Chapter 35 Trust, Interrupted
The next morning, London was its usual moody self-gray skies, a light drizzle, and the background hum of irritated horns. But inside the sleek boardroom of Iva Fashion House's London branch, the atmosphere was anything but dull. It was sharp, cold, and thick with tension.
Maya stood at the head of the long glass table, files in hand, her phone buzzing every few seconds. Iva paced slowly by the windows, coffee in one hand, the weight of jetlag barely concealed behind her impeccable posture and stone-set jaw.
Across from them sat Bianca Moretti-face too flawless, mascara just slightly smudged, and posture far too confident for someone at the center of a drug scandal. The PR head looked like she hadn't slept in days. The legal advisor looked like he was silently praying for early retirement.
Maya broke the silence first. "Bianca, this isn't a minor tabloid hiccup. You were caught outside a club owned by a man under three criminal investigations. And substances were found in your clutch. You do understand how serious this is?"
Bianca crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "It wasn't mine. Someone must've slipped it into my bag."
"Of course," Maya said flatly. "Just like someone slipped you into four different paparazzi frames outside that club."
Then Iva spoke-her voice quiet but deadly precise. "This brand is built on discipline and reputation. I don't tolerate recklessness. You have two choices: cooperate, or we cut ties. And trust me-once we release that statement, you won't find work in this industry for years."
Bianca faltered. The fight in her eyes dimmed as the stakes finally sank in.
Maya turned to the PR head. "We'll draft an apology. Bianca goes into voluntary rehab. Real or staged, I don't care. Spin the narrative into a redemption arc."
Iva added without blinking, "And every photo from last night better vanish before sunset. Call Ashton's contact at the club. Make it disappear."
The legal advisor scribbled faster.
Bianca finally exhaled, defeated. "Fine. I'll do whatever you say."
Maya smiled, thin and pointed. "Smart girl. Try not to get arrested again-it's terribly inconvenient."
As they stepped out of the boardroom, Iva leaned in close to Maya and murmured, "It's always the ones with cheekbones and no brains."
Maya smirked. "Welcome to fashion. Now let's clean this mess."
Iva's gaze hardened. "Remove her from Iva Fashion House. Today. I don't care who she's signed with or what magazine loves her bone structure-she's a liability, and I don't keep liabilities."
Maya nodded.
"And make it brutal," Iva said, her voice smooth as silk, sharp as glass. "I want the rest of them to feel the echo because I want everyone to remember what happens when someone risks my name."
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The bar hadn't changed much-dim neon lights still buzzed lazily above chipped mahogany counters, the smell of stale beer clung to the old walls, and the bass from the speakers thumped like a distant memory.
Iva pulled her coat tighter, unsure if it was the London chill or the truth she was about to confront.
Ashton led her in with the ease of a local legend. The bartender gave him a nod and vanished into the back.
"You sure about this?" Ashton asked, glancing at her.
"No," Iva replied. "But I need answers. If Ivaan was here... if he was Adwait... I need to know why he hid all of it."
A few minutes later, the owner came out-a broad-shouldered man with a tattoo crawling up his neck and eyes like worn steel.
Ashton nodded. "Kai. Need a quick word."
Kai leaned on the counter. "You always need something, Ash."
Ashton slid the photo across. Passport-sized. Sharp jawline, grey eyes.
Kai stared at it. Recognition hit instantly. "That's Ivaan. Haven't seen him in years, but I'd know that face anywhere."
Iva stepped forward. "He used to come here?"
"Yeah. Around nine years back. Showed up one night like he owned the shadows. Quiet. Always alone. Went by Ivaan Pearl."
"He worked here?" she asked.
Kai nodded slowly. "A few nights. Helped when we were short. Didn't talk much. Not the friendly kind. Just showed up, did what was needed, then vanished again."
Iva frowned. "Did he party? Hang out with people?"
Kai gave a short, almost amused laugh. "That guy? No way. He barely even drank. Sat in the same back booth most nights. Met a few people. Never told us who they were. He wasn't one of the usual lot, if that's what you're thinking."
Ashton asked, "What was your impression of him?"
Kai looked between them, serious now. "Honestly?
Thought he was a bit of a psycho. Not in a violent way-just..
. off. Too still. Too sharp. Like he was always calculating something.
He'd sit for hours and say nothing. But you'd get this feeling he was watching everything. Like he could see through walls."
Iva swallowed hard. That sounded exactly like Adwait.
"Did he ever say where he was from?" she asked.
Kai shook his head. "Nope. Just that he wasn't supposed to be here. Said he was running from cages. thought it was metaphorical. Maybe it wasn't."
He pushed the photo back toward her. "Whoever he was, he didn't belong. Not here. Not anywhere, maybe. But I remember him. You don't forget eyes like that."
Ashton muttered, "No, you really don't."
Outside, the rain started again, but Iva didn't move.
She stood there, staring at the photo in her hand. The boy who had lied to her wasn't a boy at all. He had a life-here, in this city, with a name and a face she never knew existed.
They stepped back into the damp London street, rain drifting down like cold reminders. Iva clenched the photo tighter, knuckles whitening.
First Veer. Then Adwait. Now Ivaan.
Falling in love with aliases-it seemed to have become her damn specialty.
They walked in silence. The steady patter of rain against Ashton's umbrella was a distant hum to Iva, her mind locked in numb fury-or maybe a fury so sharp it numbed everything else.
By the time they reached Ashton's flat, her jaw was clenched so hard her teeth ached.
Without a word, she stormed inside and slammed the photo onto the table like it was the enemy.
"Liar," she spat, voice low and lethal. "Absolute liar."
Ashton sank into the couch, giving her space to unravel.
"He hated crowds. He didn't go out. people drained him. And here he was-charming strangers in bars? Working shifts? At twenty years old?"
Iva let out a bitter, sharp laugh. "Living a double life. Was anything about him real?"
She paced like a caged storm, fierce and unrelenting.
"I trusted him with things I've never told a soul. I fell for him. I defended him when people called him cold, strange, guarded. But no. He's nothing but a fraud-hiding behind expensive suits and that goddamn palace like none of it ever happened."
Ashton looked up, cautious. "Do you think he meant to hurt you?"
Iva snapped, voice razor-edged. "I don't know. But he never told me. Not once. Even when I gave him everything-my trust, my heart."
Her voice cracked for a moment, the steel faltering.
"He lied to me. Over and over. And I-" Her breath caught. "I believed him. I believed in him. God, I'm such an idiot."
She sank to the floor, hands tangled in her hair, but the fire in her eyes burned bright.
"Who is he, Ashton? Ivaan Pearl? Adwait Agnivanshi? Adwait Rajput? How many lives does one man need to live?"
Ashton stayed silent.
Because the truth was-they still didn't know.
But one thing was clear to Iva: the man she loved wasn't who he claimed to be.
And maybe... he never had been.
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The city reeked of dust and late-summer heat. The car cut through familiar streets, but Iva was a statue beside Maya-eyes fixed out the window, face unreadable.
"I still don't get it," Maya finally broke the silence. "Why Delhi? We were supposed to go back to Mumbai."
Iva didn't answer. Her mind churned-a war zone of disbelief, betrayal, and pure, unfiltered fury. The truth-or the shards of it she'd uncovered-gnawed at her like termites eating away at the foundation of something she'd believed unbreakable. Now it felt hollow, empty.
She hadn't spoken to Adwait since London. And what stabbed deepest-he hadn't reached out either. No call, no message. Nothing. Like she didn't exist. Like he didn't.
When they pulled up to the Ambani house, Iva slipped inside silently. The staff greeted her with cautious respect, but she ignored it all, heading straight to her old room and shutting the door with a soft click behind her.
Dust hung heavy in the air-forgotten memories clinging like shadows. The room was a shrine to a girl who'd left pieces of herself behind long ago.
She started opening cupboard after cupboard.
Sarees folded neatly. Jackets draped carefully. Shoes still wrapped in tissue paper. Bags long out of fashion. But no coat.
"Why am I even doing this?" she muttered bitterly. "Since when did I start hoarding old clothes?"
It made no sense. Logic had deserted her a long time ago. What she needed was proof-not for anyone else, but for herself. Proof that she wasn't losing her mind. That she hadn't imagined the party. The boy. The night she lost something vital-and didn't even realize it.
The last cupboard barely registered in her memory. She pulled it open.
Inside: boxes labeled "Paris."
College clothes. A faded sweatshirt with the university logo. Polaroids. Scarves.
And then-
There it was.
A black coat. The exact one from her foggy memory. Her hands trembled as she pulled it free. It smelled faintly of old cologne and time itself.
Her fingers darted into the inside pocket.
Something brushed against her skin-paper, brittle and fragile.
She pulled it out.
A tissue-yellowed at the edges, crumpled by years. Scribbled on it in faded blue ink: IVA... followed by a faint, almost hesitant N, like a whispered afterthought.
She froze.
"Ivaan," she breathed.
Her heart hammered.
But there was more.
Pressed flat beneath the tissue was a small card.
Slowly, she pulled it free.
An ID card.
Name: Ivaan Pearl
Photo: A younger version of him. Tousled hair, storm-gray eyes-eyes she knew too well.
Address: Somewhere in East London.
Iva stared at the card, sharp breaths stealing her focus.
So it was true.
Adwait was Ivaan.
The lies were deeper than she'd dared imagine.
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When Iva touched down in Mumbai, Adwait was already waiting by the car. The shock of seeing him there hit her like a punch to the gut-frozen, she barely moved. He smiled, calm and patient.
She forced a smile back, sharp and brittle.
Adwait opened the car door for her. Iva glanced at Maya and subtly signaled. Without hesitation, Maya slipped away with Iva's security, leaving Iva alone with Adwait.
"So, how was everything?" Adwait asked as they pulled away from the terminal.
"Good," she replied coolly, eyes fixed out the window, refusing to meet his gaze.
"That issue... it's resolved, right?" Adwait pressed gently, trying to gauge her mood.
Iva remained silent a moment before finally saying, "It's solved. Adwait, I want to sleep. I'm exhausted." She rested her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.
Adwait's confusion deepened. Her cold detachment was unlike her. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, none with a clear answer.
They reached Agnivanshi Palace. Iva stirred awake as the car slowed.
"We're home," he said softly, hoping for some response-any sign.
But there was nothing. No hug. No word. No glance. No flicker of emotion.
She must be too tired, he told himself, though even he wasn't convinced.
Iva opened the door, voice clipped and businesslike.
"Adwait, there's a party in two days. I have a lot to prepare. Meet me before then."
And with that, she walked away-without waiting for a reply.
Adwait stood there, perplexed and unsettled by the woman who had just slipped through his life like a shadow.
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For two days, Iva immersed herself in the final touches of her new house and business, shutting out the world-and especially Adwait. Calls and messages from him went unanswered, his attempts to reach her met with cold silence. Her focus was absolute; every detail had to be perfect.
Leela Rêve, Iva's new residence, was a masterpiece of grandeur.
The sprawling estate had been transformed into a royal palace come alive-golden chandeliers dripped like liquid sunlight, velvet drapes framed towering windows, and fresh blooms in deep reds and whites filled every corner.
Intricate marble floors gleamed beneath crystal-clear reflections, while soft classical music floated through the vast halls.
Every inch spoke of luxury, power, and Iva's uncompromising vision.
The Agnivanshi family arrived, their presence commanding attention, while the Ambani family played gracious hosts, welcoming a who's who of high-profile guests into the glittering party.
Inside the quiet grandeur of the house, far removed from the music, laughter, and clinking glasses of the garden party outside, Adwait stood alone near the shadowed end of the grand staircase.
The soft lighting etched clean lines across his sharply tailored black suit-elegant, precise, and quietly powerful, much like the man himself.
His gaze stayed fixed on the top of the stairs, unwavering, waiting.
Then she appeared.
Iva descended with the grace of someone who owned the room before even stepping into it.
Draped in an exquisite, custom gown that caught the light like secrets hidden in silk, she moved like a whispered command.
Her posture was perfect, her expression unreadable.
Hair slicked back, cheekbones razor-sharp, lips set just so-she was the storm in a still frame.
He didn't move. She didn't falter.
In that silence-between velvet steps and unspoken regrets-their eyes met.
A thousand questions. Not a single answer.
When Iva finally appeared at the top, her slow, deliberate descent made Adwait's heart flutter unexpectedly. As she reached the last step, he stepped forward, voice low and sincere, "You're looking beautiful." He moved to embrace her-but she held up a hand, a small, sharp smile playing on her lips.
"Thanks, Ivaan," she said, and his world shifted.
His shock was palpable. "What?"
"Shocked? Ivaan Pearl?" She gestured toward the entrance where Kai was arriving with Ashton. "Let me introduce you to an old friend-Kai."
A smirk curled her lips as Kai approached. "Ah, here's Kai," she said, the word dripping with meaning.
"Hello, Ivaan," Kai greeted warmly, but Adwait stayed silent.
"Looks like he's forgotten you, right, Adwait?" Iva's voice was laced with sarcasm.
"Adwait?" Kai asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Meet Adwait Agnivanshi," Iva said, her voice sharp as a razor's edge, eyes locking onto Kai with undeniable intensity.
Just then, Maya arrived, her brow furrowed. "What happened?" she asked quietly.
Iva didn't miss a beat. "Oh, you don't know, right?" She gestured toward Adwait with deliberate precision. "Meet Ivaan Pearl. He lived in London under that name for years."
Turning to Maya, she added, "And Kai, meet Adwait Agnivanshi. In India, he's known as Adwait-the heir to the Agnivanshi legacy, if you've ever heard of them."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Iva's eyes flickered to Kai. "Seems like he doesn't remember you, Kai." Then, with a final, icy glance at Adwait, she pivoted sharply. "Let's go to the party."
Every ounce of anger, hurt, and betrayal was packed tightly beneath her flawless composure as she moved with calculated grace. She slipped past the crowd and joined her father and brothers, Vayu and Virya, who were already waiting.
The room hushed as Viren Ambani took the stage, his voice booming across the grand hall: "Tonight, we announce that my daughter, Iva, will be the new CEO of Ambani Industries."
Applause erupted, but Iva barely noticed. Her mind was sharper than ever-her empire was just beginning.
The crystal chimed as Iva raised her glass, smile radiant and untouchable under the golden lights of Leela Rêve.
Applause echoed around her, but her eyes locked on one man-Rudra.
Desperate, eager, predictable. She offered him a smile so polished it could cut glass and lifted her glass in a slow, deliberate toast just for him.
A silent promise that he was next on her list.
She turned, kissed both her brothers on the cheek, whispered something only they could hear, and embraced her father. Then, with that same grace and precision, she vanished into the heart of her new house.
Adwait sat frozen on the staircase, caught somewhere between shame and confusion. He looked up just as she walked past, her heels quiet but her silence deafening.
"Listen to me-"
She didn't stop.
"Please, meri baat toh sun lo-"
[Please, listen to me..]
She entered her room, the door half-open as he trailed behind. She didn't even look at him. She went straight to her purse, pulled out a handful of old, weathered items, and flung them across the bed in front of him.
Photographs. An old ID. A crumpled tissue.
"You were Ivaan Pearl," she said coldly, venom laced beneath every syllable. "You lived in London. You met me at that club. I was drunk. I threw up on you. You helped me."
She picked up the tissue-faded and fragile-and hurled it toward him.
"Is this all a lie, Ivaan?" Her voice cracked, not with weakness, but the fury of someone who trusted too deeply and regretted it. "The name you scribbled on this? That ID card? What do you want to say now? Huh?"
He stepped forward, desperate. "Just listen to me. Once-"
She cut him off, fire in her eyes.
"Adwait, tumne khud kaha-'Ivikaa, main tumhe pura Adwait nahi de paunga.
' Aur maine maan liya. Tumne jiss shart pe rishtey rakhne ki baat ki, maine bina kissi sawaal ke maan liya.
Itna bharosa ki apne aap pe bhi karne se pehle das baar sochti hoon par tumpe bina soche kiya.
Par tumne kabhi Ivaan ka zikr tak nahi kiya. "
["Adwait, you yourself said- 'Ivikaa, I won't be able to give you all of me.
' And I accepted that. I agreed to the terms you set for our relationship without a single question.
I trusted you-so much that while I hesitate to trust even myself, I trusted you without a second thought. But you never once mentioned Ivaan."]
Her voice rose, splintering the silence. "Tum jhoothe ho, Adwait."
[You're a liar, Adwait.]
"No," he whispered. "Aisa nahi hai-"
[It's not like that-]
She walked up to him, expression unreadable. "Tum Ivaan Pearl banke London mein fake ID se rehte the ya nahi?"
He hesitated-just a second too long.
"Haan," he said finally, "par-"
[Yea, but]
She didn't wait for the 'but.'
That second was enough.
He stepped forward, slow, hesitant. His hand reached for hers-not to defend himself, not to argue, just to feel her warmth. To remind her of what they once had. He knew her love language. He knew touch calmed her.
But the moment his fingers brushed the air between them, she flinched back.
"Mujhe chhuna bhi matt, Adwait," she hissed, voice like broken glass. "Mujhe jhoothe log pasand nahi."
["Don't you dare touch me, Adwait," she hissed, her voice sharp like shattered glass."I don't like liars."]
The words landed sharper than a slap.
His hand froze mid-air-then fell slowly, helplessly, like everything else between them.
That was it.
No more arguments. No more explanations.
Without another word, Adwait turned around and walked out.
And Iva stood there, jaw clenched, breath shallow, refusing to let the tears fall.
She had made her decision.
And he had made his. Years ago.
Now, all that was left was consequence.
As the door shut behind him, Iva exhaled-slow and steady, like poison leaving the veins. She looked at the torn photo on the floor, the ID card beside it.
"Funny," she muttered, a cold smirk curling on her lips,
Love really is blind. But thankfully, betrayal has perfect vision.
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