately. "Aayansh?!"
"Who else can touch you?" His low, certain voice ghosts over her skin.
Caressing her head, she quickly shakes it, almost absentmindedly. "No one-except you!"
She climbs onto his shoes, balancing herself against him.
"But when did you..."
Before the words can even leave her mouth, her eyes grow teary out of nowhere. "Why did you return? You must've been busy right. Abh wapas chale jao. I don't need you." She mutters in a single breath.
Without a word, his arm still locked around her waist, Aayansh lifts her slightly and settles her onto the high table beside them.
Her eyes quietly search his face.
He nudges her knees apart just enough to stand between them.
His hand lightly pressed at the side of her neck. And sensing the heat beneath his palm-he tips her face up-forcing her to meet his eyes. "You're burning... And you were roaming around like that?" He asks in a serious, cold tone.
She blinks, her hands coming up to his chest, lost in his dark blue orbs glinting in the dark as she murmurs. "I needed you in bed..."
Shrugging off his overcoat, Aayansh bends closer to her lips, his voice husky as he says. "Of course, how can you sleep without being wrecked."
Her cheeks flushes. "Not for that-I needed to sleep on you."
He doesn't respond. Pecking the corner of her lips, he straightens.
Meanwhile, Tara's eyes briefly shift toward the staff and servants gathered at a distance, drawn by her scream, their breaths lodged in their throats from the moment they saw Aayansh here.
Without turning, Aayansh tosses his coat onto the nearby couch and dismisses them with a flick of two fingers. They hurriedly clear out at once.
Looking back at him, Tara gently swings her dangling legs. "Why did you enter like a ghost?! You know, I was missing you so much. I mean... Not even that much... But we're late because of you."
Hovering over her, he suddenly picks her up into his arms. Her arms wrap around his neck on instinct as he makes his way out.
"Where are you taking me, at this time?" she asks in a quiet voice.
Aayansh doesn't reply. Entering the elevator with her in his arms, he descends to the ground floor.
Outside, his black Bugatti stands waiting. Reaching it, Aayansh balances her against one arm as he opens the backseat door and sets her inside, before leaning in to fasten her seatbelt himself.
That's when she mutters in genuine concern. "At least change..."
Aayansh settles into the seat opposite her without a word.
It's literally a gala in his mother's honor, and we're so damn late. Yet, Aayansh is perfectly relaxed, as though the world moves according to his convenience. Maybe-yes.
But I want him to realize just how mad I am at him right now.
As the car rolls forward, I narrow my eyes at him, holding the glare for a moment before finally speaking.
"You never listen to me. I'm your wife, and being a good husband for once isn't going to harm your aura. I always listen to you," I babble whatever shit comes into my mind. "Not because I'm a mad woman, but because I choose you over everything. But you..."
He doesn't even spare me a glance, simply removing his watch and tossing it aside, his face remains unreadable as ever.
Is he even listening to me? Or I'm just blabbering to my own ghost.
My brows pull together, offended... maybe a little hurt too as I continue staring at him, searching for something-Anything.
And then... Aayansh reaches forward and turns on the divider.
My breath dries out for reasons I can't even explain.
With a firm grip on my waist, he pulls me onto him and pins me against his chest so hard that I gasp.
His heat soaks into my skin as he stuffs his face into my neck. "Continue." He says, his tone deep and hushed as his chin settles onto my shoulder.
My cheeks, my neck, my whole body flushes hot.
So he was actually listening to me?
"Aayansh... I-" I murmur, trying to push out something.
His eyes are on me, his gaze severe and intense... all at once. And I don't even remember what I was about to say.
Shit. I can't melt this easily.
"I was saying," I hesitated briefly, "You don't listen to me, but I always do. I choose you every time. I... I forgave you even after knowing you married me for revenge against my brother."
The fuck-what did I just say?
The realization slams into me without warning.
Silence settles between us, but it doesn't feel empty. It feels dangerous.
I don't look up at him. I can't.
Aayansh stays still, his one hand trail up my neck, sweeping my hair to one side before his nose grazes my collarbone. And his touch, his touch feels so sensual it blocks my senses.
Then, his lips hover near my ear. "If you were revenge, I would've given you an end so brutal," His voice deepens sinfully. "The world could've never forgotten it."
That genuinely unsettles something in me.
I roll my lips, my pulse beating erratically, working up the nerve to ask the question on the tip of my tongue.
"You said that like..." I just hate how my voice trembles faintly, so quiet I can barely hear it myself. "Like killing me would have been easy for you?" Biting my inner cheek, I desperately wait for his answer.
Beneath the pallu of my saree, his calloused thumb traces slow circles around my navel, sending heat rushing to my cheeks.
Fuck-don't give in.
Then, he smiles, watching me with quiet certainty, as though he already knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"Mushkil mere liye na tab kuch tha, na ab hai," He says, a dark edge creeping into his tone. "But you were addictive. Delicately addictive."
His face dips once again, lower and lower, until his mouth stills at my pulse point, just above my cleavage. "Tumhari khushboo itni khaas thi... ke mann kiya ise hamesha ke liye khud mein qaid kar lun aur-"
He presses his lips to my pulse, "Khatam kar doon."
Goosebumps erupt over my skin, his last words fortifying a different kind of terror in my bones.
I quickly pull back, my eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
I genuinely don't understand if he just confessed or scared me?
His smile deepens, just slightly, as if pleased by my reaction.
But I don't back down. Tilting my chin up, I meet his gaze and hiss, "For your information, I'm not delicate anymore."
He leans in until our noses nearly touch. "You are," he murmurs. "Just as delicate as the moment I first saw you."
I've known this man for so long. We've been us for so long. Yet somehow, I don't think I'll ever truly understand him.
He's so weird, so mine.
"You know..." I murmur, almost to myself. "No woman could have survived you the way I did."
He doesn't say anything.
We stay tangled in each other's warmth and breathing.
But when his hand glides over my thigh and his teeth close around the thin strap of my blouse, toying with it, slow and painful, I shut my eyes tightly, my breath catching in my throat.
While his eyes? They never stop devouring me, so intense that meeting them feels like a sin.
His tongue tastes my skin, not soft or gentle, but cruel and hungry. And it feels so... I don't know.
"Aayansh please don't... don't tear my blouse," I mutter, keeping my eyes shut.
That's a genuine concern, considering I don't have anything else to wear right now.
"Not this," He bites at my shoulder, right where he's been toying with the strap and I groan. Then, his thumb moves lower-skimming over my skin roughly-from my waist and presses right on my clothed cunt as he says. "But I'll tear many other things."
"Aah," I cry when he rubs down there, my pussy tightening with the sensation. Instinctively, I try to bring my thighs together, but he slides a knee between them, holding them apart with effortless ease.
"Tell me amour," His thumb dips deeper between my inner thighs, voice hoarse. "Is this little hole still as tight as it was the first time I fucked you, or have I stretched it enough for you to feel the difference?"
Fuck-he talks so filthy.
My own breathing sounds embarrassingly loud in the silence, matched only by the wild thud of my heart.
"Aah-Aayansh, please..." I'm so lost in the haze of sensation that I don't notice it at first. Then something clicks, and my eyes flutter open.
Only to find him seated across from me, one muscular arm draped along the seat, his posture utterly relaxed as he watches me with a slight tilt of his head.
A faint smirk playing on his lips.
What the hell? He's there and I just moaned his name like an absolute idiot.
I was so distracted that I didn't even realize when he got there, after whispering filthy things in my ear.
Then, my eyes land on his black tuxedo resting neatly nearby.
Without taking his eyes off me, he taps his thigh once. "Come."
It takes me a few seconds to process what's happening.
He's actually going to change here. In a moving car. Of course he is.
Because he didn't bother changing back at the mansion, and there's no way he can show up to the event looking like this.
But-
This time, I don't flinch. Rising onto my knees, I crawl toward him, the expensive leather dipping beneath my weight.
His head remains slightly tilted as he watches me, silent and intent, something dark lurking in his gaze.
Oh, he's going to regret doing all that to me.
I climb onto his lap sideways, almost straddling him properly, but the saree gets in the way. I should've worn a skirt, but no worries.
My hips press against his crotch, the hardness beneath making itself impossible to ignore.
Hovering over him on the seat, I abandon my fingers altogether and bend down, using my mouth to undo the buttons of his shirt.
While I refuse to look up. He never looks away.
My lips brush his chest, just briefly, the first button comes undone.
Flattening my hands against his hard stomach, I move to the second button, he doesn't interrupt.
There's something dangerously intoxicating about the way he just lets me do whatever I want to him. And It makes me feel like a queen... sitting upon her throne.
By the third button, my patience snaps. The next moment, I grab his shirt and rip it open, the sharp sound of tearing fabric echoing through the car.
Now his broad, muscular chest is bare before me, silver moonlight cascading over his skin through the tinted window. Then I lift my gaze to his face. He looks like God and beast twisted together into something that should not exist.
But it does-for me.
Blinking up at him, I trace his abs with my fingertips and slowly lick my lips.
"So this is what you wanted," I murmur, a small, seductive smile curling my mouth. "Husband?"
Aayansh's hand closes around mine where it rests against his abs, trapping it there. Without breaking eye contact, he drags it down his waist and settles it over his belt.
"Undo it."
"Aayansh... here?!" My confidence evaporates instantly. "I'm in a saree!"
He keeps staring at me, that same look in his eyes. The kind that says he won't repeat himself. He never has.
Hesitating, I lean in and unbuckle his belt. The metallic click cuts through the silence, making my pulse stumble. I set the belt aside and look up at him again, trying to look innocent.
A moment ago I'd been feeling victorious, ripping his shirt open like some reckless queen.
Now?
He tilts his head a little more, his gaze briefly settling on the button of his pants. I swallow and lean forward, reaching for it.
Shit. Please don't tell me we're going to have sex in a moving car, heading to an event. A grand one. I don't want to look sore, or worse, I want to walk properly.
While I'm still lost in my daze, Aayansh flips me onto his lap in the blink of an eye. My bare back collides with his naked chest as he leans down to my ear.
"If I start anything here," he says, his tone is maddeningly calm, "we both know you'll need a long rest." Then he nudges the shirt toward me. "Now, be a good wife and get that on me."
────────────
Here at the venue, Arsh heads toward the ground-floor elevator, occupied with a call, when his gaze catches a baby girl tugging at her father's sleeve, her laughter bright and carefree.
And out of nowhere, memories of a much younger Tara surface, small hands wrapped around his finger, making promises she was far too young to understand.
It is nearly evening when Arsh returns from boxing practice, his shoulders weighed down from the session.
He exhales, letting his gaze sweep across the mansion, staff and servants moving about, absorbed in their routines.
But before he can take another step, something collides with his leg and his eyes drop instantly.
Six-year-old Tara has run straight into him, her arms wrapped around his leg. Her small body shaking with sobs, her flushed little face crumpling as she cries uncontrollably.
Arsh's entire body snaps on alert at the sight of her.
He throws his bag aside and bends down, carefully gathering her into his arms.
From behind her, Carla, the head maid, comes rushing in, breathless with panic.
"Why is she crying?" Arsh demands, his voice edged enough to make Carla stiffen.
Tara's arms lock around his neck,
her legs gripping him as if loosening her hold would mean losing him. Arsh runs his hand softly along her back, soothing her, coaxing her fragile frame to settle against him.
Her crying doesn't slow, if anything, it worsens.
"S-sir, princess," Carla stutters nervously.
"She was cheerfully talking about her marriage.
I just... I casually said... she'd have to leave you and this house and go to her husband's place to live with him, after that.
And she suddenly started crying. I tried to...
" She cuts herself off mid-sentence, silenced by Arsh's gaze.
"It's alright, aunty." He signals her to go, and she complies instantly.
Not sparing her another glance, Arsh gently lowers Tara onto the sofa, yet she clings to him just as tightly.
His heart sinks at her sobs, the only thing he can never bear.
Pulling back just enough to see her face, he wipes away her tear-streaked cheeks, murmuring softly, "Enough crying, Princess. Now look at me."
She blinks up at him through wet lashes, honey eyes glassy and wide. Her little body is bundled in a soft pink tulle frock, the layers puffing around her, her curled hair pulled into a tiny pony with a loose pink ribbon.
Arsh kneels down, slipping her shoes off with care, and gradually, her sobs ease just a little.
"Bro..." Her slow, angelic voice reaches his ears as he gently cradles her face in his hands.
"Yes?"
What she says next makes him go still, something that hits Arsh with unexpected awe.
"After I get married, I'll bring my husband here and live with you. I won't ever leave you, Momma and Daddy. Promise."
She has promised that with so much innocence... His heart melts right away.
For a long moment, he just stares at her in silence. His little angel, his entire world slipping away from him one day... someone taking her away from him... the thought alone stings.
Don't know how people manage to send their daughters, their sisters, the very blessings of their lives... so far away. What Arsh knows is-he's not strong enough to do that. Not now. Maybe never.
Well, he smiles at her anyway, brushing the heaviness away. "And what if your husband refuses to live with us?" He leans down and kisses her nose. "What if he takes you away from me?"
Her tiny brows crease in an instant.
"Then I'll beat him! I'll beat him so much!" she scowls, her legs dangling off the sofa swinging in frustration. "You and Daddy always listen to me. So my husband will also have to follow my rules. If he doesn't, I won't give him babies... and I won't go with him."
Arsh can't help but let out a quiet chuckle at her cutely fierce declaration.
"Oh my God! This girl!" Diva's voice hits from behind, but Arsh's attention remains on Tara. "See the mess she's made of this house." Wide-eyed, her gaze moves over Tara's porcelain dolls, her toys, her intricately crafted princess castle... all lying in quiet disarray.
"Arsh, why are you acting like a kid along with her?"
"Tara?!"
Before she can even speak, Tara bursts into louder tears again-clearly deploying her "You can't scold me" strategy. She reaches for Arsh and he picks her in his arms, playing his obvious role in her performance.
"Stop crying, baby. I was scolding your daddy, he's a brat! Not you."
Dhairya's chuckle follows almost instantly, reaching their ears. "Of course, I am."
He settles on the sofa, his posture commanding as he motions Arsh to hand Tara over. "Come to daddy, princess."
But as Diva moves toward them, her foot twists slightly and she stumbles forward-landing right onto Dhairya's lap.
They both freeze in awkwardness, and Arsh quickly avert his eyes like a disciplined boy he is.
But Tara's loud giggle breaks the moment, drawing all their attention. She's staring at Diva and Dhairya, clapping her tiny hands, her little gap-toothed grin lighting up her face. "Daddy caught mom!"
Diva's face flushes instantly.
"Bad manners, princess," Arsh mutters quietly. "Turn your face with me."
She nods, and they both turn their faces away simultaneously.
??????????????????????
In the living room, Dhairya sits on the sofa, going through business files while Arsh assists him. Every now and then, both of them steal quiet glances at six-year-old Tara who is busy playing inside her princess castle.
Then, out of nowhere, she comes running toward them, a Barbie and a boy doll clutched tightly in her tiny hands.
"Daddy, Stelly and Jose just got married!" she beams, holding the dolls out towards dhairya. "Give them blessings!"
Both Arsh and Dhairya glance down at the dolls, who are, quite literally, decked out in wedding attire.
"So that's what my princess has been doing for the past half hour, getting her dolls married?" Dhairya asks, pulling Tara into his lap, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Yes," Tara murmurs, smoothing the Barbie's hair before looking up at her father. "You know, I'm Stelly's mum and Jose is Aadrik's son. Now that they're married, Jose is going to live with us."
Dhairya almost laughs. "But according to the rules, shouldn't Stelly be the one moving into Aadrik's house?"
"No!" She hisses. "Tara changed the rules!"
A strange vulnerability settles over Dhairya's features. For a moment, all he can do is look at his little daughter.
Meanwhile, Arsh watches the father-daughter duo in silence.
That's when Tara looks up, her honey eyes brimming with curiosity. After carefully setting the dolls aside, she stretches up and cups Dhairya's face with her small hands. "Don't worry, daddy," she says confidently. "Stelly is not going anywhere."
Dhairya brushes the thought away and presses a kiss against Tara's chubby cheek. "Of course, we'll change the rules for you too, so no one can ever take this piece of my heart away from me."
Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Arsh jumps in to lighten the mood. "Well? Don't Stelly and Jose deserve my blessings too?"
Tara glances at him, then immediately turns her face away.
A confused look passes between Dhairya and Arsh.
"She's mad at you, young man," Dhairya says, clearly amused. "What did you do?"
"Even I don't know, Dad," Arsh says with a sigh, stepping toward them just as a soft voice speaks up-
"Who wants to eat honey cakes?!"
Both of them turn toward Diva, who has just arrived carrying a tray in her hands.
"Me!!!" Tara shrieks.
The next second, she hops off Dhairya's lap and sprints toward Diva, ignoring Dhairya, Arsh and her newly married dolls like they never existed.
Remembering all this, a small smile touches his lips, only to fade as something bitter settles behind his eyes.
"Tonight," he says quietly, "I'll finish what should've been fixed long ago."
And tonight is about honoring a woman who carried herself with pride throughout her life, even embraced death with the same fearless dignity... Dr. Aaina Oberoi.
The rooftop garden is adorned with elegant floral arrangements, warm lighting, and subtle touches of luxury, perfectly complementing the grandeur of the night.
Aashika and Arsh stand together, excusing themselves from journalists and business associates alike. Both waiting for Aayansh and Tara.
"Does your brother have something called professionalism?" Arsh taunts, both hands tucked into his pockets. "Or does he just assume the world revolves around his timetable?"
"Cool down," she says, glancing briefly at her wristwatch. "There is still some time left."
Then, she meets his gaze.
Something sharp passes between them.
"And as for my brother," she adds evenly, "waqt se pehle ya waqt ke baad aakar apni keemat kam karne ki aadat nahi hai usse."
Arsh says nothing, but his first thought-both Oberois are equally full of attitude.
That's when, without looking up, Aashika murmurs, "That attitude is earned, so zyada toh hoga hi."
Well, the gathering here is exclusive, including only by select journalists, Asia's most influential businessmen, and distinguished medical professionals.
That's when the elite media lower their cameras at once, the quiet murmurs dying as heads bow in hesitance, maybe dread.
"Bro?!" The soft, excited voice has Arsh and Aashika turning at once.
Aayansh and Tara.
She's draped in a delicate saree, while Aayansh stands beside her in a black tuxedo. The sight of his hand resting on Tara's waist makes Arsh's jaw tighten.
And taking in his reaction, the corner of Aayansh's lips lifts.
After a brief pause, he deliberately withdraws his hand, tucking it into his pocket. The moment he does, Tara rushes toward Arsh.
Unhurried, Aashika also makes her way to Aayansh.
Reaching him, she leans in for a brief embrace before lifting her chin to look at him.
"You hit my shipment on the Ninth Route.
You know, if it had been anyone else, I'd have torn them apart with bare hands.
" A smile curves her lips, though nothing warm reaches her eyes.
"You're my brother. That protects you."
Aayansh doesn't say anything at first, he just watches her with that same predatory stillness.
Then, he simply wraps an arm around her, looking down into her eyes, impossible to tell whether the gesture is protective or threatening. "And you're my sister," he murmurs, his voice terrifyingly calm. "That-can never protect you from me."
Aashika's expression darkens, her eyes narrowing.
Ignoring her offended reaction entirely, his gaze lowers, settling on the faint dried blood at her lips, then her knuckles, which she's clearly tried to clean, before his gaze lifts to hers once more, his expression hardening into something far more severe.
But this time, Aashika deliberately looks away.
A few steps from them, Tara pulls back from Arsh's embrace just enough to point toward Aayansh. "Now hug Aayansh too!"
"Tara-"
"Tara?!" she repeats with an unimpressed look.
A smile tugs at his lips. "Princess?" He corrects softly.
"Better!" She grins, then peers at her brother with wide, pleading eyes. "Now do what I said!"
"Don't." Arsh sighs, a look of fond surrender crossing his face. "You know things get difficult for me when you look at me like that."
Her grin brightens with satisfaction.
That's when Aayansh's gaze settles on Tara, yet the second Aashika tries to move away, his hand closes around her wrist, halting her effortlessly.
Sighing, Aashika quickly masks her expression, keeping her gaze fixed anywhere but on Aayansh as Tara practically drags Arsh toward them.
And Aayansh and Arsh's eyes finally meet. Cold indifference clashes against controlled fury.
Tara and Aashika share a look.
(A/N: Lemme know if you want Arsh Aayansh's smut)
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