Chapter 12 Fluent in Flute and Fury
The morning air was laced with tension, thicker than the steam rising from the untouched tea
"Adwait, I want the keys to the Agnivanshi containers," Rudra demanded, voice sharp with entitlement.
Ivikaa looked up. Ah, the great Rudra Agnivanshi-starting his day with arrogance and control issues. She remembered clearly: out of the five containers, only three had been handed over to Iva Fashion House. The rest? Sealed behind Agnivanshi privilege and mystery.
"They're not for business. They're Agnivanshi legacy," Adwait replied, voice calm like silk but slicing like a blade.
Iva tilted her head. That tone again-soft, but the undertone carried something dangerous. Rudra's jaw ticked.
"You have to give the keys. You're not the owner," Divya Agnivanshi snapped, venom lacing her words.
Adwait didn't flinch. "No, Mrs. Agnivanshi. I cannot."
Iva blinked. Mrs. Agnivanshi? Not Mom? Not even Mother? The ice in his tone sent a strange chill through the room.
Rudra slammed his fist on the table. "Don't you dare talk to your mother like that!"
Adwait didn't look up."I'm not talking to my mother."
Iva blinked again. What the hell did that mean?
"Adwait, dare you speak to your mother like this-!" Abhay Agnivanshi stood now, fists clenched, ready to burst.
Adwait finally looked up. Calm. Dead calm.
"She's not my mother, Mr. Agnivanshi."
The words detonated in the room like a bomb.
Divya stood abruptly, chair screeching back.
"Did you hear that, Rudra?" she screamed, pointing at Adwait like he was filth.
"For this shameless, ungrateful abomination, I gave up everything. My career, my films, my life. I raised this-this animal!"
Adwait sat back casually, and said, deadpan, "Okay, someone please pass the jam-preferably not laced with generational trauma."
Martin, as if perfectly rehearsed, stepped forward and placed the jam jar on the table in front of him with surgical precision. Adwait spooned a bit of jam onto his toast.
Ivikaa blinked. Did that really just happen? Calm, aloof Adwait was out here throwing grenades like sarcasm was his second language.
Divya's hand flew to her chest like she'd been slapped with a wet cheque bounce.
"Adwait, don't force me to be violent!" Abhay's voice thundered again, and Iva rolled her eyes. Ah yes. The classic Indian father move: threaten violence before breakfast.
She turned to look at Adwait-wondering if he would finally crack, maybe shout back, maybe walk out dramatically like a proper Agnivanshi. But instead, he picked up his tea cup, sipped, and muttered without missing a beat-
"Should we take this drama outside or just burn the mansion now?"
That was it.
Iva almost spat her tea. A full-blown laugh escaped before she could contain it. And she wasn't the only one.
Her eyes instinctively scanned the room, and there he was-Martin.
The man of steel nerves. His lips twitched. Twitch. That was all it took.
Caught.
Martin immediately straightened, turned on his heel, and walked back into the kitchen like nothing happened.
Too late.
Iva's eyes narrowed. Busted.
She smirked-slow, evil, victorious. Like she had just discovered Martin was not just human but enjoyed the circus too.
Rudra banged the table again, pulling everyone's attention back.
"I want the keys, Adwait! You can't keep holding power over everything!"
Adwait finally looked up, calm returning like a curtain falling after a performance.
"I'm not holding power, Rudra. I'm just not handing over knives to people who already set the kitchen on fire."
And with that, he stood up. He turned just before exiting the dining room, his voice calm but razor-sharp:
"Those containers-" he said, looking directly at Divya, "-are filled with ancestral jewellery and clothes meant only for the Agnivanshis."
He paused, letting his words sink in like poison laced in honey.
"And next time, don't be delusional and claim to have raised me or sacrificed your not-so-amazing career. You were my mother for, what, eight years? Before you gave me away for adoption like a bad PR investment."
Iva felt the air shift. The silence wasn't quiet-it was electric.
Adwait took one final step back, eyes still locked on Divya's frozen expression.
"So, my once-upon-a-time, short-term mother-" he said with a bitter smile, "I still wonder... why exactly did you fail in your acting career? Because frankly, watching you now, I think your acting is phenomenal."
Boom.
Nuclear.
Iva didn't even bother to hide her grin.
Just as he turned to leave, he looked over his shoulder-this time at Abhay Agnivanshi.
"Aur Mr. Agnivanshi," he said, his tone dipped in ice, "aap mere baap nahi ho... toh banne ki koshish bhi mat karna."
("And Mr. Agnivanshi," he said, his voice cold as ice, "you are not my father... so don't even try to act like one.")
The air stilled.
He took a step forward and added, voice sharp like broken glass:
"Acting sirf aapki biwi ko suit karti hai. Aapko toh sirf greed hi achhi lagti hai."
("Acting only suits your wife. The only thing that truly suits you is greed.")
He tilted his head slightly, almost amused. "And let's be honest, it's the only legacy you've ever truly nurtured."
Then with a calm, chilling smirk-he walked away.
Rudra stormed out, sweeping half the tableware with him in a loud crash that echoed through the dining hall. One by one, the rest followed-some in silence, some in simmering shame.
Iva, unbothered, sipped her orange juice like it was champagne.
Moments later, she walked into the kitchen barefoot, her silk robe swishing softly against the floor. Martin was calmly slicing papaya, utterly unfazed by the warzone that had just occurred.
She hopped up onto the marble slab beside him, legs dangling like a bored teenager.
"Was that really Adwait?" she asked, eyes narrowed, tone light-but sharp.
Martin didn't look at her. The knife moved with precise, mechanical rhythm.
He hesitated for a second before answering in his usual flat tone:
"This is the real Master."
Iva blinked, processing that. Her voice dropped an octave.
"So he was... actually given for adoption?" Fishing, but not too obviously.
Martin paused-just briefly-and looked at her. Then went back to slicing.
"Not my story to tell."
Iva rolled her eyes and exhaled dramatically.
"Classic Martin. If withholding information was a sport, you'd have five Olympic golds and a Netflix documentary."
Martin, still slicing, didn't even flinch.
"Thank you, Miss Ambani."
She squinted at him, then grinned.
"Don't mention it, Emotionless Encyclopedia."
He placed a perfectly sliced piece of papaya on a small dish and passed it to her without a word.
She took it, bit into it, and mumbled through a mouthful,
"You saw that coming, didn't you?"
Martin wiped his hands.
"I set the jam jar on the table before the storm hit. Let's say... I had a forecast."
Adwait walked into the kitchen like nothing had just imploded in the dining hall. His eyes met Iva's for a moment before he placed a small, antique-looking keyring on the counter beside her.
"You can click photos," he said in a low, quiet voice, "but don't use anything."
Iva looked at the keys, then at him, tilting her head slightly.
"Open your mouth," she said casually, picking up another slice of papaya.
He blinked once, then obediently opened his mouth.
She popped the papaya in without a second thought. He started chewing halfway through realizing what had just happened. Martin was frozen between the fruit tray and the fridge, watching them like some rare National Geographic species.
Adwait gave him a look and said dryly, "Martin, next time-don't put the jam jar on the table."
Without missing a beat, Martin replied in his legendary monotone: "Duly noted, sir. I'll place it directly next to the fire extinguisher and a copy of your adoption papers-just in case."
Iva snorted. Adwait gave Martin a slow blink that said Touché, and Martin, unfazed, continued slicing another fruit like nothing happened.
Iva looked at both men and sighed,
"I swear, I'm living in a satire. One's a caveman with sarcasm, and the other's a stoic ninja with passive-aggression issues."
Martin finally raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Adwait popped the rest of the papaya slice into his mouth.
"So will I."
And in that tiny, insane kitchen, after a morning full of explosions, betrayals, and jam-laced trauma, everything suddenly felt... strangely normal.
---
Later that evening, Iva was called to Rudra's room, where Abhay, Divya, and Rudra were already seated. The mood was heavy, thick with unspoken accusations and fake concern.
Rudra was the first to speak, trying to sound composed.
"Iva, I'm really sorry you had to witness all that drama because of Adwait.
" Divya dabbed her eyes with a tissue, her sobs coming right on cue.
"You saw it yourself, didn't you? How my own son humiliated me today.
He's always been... unstable. A disgrace.
He's ruined everything for me, for Rudra, for our family. "
Rudra leaned forward, fueling the fire. "That's why I hate him, Mom. He destroyed your professional life, and now he struts around like he's holier than thou. Acting like he's the only one with morals."
Divya looked at Iva with glassy eyes full of pity-pity for herself, not for the man they were tearing apart.
"Iva, I gave up everything for him. He was abnormal back then-he still is.
He had violent episodes, unpredictable behavior.
I quit acting to take care of him. And when my sister-in-law, Ridhima Rajput, and her husband, Suraj Rajput, couldn't have children, they asked for him. .. and we gave him away."
She let the words hang, like a tragic sacrifice.
"We gave him their surname. From Adwait Agnivanshi, he became Adwait Rajput. They loved him more than we ever could-but he ruined them too." Her voice suddenly turned venomous.
Abhay stayed quiet, arms crossed, letting the others do the talking.
Rudra jumped in again, his voice bitter. "In just three years, they were gone. Dead. And he was the only one left standing. My bua ji-Ridhima Rajput-her acting career went down just like my mom's. My phupha ji never recovered. Then one day-boom-they're gone. Dead. And who's the common factor?"
Divya nodded gravely.
"That boy is a curse. A panauti. Iva, imagine-a child so unlucky that two families suffer the same fate."
Rudra's voice was sharp now, like a blade. "And as if that wasn't enough, after their death, lived off the Rajput money he inherited. Can you imagine that arrogance?"
The room went silent. Only the sound of the ticking clock dared interrupt the poisonous air.
And Iva-she sat still, feeling like she'd just stepped into a snake pit. Every word they said twisted inside her, but a voice deep down refused to believe it. Adwait wasn't perfect-far from it. But this?
This was character assassination served cold with tears and drama.
She finally understood why Adwait never claimed the Agnivanshi name.
He had been adopted by his paternal aunt-Ridhima Rajput-and given her surname, but eventually, he let that go too.
No Rajput.
No Agnivanshi.
Just Adwait V.?
Something about that settled into her chest like a quiet ache.
Just then, her phone buzzed-Maya.
Work called.
Back in her Paris office mode, she handled the call efficiently and then returned to the task at hand.
She clicked photos of the heirloom-filled containers, knowing she'd have to return the keys to Adwait soon.
Her hands lingered a moment longer on the intricate weaves, the legacy stitched into each thread.
By evening, she walked to the West Wing and spotted Maria in the hallway.
"Maria, have you seen him?", she asked softly.
The housekeeper smiled faintly and pointed toward the vintage leather sofa by the tall window.
"Sleeping there, Mam. Been like that for a while now."
Iva stepped closer.
There he was-sprawled on the sofa, arm tossed across his face, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. He looked... like nothing had ever touched him. No accusations. No legacies. No venom. Just a boy who never asked to carry anyone else's burdens.
She found herself smiling.
She tiptoed closer, knelt beside him, and gently touched his arm.
But in a flash, everything changed.
Her wrist was grabbed-tight.
She was pulled down beneath him in one swift movement, her back flat against the cold floor as his weight held her down. Her hand twisted under his instinctive grip.
"Sorry- I thought-"
His voice was hoarse with sleep, confusion written all over his face as he realized what had happened. He quickly let go of her wrist, his hand hovering in hesitation.
But she was still beneath him, eyes wide, heart racing.
And he was still above her, the air between them charged.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Neither moved.
"You sleep like a soldier at war," she finally whispered, half amused, half breathless.
He blinked, slowly coming back to reality. "You shouldn't sneak up on people who've lived like I have."
"And how's that?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. Instead, he rolled off her and sat up, running a hand through his hair.
She stayed lying down for a second longer, staring at the ceiling.
"You know, I've been told I look very harmless when I tiptoe."
He looked down at her, one corner of his mouth twitching. "You look like trouble. Even barefoot."
She sat beside him and placed the keys gently in his hand. "Hey, where is my Adwait? I don't want this sarcastic version. And here-give these to the soft-spoken caveman, not this upgraded edition with built-in cynicism."
Adwait chuckled and took the keys from her, his fingers brushing hers briefly.
But that rare smile vanished as fast as it came when she asked, softly-
"So... you were adopted? You were a Rajput?"
He leaned back, resting his head against the sofa and looking up at the ceiling like it might hold some cosmic joke just for him.
"Ah. So you were invited to the annual 'Let's Drag Adwait' Breakfast Banquet hosted by the Agnivanshi Drama Society."
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Lemme guess. You heard the director's cut: eight years as the family's inconvenient heir, three years as the borrowed son of a childless couple, and then boom-solo title track: Just Adwait, the sequel nobody asked for.
" He turned to look at her, mock-serious.
"So tell me, Mademoiselle Paris-still wanna be friends with the neighborhood-certified curse?
I come with a rich history of ruining careers, shattering surnames, and disappointing two families for the price of one.
Total bargain, no?" His smirk didn't reach his eyes.
She didn't reply to his sarcasm with words. Instead, she took his hand-and bit it. Hard enough to make him jolt.
"You bit me?" he exclaimed, staring at her in disbelief.
"Damn right I did!" she snapped, jabbing her finger in his face.
"Don't you dare talk to me like that again.
And don't even think about insulting my friendship like it's disposable.
You kept your damn mouth shut for months, and now suddenly you're Mister Sarcastic Caveman?
!" She stood up and pointed at him like she was addressing a courtroom.
"I don't give a single flying fuck if you're a 10th fail, an Agnivanshi, a Rajput, just Adwait-or even a goddamn ghost haunting the West Wing!
" Her voice cracked, just slightly-but she didn't stop.
"I care about my caveman. The one who plays the flute for me.
Who shares his food with me without asking. Who shows up when no one else does."
She leaned closer, her voice low and fierce.
"So keep that tragic sarcasm for your so-called ex-family. Not me."
Adwait looked at her for a few long seconds-those gray eyes unreadable. Then he closed them slowly, like he was trying to shut out something he didn't want to face. Iva didn't push. She just sat beside him and leaned on his shoulder, as if anchoring him there.
Her voice came out softer this time, almost a plea masked as casual advice.
"So, hugs-check. Kisses next? Or do we skip to the main event?" she said, half-smirking.
He stared at her like she'd short-circuited his brain. "You bit me..."
She smirked.
"Yeah. Next time, maybe I'll file my teeth first."
? ? ?