Silk and Smoke

Chapter 55 No Cap, All Chaos

Everyone was at the dining table. Adwait came and quietly took his seat.

Just then Iva entered.

"Arey Iva beta, come, have breakfast," Divya said with a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She gestured to the chair next to her.

Iva hesitated for a second, then walked over and sat. Maya, seated beside her, gave her a questioning glance. Why are we here?

Iva shook her head almost imperceptibly and slyly dropped a text under the table: "Later."

Maya glanced down, read it, and gave her a small nod.

And then-like a sudden change in wind-Shravani walked in.

Calm, collected, draped in an elegant handwoven cotton saree that hugged her tall frame effortlessly.

Her long open hair swayed with each graceful step.

Those striking grey eyes, confident posture, and faint yet unmistakable British lilt in her voice-

"Good morning, everyone," she said with a soft smile, voice tinged in accent and authority.

She walked over and took her seat-on Adwait's right.

Divya's face lost all its color. Her smile froze, words stalled midway.

"Shravani..." she finally breathed out. Like the past had walked right into her gilded dining room.

"Oh, hi Divya di. Hi Jeeju," Shravani said, her eyes calmly scanning both Divya and Abhay.

She offered the fakest smile she could summon.

"Or should I say... Good morning, Jeth ji and Jethani ji?"

"What nonsense are you talking about? Iss psycho ne kya bola hai?" Divya snapped, her voice thick with disgust.

In the blink of an eye, Shravani picked up the knife from the fruit platter and flung it-sharp, clean, effortless. It lodged right into the wood of the chair behind Divya's shoulder. Just a few inches closer, and it wouldn't have been the chair.

A collective gasp echoed through the dining table. Divya flinched. Her eyes went wide.

Everyone else froze.

"Dare you call my son a psycho," Shravani said in a voice so calm, so sharp, it could cut steel.

Divya's throat bobbed as she gulped down her pride-and her words.

Shravani stood a little straighter, her eyes locked on Divya like a lioness warning off a threat.

"Aapko shukr manana chahiye ki yeh apne baap pe gaya hai... agar mujhpe gaya hota toh?" She leaned forward slightly. "aap toh jaanti hi hain mera gussa, Divya... Di."

The "Di" landed like a slap-sarcastic, cold, unforgiving.

After that, Abhay and Divya kept their mouths shut. Rudra, for once, was too stunned to react.

How could one woman walk in and shake the ground under his parents like that?

His mother's sister? And that so-called psycho... wasn't even his real brother?

His eyes drifted to Adwait.

Same eyes.

Same sharpness.

Same fire.

Exactly like hers.

Rudra's gaze flicked toward Iva and Maya. They were silently eating, faces unreadable.

Too calm for his comfort.

There was a new player on the board-and he needed to know if she was a threat to his family.

Meanwhile, Abhay sat quietly, replaying the events in his head.

He had no idea his brother had a past. A wife.

A past that stared back at him with the same grey eyes he remembered from years ago-at his wedding.

He'd seen her then, barely for a few moments, and something about those eyes had stuck with him.

For sure he was attracted.

Now they were seated across from him, alive, fierce. .. and unmistakably real.

Divya, meanwhile, was spiraling internally. For years, whenever Adwait claimed she wasn't his mother, she dismissed it as delusion-just more proof of his so-called instability. But now? Now he was sitting right next to the woman claiming to be his real mother. How would she explain that?

A storm raged behind Abhay's eyes. He finally turned toward Divya, voice loud and sharp: "What the hell is going on? He was our son, right?"

Before Divya could answer, Shravani casually took another bite of poha and interrupted, "Khane ke time pe koi magajmari nahi chahiye. Mummy ne sikhaya hai na, Divya di?"

Her tone was laced with sarcasm and sweetness-dangerous in equal measure.

Divya looked away. "Abhay... please. Later," she whispered.

Abhay clenched his fists but sat back, seething.

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After breakfast, the entire family moved to the hall-tense, confused, and too stunned for words.

Just then, Kiaan walked in, pausing as soon as he sensed the awkward air.

Raha grabbed his hand, stopping him from approaching Adwait.

"Don't," she whispered in his ear. "Adwait bhaiya ki Mumma aayi hai?"

Unfortunately, her whisper was about as subtle as a fire alarm.

Kiaan froze in his tracks and leaned casually on the nearby table. Shravani smiled and waved Raha over. She hesitated, then walked to her.

Raha blinked, then blurted out, "Wait-you're the Adi bhaiya's mom? Like, biological, bloodline, actual mom? No cap?"

Shravani chuckled at her wide-eyed delivery.

Devaki sighed softly and clarified with a small smile, "She means... tum Adwait ki maa ho?"

"Yup. Biological, bloodline, real-deal mom-mom. The OG," Shravani replied playfully.

Raha's jaw dropped.

She then struck a mock-royal pose and declared, "I'm Raha Agnivanshi. Technically Agnivanshi princess-but one no one listens to. Especially Adi bhaiya. I have zero authority here."

Vaani burst out laughing, loud and unfiltered.

"Now that I'm here, I'll make sure everyone listens to the Agnivanshi princess. Huh? Who dares not to?" Shravani said, grinning as she pulled Raha closer and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Raha blinked up at her, still trying to piece everything together. "Wait... so you're my chachi? Like... actual chachi-chachi?" she asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

Shravani chuckled. "Technically, yes. But honorary cool-aunt energy unlocked, okay?"

Raha grinned. "Bet. We're definitely gonna be a vibe."

Adwait smirked and took a casual sip of his juice. "Why don't you go do some cardio, Raha? You're looking kinda... fluffy today."

Raha gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest like she'd been personally attacked. "EXCUSE me?! Did you just call me fat?! That's body shaming, you uncultured fossil bhaiya!"

Raha picked up her phone, flipped her hair, and strutted out of the room like she was on a runway. "Anyway, I'm too fabulous for this negativity. Bye. Catch you on the flip side."

She threw a finger-heart at Shravani."Love you, cool chachi. You slay."

Shravani grinned. "Slay back, baby."

Just then, Vaani turned to Divya with a smirk, "Didn't Raha just say no negativity? Let's stick to that theme, shall we?"

Divya clenched her jaw but said nothing.

Finally, she blurted, "Shravani, what are you even doing here?"

Shravani calmly said "My son wanted me home... so I'm home."

"Why are you claiming him as your son?" Abhay snapped, unable to hold back any longer.

"As if he's yours," Vaani interjected, crossing her arms with icy contempt.

"Shut up, you-"

"Loss of words, Mr. Agnivanshi?" Adwait cut in, his tone razor-sharp. He looked straight at him, then turned his gaze slowly to Divya. "Why don't you ask Mrs. Agnivanshi who my son's real parents are?"

Adwait, now visibly done with the facade, leaned back in his chair and spoke with deliberate calm.

"I mean... I look exactly like your youngest brother, don't I? And these eyes"-he gestured to himself-"aren't they your sister-in-law's? So... is your wife hiding something?" He delivered it like a dagger dressed in silk.

A thick silence fell over the room.

All eyes shifted to Divya.

"Then maybe I should tell you the story..." Adwait said, cold fire in his voice. He looked at Vaani. "Should I, Mumma?"

Vaani gave a sly smile. "Of course, beta. My didi has always been fabulous-at acting. Storytelling? Not her thing."

He stood up.

Just then, Martin entered with a tray of fruits and silently placed it beside Adwait, beginning to cut them as if nothing explosive was unraveling in the room.

"SHUT UP!" Divya suddenly screamed, her voice cracking with rage. "Haan, nahi hai woh mera beta! In fact, mujhe nafrat hai usse. Woh Shravani aur Rajveer ka beta hai! Aur sabse zyada nafrat mujhe iss baat se hai... ki woh Shravani ka beta hai."

A stunned silence.

Abhay was pale. "But... you told me he was our son. Our second child..."

Divya laughed bitterly. "He's not our second child.

I never wanted one. I got pregnant by mistake.

My career was already on the edge-flop films, falling offers.

If I hadn't ended that pregnancy, everything would've collapsed.

Riddhima told me to abort. And when I told you I wanted to terminate it, what did you do, haan? "

She turned on Abhay with venom.

"You threatened to kill me if I did. Because you wanted your father's property split for two sons-Rudra and another heir. I went to Riddhima and got it done. I aborted that child. And I faked the pregnancy. Made you believe that I was still carrying your second child."

Gasps filled the air.

"One day, no one was home. I saw Rajveer standing in the hall-he was holding a baby.

He looked terrified, bleeding, like he'd just escaped something horrible.

He handed me the child and said it was his and Vaani's.

He told me no one knew about the baby and begged me to keep it a secret.

He said he just wanted the child safe, that he wouldn't survive much longer.

Then he disappeared-just like that. I took the chance, as if God and destiny were both on my side.

I rushed to the hospital, faked labor, and told everyone I had given birth to my second baby boy.

Everyone was overjoyed-they showered me with love.

His birth even made headlines that very day. " Her voice trembled.

"I was just relieved. Until... Adwait opened his eyes. He had-"

Shravani's voice cut through: "The same grey eyes I have."

Divya turned toward her slowly.

"Yes. The eyes I always hated. Grey like a curse. The moment I saw them, I knew. He wasn't just Rajveer's son. Vaani meant Shravani. He was yours, Shravani. Tumhara beta. And I began to hate him... just as much as-"

"-just as much as you hated me," Shravani finished.

"YES!" Divya screamed, unraveling. "I hated you, Shravani. Not just today. Since childhood. Those eyes, your face, your aura-everyone loved you. Mummy-papa's favorite? Shravani. Mohalle ki laadli? Shravani. I was always your shadow."

Her voice broke into bitterness.

"The day my first boyfriend told me he found you more beautiful... I knew. As long as you existed, I would never have anything of my own."

Shravani's voice was quiet. "But I left... didn't I? I ran away when I was eighteen."

"You did," Divya spat. "But you came back-for my wedding. And even then, my own husband... couldn't stop looking at you. At my wedding, my husband kept asking about my sister."

Abhay looked away, ashamed.

Divya continued, her voice rising again.

"And when you left, I thought I could finally breathe.

My family, my son, my life, my success..

. everything was mine. But then your son came crashing into it.

Day after day, I lived in fear. What if someone found out?

What if the press caught on? One scandal and everything would burn.

He was that bone stuck in my throat-I couldn't swallow him, couldn't spit him out. "

She turned and looked at Adwait.

"I hated you, Adwait. Every day. Every breath. I tried to kill you-more than once. I tried to give you away. Riddhima and I both tried. But somehow... you survived. Every damn time."

Everyone was too stunned to react.

The weight of Divya's confession hung in the air like smoke after an explosion-suffocating, thick, and inescapable.

Shravani. Rajveer. Adwait.

Adwait being her son.

Divya hating Adwait.

Riddhima hating Adwait.

Divya and Riddhima tried to kill him.

Each revelation hit harder than the last.

No one could move. No one dared to breathe too loud.

Years of secrets, whispers, half-truths-unraveling like a thread pulled too far. Everyone had been living in a maze of lies, each path carefully walled off, hidden from the other. And now, the walls were crashing down.

How had they managed to live under one roof for so long-eating at the same table, celebrating festivals, sharing moments-while hiding this much?

How many times had the truth sat right next to them, disguised as family, cloaked in silence?

Adwait stood still. His expression unreadable.

Was it pain? Was it rage? Or was it just the numbness that comes after surviving too many betrayals?

Shravani blinked, holding back the tears clawing their way to the surface.

She reached out, gently placed a hand on Adwait's shoulder.

He didn't flinch.

He didn't move.

He just stood there. Frozen in time.

Abhay sat down with a thud, head in his hands.

Rudra looked like he was trying to solve a riddle written in blood.

Vaani stared blankly at Divya, as if seeing her sister for the first time-not as family, but as the monster she'd been hiding behind a polished mask.

Maya and Iva were still.

The silence was deafening. And then- Shravani slowly got up from the sofa.

Without a word, she walked over to Martin, took the knife from the tray, and picked up an apple. Calmly, almost tenderly, she sliced it. The soft crunch of the blade meeting fruit echoed like thunder in the tense room.

She took a slice, turned to Adwait, and fed him with her own hands. Then, without hesitation, she kissed his forehead-gentle, proud, defiant.

A faint smile played on her lips, but her eyes were still storms.

Then she turned. And walked to Divya.

"Sorry," she said, her voice eerily calm.

Divya scoffed. "Sorry? Sorry for what? For keeping your psycho son in our house?"

Shravani tilted her head slightly. "No... not for that."

She took Divya's hand in hers before anyone could react.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "for not doing this the first time you dared hurt my son."

And with that, in one swift, deliberate motion-she dragged the knife across Divya's wrist.

A gasp. A scream. Chaos erupted.

Divya cried out, stumbling back in shock, clutching her wrist.

"Mumma!" Rudra rushed to Divya's side, followed closely by Abhay, both pale with panic.

Raghav stood from the sofa, stunned, but before he could act, Rudra's security team stormed in, lifting Divya and rushing her toward the hospital.

A thick silence lingered until Iva finally broke it, her tone laced with cold sarcasm:

"Tomorrow's headlines: Washed-up actress Divya Agnivanshi attempts suicide after secrets exposed?"

The room turned toward her.

"Could you do that for me?" Vaani asked, her voice sharp, loaded.

Everyone fell silent again-speechless.

Adwait looked at his mother, trying to piece together the madness. "Mumma... kya kar rahi ho aap?"

Shravani's jaw tightened as she turned to him. "Wahi jo mujhe pehle din karna chahiye tha."

She glanced toward the door where Divya had been taken, her eyes burning. "How dare she lay a finger on my son?" Then, as if annoyed, she added flatly, "Don't worry. She won't die. Someone will save her. Shame."

Just then, Iva stepped closer to her, her voice lowered but laced with anticipation. "You sure about the headlines?"

Before Shravani could reply, Vaani chimed in, looking at Iva, "Didn't you want revenge? For him?"

A slow smile spread on Iva's face. She looked at Adwait, then at Shravani-and suddenly hugged her tightly, burying her face in her shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Shravani didn't say a word. But her arms wrapped around Iva, firm and full of silent understanding.

Adwait left, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Iva gently pulled away from Vaani's hug, her eyes following him.

"Kidhar chali madam?" Shravani asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's still hurt... I thought maybe I should..." Iva mumbled, already halfway to the door.

"Manana hai?" Vaani smirked. "Try cooking," added with a wink.

Iva blushed, rolled her eyes playfully, and disappeared down the hallway.

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"I'm cooking for Adwait," Iva declared, stepping into Martin's pristine kitchen like she owned the place.

Martin didn't look up from his chopping board. "Don't touch anything unless I say so," he said flatly. "This kitchen is older than your relationship."

"Understood," she said, suddenly a lot less confident.

"And if you so much as scorch the tadka pan," he continued, turning with a sharp look, "I'll have it written into your will as a cursed heirloom."

"Martin!"

He gave her a slow, deadpan blink. "I'm only half-joking."

Iva exhaled a laugh and tied the apron around her waist. "Thanks for helping."

Martin clicked his tongue. "God save the turmeric."

She looked around, overwhelmed by the sheer number of utensils, jars, and copper pans gleaming like soldiers ready for war.

Martin sighed, already rolling up his sleeves. "Fine. What's on the menu today, Chef Ambani? Poison with a side of charm?"

"Are you going to help or just keep roasting my cooking skills?"

He handed her a measuring spoon and grabbed the basmati. "Both. I'm a man of balance."

Martin turned slowly. "Oh, we're brave today." Then sighed as he grabbed an apron. "Alright. Khichdi, Aloo Fry, Gujarati Kadhi. Adwait sir's comfort food, apparently. A meal humble enough to break hearts."

Iva tied her hair back. "So, you are helping?"

Martin: "I'm British, madam. I don't do comfort food, I do damage control. And sarcasm. But yes - I'm in."

He opened the rice jar like it was a wine bottle. "First - moong dal and rice, equal parts. Wash it like your life depends on it. Because it just might."

Iva nodded, dead serious.

The clock ticked. The silence was golden... until it wasn't.

"Miss. Ambani" Martin's voice sliced through the air like a knife through overripe tomatoes. "I said wash the dal. Not baptize it."

Ivikaa turned sheepishly. "It just... slipped."

Martin took a dramatic pause. "At this rate, mam, we'll be serving Khichdi à la regret."

She grinned despite herself. "For someone who hates Indian food, you're really committed."

"I don't hate it," he said, inspecting the ghee like it owed him money. "I just respect it from a safe distance. Like volcanoes. Or your temper."

They began working in rhythm - Martin tossing ingredients like a magician, Iva trying not to destroy anything. The smell of hing and mustard seeds hitting ghee filled the kitchen like a warm memory.

Martin flinched like a Victorian woman hearing rap music. "Miss. Ambani, if you assassinate this tadka, I'm resigning. Dramatically. With smoke."

She burst out laughing. "Noted, Mr. Pearl."

Martin sniffed dramatically. "Ah. The aroma of anxiety and ghee. We're making progress."

"Careful," he warned as she added the ginger-chili paste. "That's not a flavor. That's a weapon."

"Noted." She stirred. Slowly. Gently.

She didn't say anything, but her stirring got gentler.

Next came the Aloo Fry. Crisp, golden, and spiced just right. Iva snuck a piece.

Martin caught her. "That potato had dreams, you know."

And then the Gujarati Kadhi. Tangy. Silky. Soul food.

Iva held the final tray like she was carrying the crown jewels. "You think it's okay?"

When the food was finally plated, Martin looked at her - flour on her cheek, sleeves messy, eyes hopeful.

"Well," he muttered, "you've committed no war crimes. A miracle."

"Do you think he'll like it?"

Martin raised an eyebrow. "You made his favorite meal. With effort. Heart. And very little actual skill. If he doesn't like it, well-marry someone else. He hasn't even proposed, has he?"

Iva cackled. "What?"

He wiped his hands on a towel. "Go. Feed Sir. And please stay out of my sacred kitchen until further notice."

Martin wiped down the already gleaming marble counter as Iva removed her apron, a triumphant little smile playing on her face.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of turmeric and coriander, and a carefully prepared plate of Adwait's favorite lunch-simple yet soulful khichdi, crisp aloo fry, and Gujarati kadhi -waited under a glass cloche.

She looked around, chest puffed with a mix of pride and relief. "One day, Martin," she declared, tossing her apron over her shoulder dramatically, "I'm going to hijack this whole kitchen. In fact, this palace. I'll be queen of all of it. And this kitchen? It'll belong to me."

Martin didn't even look up. "Well then, Your Majesty," he said dryly, wiping an invisible speck with surgical precision, "may I humbly suggest conquering a chopping board first? The throne can wait."

Iva laughed, full and bright.

Iva smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, and picked up the tray. The porcelain clinked slightly-just enough to betray her nerves.

Martin noticed, of course. "Steady hands, Miss Ambani," he said. "You've faced paparazzi, billion-dollar meetings, and a blood-feud family drama. You can handle feeding one emotionally complicated man."

"I'm not nervous," she said.

"Mm-hmm. And I'm the Queen of England."

She stuck her tongue out at him like a child and walked out with exaggerated grace. Martin just smirked and went back to reorganizing his spice rack-alphabetically, of course.

Adwait was sitting in the sunlit reading corner of the drawing room, his elbow resting on the armrest, fingers absently rubbing his temple. He looked tired-but not physically. It was the kind of tired that came from years of buried truth finally ripping through like a monsoon.

He didn't notice her right away.

"Hungry?" Iva asked, standing by the armchair with the tray.

He looked up-and blinked. Once. Twice.

"You... made this?"

"With my own two hands," she said, placing the tray on the low table in front of him like it was a peace offering from a rival kingdom. "Martin supervised. He said if you don't like it, I should marry someone else."

A slow smile curved Adwait's lips, softening his sharp features. "Did he also threaten you with a frying pan?"

"No, but he did say if I burned his tadka pan, it'd be written into my will as a cursed object."

He chuckled. The tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction.

"I'm sorry," Iva said again, her voice quieter this time. "For the hurt you went through."

Adwait looked at her, his jaw tense. "So you're not sorry for the things you did?"

She held his gaze without flinching. "No. I'm not."

He blinked, almost surprised at her honesty.

"I am sorry for the pain," she continued, gently taking the spoon and scooping a bite of dal, "but not for the choices."

She fed him without waiting for permission, and strangely, he didn't resist. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the vulnerability between them.

"Aapko pata hai kitne logon ko chot pahunchi hai?" he asked softly. "Mumma ko. Mujhe?"

"Janti hoon," she said, eyes glistening. "Par ek dard ki dawai hi dusra dard hota hai, hai na Adwait? Tum hi kehte ho."

He looked away for a moment, chewing slowly, processing. "Dusre raaste bhi toh ho sakte the."

"Hote, toh dard thodi deti," she said, her voice firm but not defensive. "Kuchh raaste dard se ho kar hi guzarte hain. Jaise jab tumhe Kiaan mila... aur tumhe pata chala ki woh Viren Ambani ka beta hai. Tum use wapas bhej sakte the, par tumne nahi kiya. Kyun?"

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Deal toh unki thi - one to save three others. Agar wapas bhej deta, toh shayad chaaro ki jaan jaati."

"Wahi na," she said, her tone turning gentle again. "Tumhe pata tha ki Kiaan ki zindagi wahan dard mein rahegi... par rasta tumne wahi chuna. Tumhara dard akela sehna mujhe aur takleef deta hai."

She paused. "Mujhe protect karne Maya ko bheja tha, na? Tum kisi ko bhi bhej sakte the... par Maya ko bheja. Kyun?"

He looked down, then back up - her words digging deeper than he'd admit.

"Kyunki woh mera best shot thi," he finally said.

"And Kiaan ko yahin rakha... yeh jante hue ki humare saath rehkar usse dard ho sakta hai. Still, you protected him. Kyun?"

"It was never about good or bad," he said after a long silence. "It was always about choosing the lesser evil."

She nodded, tears finally slipping from her eyes but her expression steady. "Toh usi logic se... mujhe maaf karne ka bhi ek rasta nikaal sakte ho. Not because I was right. But because I was never trying to be wrong."

He didn't answer.

But this time, he didn't stop her when she wiped her tears with the edge of his sleeve and sat closer than before.

A silence stretched, heavy but healing.

And somewhere between the meal, the memory, and the mess they'd both made of love - a beginning stirred.

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The next morning, Iva stepped into the Agnivanshi Palace. The usual tension in the air had settled into something softer-quieter. She didn't expect that. Her heels barely made a sound on the marble floor as she reached the living room.

And there he was.

Adwait. Asleep. His head rested on his mother's lap, his body curled like a boy who'd finally let himself rest after years of battle. His breathing was steady, lips curved into the faintest smile-peaceful, maybe even innocent. Iva's steps slowed.

She was about to speak, instinctively, but stopped. Vaani's eyes weren't on her. She was lost in thought, gently running her fingers through Adwait's hair like she'd done it a hundred times in his childhood-except they both knew she hadn't.

And yet... it felt right.

He should have been in the temple. Every morning like clockwork-his aarti, his routine, his silence in prayer. But today... he stayed. As if just this once, the temple could wait.

Iva walked up, quietly, and bent down to touch Vaani's feet. Vaani stopped her mid-way, with a small shake of her head, and instead gestured for her to sit beside her. No words-just a silent understanding.

She sat.

"Divya aunty got saved," Iva mouthed softly.

Shravani's lips curled into a grim half-smile as she mouthed back, "Won't be for long."

Iva didn't flinch. Instead, she reached into her bag and handed Vaani the morning paper.

Vaani scanned the headline without a twitch in her expression. Then folded the paper neatly and placed it aside.

"She's not the victim," Vaani said quietly, eyes still on her sleeping son. "But she will know what it feels like to be one."

And then, silence again.

Iva reached out and gently placed her hand over Adwait's.

Then, just before leaving, Iva reached into her handbag and pulled out a cream-and-gold envelope-an invitation card, sealed with the Ambani family crest in soft emboss.

She placed it gently on Vaani's lap.

"I've kept a small pooja for Kiaan... at our place," she said quietly, careful not to wake Adwait. "I'd really like it if you both came. You too, Aunty."

Vaani looked at her, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. But she nodded slowly and picked up the card.

"I'll try," she said, her voice low but sincere.

Iva gave her a soft smile, stole one more glance at Adwait-peacefully unaware of the world for once-and turned to leave.

As her heels faded down the corridor, Vaani looked down at the envelope resting against her fingers. She ran her hand over the embossed crest. Her eyes drifted back to her son.

And the palace returned to its stillness.

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Shravani had been roaming the palace corridors since morning.

Not aimlessly, but searching-trying to piece together the years she had missed.

She'd memorized every nook of the Agnivanshi palace, hoping that each corner, each room would whisper some untold truth about her son.

The boy who now towered with confidence but carried old wounds too quietly.

Adwait had told her so much already. About Ivaan, about Mrutyunjay, about Veer. Even about the secrets and battles they fought in shadows. He held nothing back-except the one thing that mattered the most to her.

The pain.

Not once had he mentioned how for eleven years, he'd been caged in silence.

Eight years of cruelty wrapped in the name of discipline, served coldly by her own sister, Divya.

And then three more years of quiet suffering under Ridhima's watch-his father's sister, another name he never spoke with warmth.

He hadn't said a word about it.

But Shravani had eyes that once knew every flicker in her child's expression, and a mother's instinct that no time or distance could erase.

He had bled in silence. And protected even those who had made him bleed.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

Shravani stood near the grand hallway window, looking out at the morning light falling on the gardens. But the sunshine did nothing to warm the frost creeping through her spine.

"I'll make sure no one ever dares to hurt you again," she whispered to herself. Not as a promise. As a warning.

And for the first time since entering the Agnivanshi palace, she no longer looked like a long-lost guest.

She looked like MOTHER.

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The soft scent of incense drifted through the decorated halls of Leela Rêve, blending with the floral arrangements and faint notes of sandalwood.

Iva, dressed in a rich, pastel-toned Indian outfit-something elegant yet traditional-stood near the entrance, fingers nervously adjusting her bangles as she waited.

And then they entered.

Shravani, clad in a deep maroon cotton saree that carried understated grace, walked beside her son. Adwait wore a simple beige kurta, effortlessly dignified. The moment Iva saw them, a small breath escaped her lips.

She walked toward them, a genuine smile rising. She hugged Shravani warmly.

"You look beautiful," she whispered.

Shravani smiled softly, her hand briefly brushing Iva's cheek. Then Iva turned to Adwait, uncertain, seeking his eyes. He gave her a small, measured smile-not cold, but cautious. Still healing.

That one smile, restrained yet offered, was enough to steady her.

Just then, Kiaan strolled in, casual in his shirt and pants, his hair still slightly messy as if he'd run his hand through it too many times. Iva lit up, pulling him into a tight hug.

"My baby brother," she grinned.

"I'm literally taller than you," he mumbled, hugging back.

Iva chuckled, then turned to introduce Shravani.

"Shravani aunty, this is Virya, Vayu, and Ritika," she said warmly. Shravani folded her hands in greeting, composed yet alert.

As they exchanged greetings, the priest arrived.

"Panditji has come," one of the staff informed.

Everyone began moving toward the mandap setup.

"Where's Papa?" Vayu asked Iva, narrowing his eyes. "I have a surprise for all of you," he added with a smirk.

Just then, the door to the private lounge opened-and Viren Ambani stepped in.

The moment his eyes landed on Shravani, his confident stride slowed. The color drained subtly from his face. Shravani turned to see who'd arrived-and froze.

For a heartbeat, the air grew heavy.

"Papa," Iva called out, recovering first, "this is Shravani Agnivanshi... Adwait's mother."

It was formal. Too formal. The silence between Viren and Shravani lingered like a storm cloud no one wanted to acknowledge.

Viren didn't greet. Shravani didn't blink.

Adwait noticed. And so did Iva.

But the Pandit's voice cut through the tension: "Beti, aayiye. Pooja ka samay ho gaya."

Iva quickly turned and walked toward the setup, letting the heavy silence follow her. She sat cross-legged, folding her hands in prayer, but her mind wasn't on the chants.

Her thoughts swirled around what just happened.

Her father's unreadable face.

Shravani aunty's quiet but sharp stillness.

The history they clearly shared-but never spoke of.

And as mantras echoed, behind her, Kiaan rolled his eyes at Raha Agnivanshi, who had somehow decided this pooja for him was a good opportunity to sit beside him and poke his arm with a spoon every few minutes.

"Seriously?" he muttered.

"It's for your spiritual energy," Raha grinned. "Besides, you're welcome."

As the pooja wrapped up, the soft hum of conversation filled the courtyard of Leela Rêve. Shravani quietly stood near the edge of the gathering, sipping water, her maroon cotton saree a sharp contrast against the sleek modern décor.

Just then, Olivia walked in-sharp black trousers, a silk champagne blouse, and her signature oversized sunglasses still on indoors. She removed them dramatically as she approached, eyeing Shravani with open curiosity and a glass of sparkling water in hand.

"Oh," she said with a small smirk, "so you're Adwait's real mother?"

Shravani turned, meeting her gaze with grace. "Yes."

"Interesting," Olivia said, scanning her from head to toe without a hint of subtlety. "Where've you been hiding all this time? I mean, you missed some solid family chaos."

Iva, catching the tail end of that, muttered, "Olivia Masi, don't-"

Just then, her father Viren came in.

"Aunty, this is my father, Viren Ambani. Papa, yeh Shravani Aunty-Rajveer Agnivanshi's wife," Iva introduced, her voice composed but watchful.

"Viren Ambani," Shravani said, her voice calm but razor-edged.

"Shravani Agnivanshi," he returned, equally sharp.

"Mumma, what's going on?" Adwait asked, confused, looking between the two.

"Ask him," she said, pointing straight at Viren. "Ask him how the US intelligence found out where Veer and I were hiding."

"I didn't tell anyone anything," Viren said. "I was the one who gave you the safe house-"

"Exactly!" she snapped. "You gave us the hut. And then suddenly, somehow, they knew. You knew I was pregnant. You knew we had nowhere else to go. And then you pointed fingers?"

"It wasn't me. Only three people knew-me, Veer, and our Foreign Minister. I gave you a safe house because he asked me to."

"Are you sure?" Shravani's voice trembled with restrained fury. "Because when the US intelligence burnt my house, one of them said an American agent helped them-someone who betrayed their own."

There was a beat of silence before Olivia's voice cut through. "Because she had to save her newborn-IVA," she shouted.

Everyone turned. Olivia stepped forward.

"She was a fucking spy," Olivia spat. "You think they'd let Christina walk if she didn't give them something in return?"

Iva froze as her father's voice echoed in her memory.

"Your mother wanted to end it, once and for all. We worked together. We exposed the mafia's deals to US intelligence. Your mother gave them everything. She wanted freedom for you. For all of us."

Her eyes flicked to Adwait.

He wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking at her father - then at her.

And then, without a word, he turned and held Shravani's hand.

"Adwait..." she whispered.

But he had already begun walking away, his mother beside him. No anger in his face. Just quiet-devastating-distance.

Iva stood still, the world narrowing around her.

The truth settled like ice in her veins.

Her mother had traded their safehouse-his family's safety-to save her.

To save Iva.

Because of Christina Ambani, Adwait lost everything.

And Iva... was the reason why.

He didn't say a word. Not even a look. Not a question. He just... left.

Iva couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the floor, but her mind was spiraling.

Did he hate me? No-he didn't even react enough to hate me.

He looked through me. The silence between them was worse than anger.

If he had yelled, blamed, raged... maybe she could have said something.

Maybe she could have taken the fire and turned it into some form of redemption.

But this? This quiet withdrawal... it was final. It was unforgiving.

How many lives did my mother's love for me destroy?

Iva clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted freedom for me.

.. and gave him chains. She saved me from a country I didn't even know, but doomed him in a world he was born into.

How could she defend that? How could she ever look at Adwait again and pretend her name didn't bring with it the scent of betrayal?

The woman he lost-his father, his home, his family-all gone because Christina Ambani saved her child and made a trade no one else consented to.

I didn't ask for it. I was a baby. But I'm still paying the price.

And so is he.

He never hated her-he was too kind for that. But he carried her choices, her name, her privilege... like a wound that never closed. And she-foolishly, selfishly-tried to love him without understanding the blood that still stained his past.

"Iva darling, you don't need to worry about anything," Olivia said, her voice unusually gentle, as she reached out to hold her shoulder.

"But Adwait-" Iva's voice cracked, eyes still fixed on the door he'd disappeared through, heart thudding like a metronome gone wild.

"Stop fucking ranting his name!" Olivia snapped, her calm shattering into sharp edges. "You're just like your mother. Always choosing others over your own damn family!"

Iva flinched, but Olivia didn't stop.

"Your mother never chose us. Not once. And now you're walking the same path. She made her bed with traitors, thinking she could rewrite fate with some noble sacrifice. And now you-god, Iva-now you're repeating history without even knowing the full damn story."

Her voice trembled, not from sadness but rage long buried.

"I told her to stay in the shadows. I begged her.

But no-Christina wanted a happily ever after.

What did that get us? A CIA raid. A fucking funeral.

A child who grew up in guilt. She gave hell to everyone and left us to clean it up.

And now look-look what she left behind. Look at you. "

Her voice rose. "She burned everything down for some idea of freedom. She gave us war and walked away. She wanted a happily ever after, and all she left behind was ruin. And now you-you're dragging yourself into the same fucking pit."

Iva stood frozen. Not because Olivia was right. But because she finally saw her for what she was.

Olivia's jaw tightened. "You think I'm cruel?

I gave everything for your mother.

My position. My security. I erased myself so she could have a chance at something better.

I told her to stay in the shadows. I begged her not to chase some fairytale with Viren.

But no - Christina wanted love. Wanted a fucking baby.

Wanted peace in a world that doesn't give it to women like us. "

She stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "And look what she gave us in return. A broken trail of bodies. A family torn apart. A daughter who didn't even know the truth for half her life."

Iva's lip trembled, but Olivia wasn't done.

"You were supposed to be our redemption. You were the only thing left after she burned it all down. And now you're doing the same fucking thing she did - choosing him over us. That Agnivanshi boy will be the end of you. Mark my words, Iva. He will be your ruin."

Iva met her gaze, breath shallow. "At least I'm choosing him - not surviving off the regrets of someone else's life, like you are."

Olivia's eyes flinched - just for a second. The truth cut through her armor sharper than any bullet ever had.

The silence after Olivia's outburst stretched like a noose. Iva stood in it, unmoving.

Inside her, something had cracked wide open.

She looked around - at the mandir, the unfinished pooja, the guests who didn't matter, her father with a truth too late, and the memory of her mother who had meant to save her but ended up destroying everything Adwait held dear.

Her gaze lingered on the entrance.

She could still hear Adwait's voice in her head: "Kitne logon ko chot pahunchi hai? Mumma ko. Mujhe."

And for once, she had no answer. No fire left. No defense.

She turned, quietly. Took one step back. Then another. Nobody stopped her. Not even Olivia - who just looked on with her usual bitter satisfaction.

No dramatic declarations.

No goodbye.

Just escape.

Because in that moment, Iva knew the most dangerous truth of all - she wasn't the cure to Adwait's pain.

She was the reason for it.

And love, no matter how fierce, couldn't undo what had already been scorched.

So she ran.

No suitcase. No plan.

Just a girl who carried a dynasty on her shoulders and a war in her heart - finally choosing silence over chaos.

And as the gates of Leela Rêve closed behind her, only one thought echoed in her mind:"He deserved peace. Even if it meant a world without me in it."

Maybe next time, the universe could skip choosing her as the plot twist.

The entire family was gathered at the dining table. Adwait entered quietly and took his seat without a word.

A moment later, Iva walked in.

"Iva, dear, come have breakfast," Divya called out, her polite smile barely masking the tension beneath. She motioned to the seat next to her.

Iva hesitated for just a second, then walked over and sat down. Maya, sitting beside her, glanced over with a questioning look-Why are we even here?

Iva gave the slightest shake of her head, then stealthily slid her phone under the table and sent a quick message:

"Later."

Maya glanced down, read it, and gave a small nod.

And then-like a shift in the air-Shravani entered.

Graceful, poised, wrapped in a handwoven cotton saree that accentuated her tall, elegant frame. Her long, loose hair swayed as she walked, every step deliberate. Her striking grey eyes, confident posture, and the faint trace of a British accent in her voice-

"Good morning, everyone," she said, her tone soft yet unmistakably commanding.

She moved toward the table and took the seat to Adwait's right.

Divya's face went pale. Her smile froze, her voice caught mid-breath.

"Shravani..." she managed to whisper, as if the past had walked right into her spotless dining room.

"Oh, hi Divya di. Hi Jeeju," Shravani said casually, her gaze flicking between Divya and Abhay.

Then, with the fakest smile imaginable, she added:

"Or should I say... good morning, brother-in-law and sister-in-law?"

"What the hell are you even saying? What kind of garbage is this psycho spewing now?" Divya snapped, voice thick with disdain.

Before anyone could blink, Shravani picked up a knife from the fruit tray and flung it.

It sliced through the air and stabbed deep into the chair-just behind Divya's shoulder.

Inches away from flesh.

A collective gasp rang out across the table. Divya jerked back. Eyes wide.

Everyone froze.

"Don't you dare call my son a psycho," Shravani said, voice so cold, so controlled, it could have sliced steel.

Divya's throat bobbed as she swallowed her fear. And her pride.

Shravani straightened up, gaze locked on Divya like a lioness warning another predator to back down.

"You should be grateful he takes after his father. If he'd taken after me..." she leaned forward, eyes narrowed, "well, you know how I handle anger, don't you... Di?"

The word "Di" landed like a slap-icy, sarcastic, unforgiving.

After that, both Abhay and Divya fell completely silent. Even Rudra, for once, was stunned.

How could one woman shake his parents this way-just by walking into a room?

His mother's sister?

And the so-called psycho?

He wasn't even Rudra's real brother?

Rudra glanced over at Adwait.

Same eyes.

Same fire.

Same sharp edge.

Exactly like hers.

He looked at Iva and Maya, both quietly eating, faces unreadable.

Too calm. That was unsettling.

There was a new player on the board-and Rudra wasn't sure yet if she was an ally or a threat.

Meanwhile, Abhay sat in silence, replaying every moment in his mind.

He had no idea his brother had a past. A wife. A life.

A past that now sat across from him... staring back with the same intense grey eyes he remembered from long ago-at his wedding.

He'd only seen her for a fleeting moment. But those eyes had stuck with him. He'd been drawn to them then.

And now, here they were. Real. Alive. Unapologetically present.

Across the table, Divya was unraveling. For years, whenever Adwait insisted she wasn't his mother, she dismissed it as delusion-just more evidence of his so-called mental instability.

But now? Now he was sitting right next to the woman who claimed to be his real mother.

How was she going to explain that?

A storm raged behind Abhay's eyes. He finally turned to Divya, voice sharp and accusing:

"What the hell is going on? He was our son, wasn't he?"

Before Divya could respond, Shravani calmly interjected:

"No family drama during meals, please. Didn't our mother teach you that, Divya di?"

Her voice was light, but laced with barbed sweetness. The kind that could kill.

Divya looked away. "Abhay... please. Later," she murmured.

Abhay clenched his fists under the table but leaned back, seething in silence.

°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°??

After breakfast, the entire family moved to the living room-tense, quiet, and still reeling from what had just happened.

Right then, Kiaan walked in, pausing mid-step as the atmosphere hit him like a wall.

Raha grabbed his hand, stopping him before he could walk toward Adwait.

"Don't," she whispered in his ear. "Is that... Adwait bhaiya's mom?"

Her whisper was anything but discreet.

Kiaan froze, casually leaning on the nearby table to avoid attention. Shravani gave a warm smile and waved Raha over. She hesitated, then slowly approached.

Raha blinked, then blurted out, "Wait-you're Adi bhaiya's mom? Like, biological, bloodline, actual mom? No cap?"

Shravani chuckled at the dramatic delivery.

Devaki sighed and smiled gently. "She means... are you really Adwait's mother?"

"Yup," Shravani said with a playful grin. "Biological, bloodline, real-deal mom-mom. The OG."

Raha's jaw dropped. Then, recovering, she stood up straight, gave a dramatic bow and declared, "I'm Raha Agnivanshi. Technically a princess in this palace-but one no one listens to. Especially Adi bhaiya. I have, like, zero authority here."

Vaani let out a loud, unfiltered laugh.

"Well now that I'm here," Shravani said, smiling wide, "I'll make sure everyone does listen to the Agnivanshi princess. Who dares not to?"

She pulled Raha close and kissed her on the forehead.

Raha blinked up at her, still processing. "Wait... so you're my chachi? Like... actual chachi-chachi?"

Shravani laughed. "Technically, yeah. But let's go with cool-aunt energy, okay?"

Raha grinned. "Bet. We're definitely gonna be a vibe."

From across the room, Adwait smirked and took a slow sip of juice. "Why don't you go do some cardio, Raha? You're looking kinda... fluffy today."

Raha gasped dramatically, hand to her chest. "EXCUSE me?! Did you just call me fat?! That is literal body-shaming, you uncultured fossil of a bhaiya!"

She flipped her hair, picked up her phone, and strutted out like she was on a catwalk.

"Anyway, I'm too fabulous for this negativity. Bye. Catch you on the flip side."

As she left, she threw a finger-heart toward Shravani. "Love you, cool chachi. You slay."

Shravani grinned. "Slay back, baby."

Vaani then turned toward Divya with a sly smirk. "Didn't Raha just say no negativity? Let's stick to that theme, shall we?"

Divya clenched her jaw but didn't respond.

Finally, unable to hold back, she burst out: "Shravani, what are you even doing here?"

Shravani, unfazed, calmly said. "My son wanted me home. So... I'm home."

"Why are you calling him your son?" Abhay snapped.

"As if he's yours," Vaani said coldly, crossing her arms.

"Shut up, you-" Abhay began.

"Loss of words, Mr. Agnivanshi?" Adwait cut in, voice like a blade. His gaze locked onto Abhay, then slowly slid to Divya.

"Why don't you ask Mrs. Agnivanshi who my real parents are?"

The room held its breath.

Adwait leaned back in his chair, calm now, but unmistakably done with the charade.

"I mean, I look exactly like your youngest brother, don't I? And these eyes-" he gestured to his face "-don't they belong to your sister-in-law?"

He paused.

"So... is your wife hiding something?"

He delivered the words like silk hiding a dagger.

Silence fell like a curtain.

Every pair of eyes turned to Divya.

"Then maybe," Adwait said, his voice low and burning, "I should tell the story."

He looked at Vaani. "Should I, Mumma?"

Vaani gave a sly, almost wicked smile. "Of course, beta. My darling sister's always been great at acting. But storytelling? Not her strong suit."

Adwait stood.

Right then, Martin walked in carrying a tray of fruits. He calmly placed it on the table beside Adwait and began slicing them-completely unfazed by the storm unfolding in the room.

"SHUT UP!" Divya suddenly screamed, her voice cracking with rage. "Yes, he's not my son! In fact, I hate him. He's Shravani and Rajveer's son! And what I hate the most... is that he's Shravani's son."

A stunned silence followed.

Abhay looked pale. "But... you told me he was our son. Our second child..."

Divya let out a bitter laugh. "He's not our second child.

I never wanted one. I got pregnant by mistake.

My career was already on the edge-flop films, disappearing offers.

If I hadn't ended that pregnancy, everything would've collapsed.

Riddhima told me to abort. And when I told you I wanted to terminate it, what did you do, huh?

" She turned on Abhay, her voice filled with venom.

"You threatened to kill me if I did. Because you wanted your father's property to be divided between two sons-Rudra and another heir.

I went to Riddhima and got it done. I aborted that child.

And I faked the pregnancy. Made you believe I was still carrying your second child. "

Gasps echoed across the room.

"One day, no one was home. I saw Rajveer standing in the hallway-he was holding a baby.

He looked terrified, bleeding, like he'd just escaped something awful.

He handed me the child and said it was his and Vaani's.

He told me no one knew about the baby and begged me to keep it a secret.

Said he just wanted the child safe, that he wouldn't survive much longer.

Then he disappeared-just like that. I took the chance, as if God and destiny were both on my side.

I rushed to the hospital, faked labor, and told everyone I had given birth to my second baby boy.

Everyone was overjoyed-they showered me with love.

His birth even made headlines that very day.

" Her voice began to tremble. "I was just relieved.

Until... Adwait opened his eyes. He had-"

Shravani's voice cut through: "The same grey eyes I have."

Divya turned toward her slowly. "Yes. The eyes I always hated. Grey like a curse. The moment I saw them, I knew. He wasn't just Rajveer's son. By Vaani, he meant Shravani. He was yours, Shravani. Your son. And I began to hate him... just as much as-"

"-just as much as you hated me," Shravani finished.

"YES!" Divya screamed, unraveling. "I hated you, Shravani. Not just today. Since childhood. Those eyes, your face, your aura-everyone loved you. Mummy-papa's favorite? Shravani. The neighborhood darling? Shravani. I was always your shadow."

Her voice cracked, bitter and broken.

"The day my first boyfriend told me he found you more beautiful... I knew. As long as you existed, I would never have anything of my own."

Shravani's voice was quiet. "But I left... didn't I? I ran away when I was sixteen."

"You did," Divya spat. "But you came back-for my wedding. And even then, my own husband... couldn't stop looking at you. At my wedding, my husband kept asking about my sister."

Abhay looked away, ashamed.

Divya continued, her voice rising again.

"And when you left, I thought I could finally breathe.

My family, my son, my life, my success..

. everything was mine. But then your son came crashing into it.

Day after day, I lived in fear. What if someone found out?

What if the press caught on? One scandal and everything would burn.

He was that bone stuck in my throat-I couldn't swallow him, couldn't spit him out. "

She turned and looked at Adwait.

"I hated you, Adwait. Every day. Every breath. I tried to kill you-more than once. I tried to give you away. Riddhima and I both tried. But somehow... you survived. Every damn time."

Everyone was too stunned to react.

The weight of Divya's confession hung in the air like smoke after an explosion-suffocating, thick, and inescapable.

Shravani. Rajveer. Adwait.

Adwait being her son.

Divya hating Adwait.

Riddhima hating Adwait.

Divya and Riddhima tried to kill him.

Each revelation hit harder than the last.

No one could move. No one dared to breathe too loud.

Years of secrets, whispers, half-truths-unraveling like a thread pulled too far. Everyone had been living in a maze of lies, each path carefully walled off, hidden from the other. And now, the walls were crashing down.

How had they managed to live under one roof for so long-eating at the same table, celebrating festivals, sharing moments-while hiding this much?

How many times had the truth sat right next to them, disguised as family, cloaked in silence?

Adwait stood still. His expression unreadable.

Was it pain? Was it rage? Or was it just the numbness that comes after surviving too many betrayals?

Shravani blinked, holding back the tears clawing their way to the surface.

She reached out, gently placed a hand on Adwait's shoulder.

He didn't flinch.

He didn't move.

He just stood there. Frozen in time.

Abhay sat down with a thud, head in his hands.

Rudra looked like he was trying to solve a riddle written in blood.

Vaani stared blankly at Divya, as if seeing her sister for the first time-not as family, but as the monster she'd been hiding behind a polished mask.

Maya and Iva were still.

The silence was deafening. And then- Shravani slowly got up from the sofa.

Without a word, she walked over to Martin, took the knife from the tray, and picked up an apple. Calmly, almost tenderly, she sliced it. The soft crunch of the blade meeting fruit echoed like thunder in the tense room.

She took a slice, turned to Adwait, and fed him with her own hands. Then, without hesitation, she kissed his forehead-gentle, proud, defiant.

A faint smile played on her lips, but her eyes were still storms.

Then she turned. And walked to Divya.

"Sorry," she said, her voice eerily calm.

Divya scoffed. "Sorry? Sorry for what? For keeping your psycho son in our house?"

Shravani tilted her head slightly. "No... not for that."

She took Divya's hand in hers before anyone could react.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "for not doing this the first time you dared hurt my son."

And with that, in one swift, deliberate motion-she dragged the knife across Divya's wrist.

A gasp. A scream. Chaos erupted.

Divya cried out, stumbling back in shock, clutching her wrist.

"Mumma!" Rudra rushed to Divya's side, followed closely by Abhay, both pale with panic.

Raghav stood from the sofa, stunned, but before he could act, Rudra's security team stormed in, lifting Divya and rushing her toward the hospital.

A thick silence lingered until Iva finally broke it, her tone laced with cold sarcasm:

"Tomorrow's headlines: Washed-up actress Divya Agnivanshi attempts suicide after secrets exposed?"

The room turned toward her.

"Could you do that for me?" Vaani asked, her voice sharp, loaded.

Everyone fell silent again-speechless.

Adwait looked at his mother, trying to piece together the madness. "Mumma... kya kar rahi ho aap?"

Shravani's jaw tightened as she turned to him. "Wahi jo mujhe pehle din karna chahiye tha."

She glanced toward the door where Divya had been taken, her eyes burning. "How dare she lay a finger on my son?" Then, as if annoyed, she added flatly, "Don't worry. She won't die. Someone will save her. Shame."

Just then, Iva stepped closer to her, her voice lowered but laced with anticipation. "You sure about the headlines?"

Before Shravani could reply, Vaani chimed in, looking at Iva, "Didn't you want revenge? For him?"

A slow smile spread on Iva's face. She looked at Adwait, then at Shravani-and suddenly hugged her tightly, burying her face in her shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Shravani didn't say a word. But her arms wrapped around Iva, firm and full of silent understanding.

Adwait left, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Iva gently pulled away from Vaani's hug, her eyes following him.

"Where are you off to, madam?" Shravani asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's still upset... I thought maybe I should..." Iva mumbled, already halfway to the door.

"Going to make up with him?" Vaani smirked. "Try cooking," she added with a wink.

Iva blushed, rolled her eyes playfully, and disappeared down the hallway.

??°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°??

"I'm cooking for Adwait," Iva declared, stepping into Martin's pristine kitchen like she owned the place.

Martin didn't look up from his chopping board. "Don't touch anything unless I say so," he said flatly. "This kitchen is older than your relationship."

"Understood," she said, suddenly a lot less confident.

"And if you so much as scorch the tadka pan," he continued, turning with a sharp look, "I'll have it written into your will as a cursed heirloom."

"Martin!"

He gave her a slow, deadpan blink. "I'm only half-joking."

Iva exhaled a laugh and tied the apron around her waist. "Thanks for helping."

Martin clicked his tongue. "God save the turmeric."

She looked around, overwhelmed by the sheer number of utensils, jars, and copper pans gleaming like soldiers ready for war.

Martin sighed, already rolling up his sleeves. "Fine. What's on the menu today, Chef Ambani? Poison with a side of charm?"

"Are you going to help or just keep roasting my cooking skills?"

He handed her a measuring spoon and grabbed the basmati. "Both. I'm a man of balance."

Martin turned slowly. "Oh, we're brave today." Then sighed as he grabbed an apron. "Alright. Khichdi, Aloo Fry, Gujarati Kadhi. Adwait sir's comfort food, apparently. A meal humble enough to break hearts."

Iva tied her hair back. "So, you are helping?"

Martin: "I'm British, madam. I don't do comfort food, I do damage control. And sarcasm. But yes - I'm in."

He opened the rice jar like it was a wine bottle. "First - moong dal and rice, equal parts. Wash it like your life depends on it. Because it just might."

Iva nodded, dead serious.

The clock ticked. The silence was golden... until it wasn't.

"Miss. Ambani" Martin's voice sliced through the air like a knife through overripe tomatoes. "I said wash the dal. Not baptize it."

Ivikaa turned sheepishly. "It just... slipped."

Martin took a dramatic pause. "At this rate, mam, we'll be serving Khichdi à la regret."

She grinned despite herself. "For someone who hates Indian food, you're really committed."

"I don't hate it," he said, inspecting the ghee like it owed him money. "I just respect it from a safe distance. Like volcanoes. Or your temper."

They began working in rhythm - Martin tossing ingredients like a magician, Iva trying not to destroy anything. The smell of hing and mustard seeds hitting ghee filled the kitchen like a warm memory.

Martin flinched like a Victorian woman hearing rap music. "Miss. Ambani, if you assassinate this tadka, I'm resigning. Dramatically. With smoke."

She burst out laughing. "Noted, Mr. Pearl."

Martin sniffed dramatically. "Ah. The aroma of anxiety and ghee. We're making progress."

"Careful," he warned as she added the ginger-chili paste. "That's not a flavor. That's a weapon."

"Noted." She stirred. Slowly. Gently.

She didn't say anything, but her stirring got gentler.

Next came the Aloo Fry. Crisp, golden, and spiced just right. Iva snuck a piece.

Martin caught her. "That potato had dreams, you know."

And then the Gujarati Kadhi. Tangy. Silky. Soul food.

Iva held the final tray like she was carrying the crown jewels. "You think it's okay?"

When the food was finally plated, Martin looked at her - flour on her cheek, sleeves messy, eyes hopeful.

"Well," he muttered, "you've committed no war crimes. A miracle."

"Do you think he'll like it?"

Martin raised an eyebrow. "You made his favorite meal. With effort. Heart. And very little actual skill. If he doesn't like it, well-marry someone else. He hasn't even proposed, has he?"

Iva cackled. "What?"

He wiped his hands on a towel. "Go. Feed Sir. And please stay out of my sacred kitchen until further notice."

Martin wiped down the already gleaming marble counter as Iva removed her apron, a triumphant little smile playing on her face.

The kitchen still smelled faintly of turmeric and coriander, and a carefully prepared plate of Adwait's favorite lunch-simple yet soulful khichdi, crisp aloo fry, and Gujarati kadhi -waited under a glass cloche.

She looked around, chest puffed with a mix of pride and relief. "One day, Martin," she declared, tossing her apron over her shoulder dramatically, "I'm going to hijack this whole kitchen. In fact, this palace. I'll be queen of all of it. And this kitchen? It'll belong to me."

Martin didn't even look up. "Well then, Your Majesty," he said dryly, wiping an invisible speck with surgical precision, "may I humbly suggest conquering a chopping board first? The throne can wait."

Iva laughed, full and bright.

Iva smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, and picked up the tray. The porcelain clinked slightly-just enough to betray her nerves.

Martin noticed, of course. "Steady hands, Miss Ambani," he said. "You've faced paparazzi, billion-dollar meetings, and a blood-feud family drama. You can handle feeding one emotionally complicated man."

"I'm not nervous," she said.

"Mm-hmm. And I'm the Queen of England."

She stuck her tongue out at him like a child and walked out with exaggerated grace. Martin just smirked and went back to reorganizing his spice rack-alphabetically, of course.

Adwait was sitting in the sunlit reading corner of the drawing room, his elbow resting on the armrest, fingers absently rubbing his temple. He looked tired-but not physically. It was the kind of tired that came from years of buried truth finally ripping through like a monsoon.

He didn't notice her right away.

"Hungry?" Iva asked, standing by the armchair with the tray.

He looked up-and blinked. Once. Twice.

"You... made this?"

"With my own two hands," she said, placing the tray on the low table in front of him like it was a peace offering from a rival kingdom. "Martin supervised. He said if you don't like it, I should marry someone else."

A slow smile curved Adwait's lips, softening his sharp features. "Did he also threaten you with a frying pan?"

"No, but he did say if I burned his tadka pan, it'd be written into my will as a cursed object."

He chuckled. The tension in his shoulders dropped a fraction.

"I'm sorry," Iva said again, her voice quieter this time. "For the hurt you went through."

Adwait looked at her, his jaw tense. "So you're not sorry for the things you did?"

She held his gaze without flinching. "No. I'm not."

He blinked, almost surprised at her honesty.

"I am sorry for the pain," she continued, gently taking the spoon and scooping a bite of dal, "but not for the choices."

She fed him without waiting for permission, and strangely, he didn't resist. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the vulnerability between them.

"Do you know how many people you hurt?" he asked softly. "Mumma. Me?"

"I do," she said, eyes glistening. "But sometimes the only cure for one pain is another, isn't it, Adwait? You say that all the time."

He looked away for a moment, chewing slowly, trying to process. "There could've been other ways."

"If there were, I wouldn't have chosen pain," she said, her voice firm but not defensive. "Some paths go through pain. Like when you found Kiaan... and learned he was Viren Ambani's son. You could've sent him back-but you didn't. Why?"

He leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "The deal was theirs - one life to save three others. If I'd sent him back, maybe all four would've died."

"Exactly," she said, her tone softening again. "You knew his life over there would be full of pain... but you still chose that path. Because the idea of you suffering alone hurts me more."

She paused. "You sent Maya to protect me, right? You could've sent anyone... but you sent Maya. Why?"

He looked down, then back at her-her words hitting deeper than he'd admit.

"Because she was my best shot," he finally said.

"And you kept Kiaan here... knowing staying with us might hurt him. Still, you protected him. Why?"

"It was never about good or bad," he said after a long silence. "It was always about choosing the lesser evil."

She nodded, tears finally slipping from her eyes, though her expression remained steady. "Then by that same logic... maybe you can find a way to forgive me too. Not because I was right. But because I was never trying to be wrong."

He didn't answer.

But this time, he didn't stop her when she wiped her tears with the edge of his sleeve and sat closer than before.

A silence stretched between them-heavy, but healing.

And somewhere between the meal, the memory, and the mess they'd both made of love - a beginning stirred.

°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°??

The next morning, Iva stepped into the Agnivanshi Palace. The usual tension in the air had settled into something softer-quieter. She didn't expect that. Her heels barely made a sound on the marble floor as she reached the living room.

And there he was.

Adwait. Asleep. His head rested on his mother's lap, his body curled like a boy who'd finally let himself rest after years of battle. His breathing was steady, lips curved into the faintest smile-peaceful, maybe even innocent. Iva's steps slowed.

She was about to speak, instinctively, but stopped. Vaani's eyes weren't on her. She was lost in thought, gently running her fingers through Adwait's hair like she'd done it a hundred times in his childhood-except they both knew she hadn't.

And yet... it felt right.

He should have been in the temple. Every morning like clockwork-his aarti, his routine, his silence in prayer. But today... he stayed. As if just this once, the temple could wait.

Iva walked up, quietly, and bent down to touch Vaani's feet. Vaani stopped her mid-way, with a small shake of her head, and instead gestured for her to sit beside her. No words-just a silent understanding.

She sat.

"Divya aunty got saved," Iva mouthed softly.

Shravani's lips curled into a grim half-smile as she mouthed back, "Won't be for long."

Iva didn't flinch. Instead, she reached into her bag and handed Vaani the morning paper.

Vaani scanned the headline without a twitch in her expression. Then folded the paper neatly and placed it aside.

"She's not the victim," Vaani said quietly, eyes still on her sleeping son. "But she will know what it feels like to be one."

And then, silence again.

Iva reached out and gently placed her hand over Adwait's.

Then, just before leaving, Iva reached into her handbag and pulled out a cream-and-gold envelope-an invitation card, sealed with the Ambani family crest in soft emboss.

She placed it gently on Vaani's lap.

"I've kept a small pooja for Kiaan... at our place," she said quietly, careful not to wake Adwait. "I'd really like it if you both came. You too, Aunty."

Vaani looked at her, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. But she nodded slowly and picked up the card.

"I'll try," she said, her voice low but sincere.

Iva gave her a soft smile, stole one more glance at Adwait-peacefully unaware of the world for once-and turned to leave.

As her heels faded down the corridor, Vaani looked down at the envelope resting against her fingers. She ran her hand over the embossed crest. Her eyes drifted back to her son.

And the palace returned to its stillness.

°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°??

Shravani had been roaming the palace corridors since morning.

Not aimlessly, but searching-trying to piece together the years she had missed.

She'd memorized every nook of the Agnivanshi palace, hoping that each corner, each room would whisper some untold truth about her son.

The boy who now towered with confidence but carried old wounds too quietly.

Adwait had told her so much already. About Ivaan, about Mrutyunjay, about Veer. Even about the secrets and battles they fought in shadows. He held nothing back-except the one thing that mattered the most to her.

The pain.

Not once had he mentioned how for eleven years, he'd been caged in silence.

Eight years of cruelty wrapped in the name of discipline, served coldly by her own sister, Divya.

And then three more years of quiet suffering under Ridhima's watch-his father's sister, another name he never spoke with warmth.

He hadn't said a word about it.

But Shravani had eyes that once knew every flicker in her child's expression, and a mother's instinct that no time or distance could erase.

He had bled in silence. And protected even those who had made him bleed.

Her hands clenched at her sides.

Shravani stood near the grand hallway window, looking out at the morning light falling on the gardens. But the sunshine did nothing to warm the frost creeping through her spine.

"I'll make sure no one ever dares to hurt you again," she whispered to herself. Not as a promise. As a warning.

And for the first time since entering the Agnivanshi palace, she no longer looked like a long-lost guest.

She looked like MOTHER.

°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°????°? ?°??

The soft scent of incense drifted through the decorated halls of Leela Rêve, blending with the floral arrangements and faint notes of sandalwood.

Iva, dressed in a rich, pastel-toned Indian outfit-something elegant yet traditional-stood near the entrance, fingers nervously adjusting her bangles as she waited.

And then they entered.

Shravani, clad in a deep maroon cotton saree that carried understated grace, walked beside her son. Adwait wore a simple beige kurta, effortlessly dignified. The moment Iva saw them, a small breath escaped her lips.

She walked toward them, a genuine smile rising. She hugged Shravani warmly.

"You look beautiful," she whispered.

Shravani smiled softly, her hand briefly brushing Iva's cheek. Then Iva turned to Adwait, uncertain, seeking his eyes. He gave her a small, measured smile-not cold, but cautious. Still healing.

That one smile, restrained yet offered, was enough to steady her.

Just then, Kiaan strolled in, casual in his shirt and pants, his hair still slightly messy as if he'd run his hand through it too many times. Iva lit up, pulling him into a tight hug.

"My baby brother," she grinned.

"I'm literally taller than you," he mumbled, hugging back.

Iva chuckled, then turned to introduce Shravani.

"Shravani aunty, this is Virya, Vayu, and Ritika," she said warmly. Shravani folded her hands in greeting, composed yet alert.

As they exchanged greetings, the priest arrived.

"Panditji has come," one of the staff informed.

Everyone began moving toward the mandap setup.

"Where's Papa?" Vayu asked Iva, narrowing his eyes. "I have a surprise for all of you," he added with a smirk.

Just then, the door to the private lounge opened-and Viren Ambani stepped in.

The moment his eyes landed on Shravani, his confident stride slowed. The color drained subtly from his face. Shravani turned to see who'd arrived-and froze.

For a heartbeat, the air grew heavy.

"Papa," Iva called out, recovering first, "this is Shravani Agnivanshi... Adwait's mother."

It was formal. Too formal. The silence between Viren and Shravani lingered like a storm cloud no one wanted to acknowledge.

Viren didn't greet. Shravani didn't blink.

Adwait noticed. And so did Iva.

But the Pandit's voice cut through the tension: "Beti, aayiye. Pooja ka samay ho gaya."

Iva quickly turned and walked toward the setup, letting the heavy silence follow her. She sat cross-legged, folding her hands in prayer, but her mind wasn't on the chants.

Her thoughts swirled around what just happened.

Her father's unreadable face.

Shravani aunty's quiet but sharp stillness.

The history they clearly shared-but never spoke of.

And as mantras echoed, behind her, Kiaan rolled his eyes at Raha Agnivanshi, who had somehow decided this pooja for him was a good opportunity to sit beside him and poke his arm with a spoon every few minutes.

"Seriously?" he muttered.

"It's for your spiritual energy," Raha grinned. "Besides, you're welcome."

As the pooja wrapped up, the soft hum of conversation filled the courtyard of Leela Rêve. Shravani quietly stood near the edge of the gathering, sipping water, her maroon cotton saree a sharp contrast against the sleek modern décor.

Just then, Olivia walked in-sharp black trousers, a silk champagne blouse, and her signature oversized sunglasses still on indoors. She removed them dramatically as she approached, eyeing Shravani with open curiosity and a glass of sparkling water in hand.

"Oh," she said with a small smirk, "so you're Adwait's real mother?"

Shravani turned, meeting her gaze with grace. "Yes."

"Interesting," Olivia said, scanning her from head to toe without a hint of subtlety. "Where've you been hiding all this time? I mean, you missed some solid family chaos."

Iva, catching the tail end of that, muttered, "Olivia Masi, don't-"

Just then, her father Viren came in.

"Aunty, this is my father, Viren Ambani. Papa, yeh Shravani Aunty-Rajveer Agnivanshi's wife," Iva introduced, her voice composed but watchful.

"Viren Ambani," Shravani said, her voice calm but razor-edged.

"Shravani Agnivanshi," he returned, equally sharp.

"Mumma, what's going on?" Adwait asked, confused, looking between the two.

"Ask him," she said, pointing straight at Viren. "Ask him how the US intelligence found out where Veer and I were hiding."

"I didn't tell anyone anything," Viren said. "I was the one who gave you the safe house-"

"Exactly!" she snapped. "You gave us the hut. And then suddenly, somehow, they knew. You knew I was pregnant. You knew we had nowhere else to go. And then you pointed fingers?"

"It wasn't me. Only three people knew-me, Veer, and our Foreign Minister. I gave you a safe house because he asked me to."

"Are you sure?" Shravani's voice trembled with restrained fury. "Because when the US intelligence burnt my house, one of them said an American agent helped them-someone who betrayed their own."

There was a beat of silence before Olivia's voice cut through. "Because she had to save her newborn-IVA," she shouted.

Everyone turned. Olivia stepped forward.

"She was a fucking spy," Olivia spat. "You think they'd let Christina walk if she didn't give them something in return?"

Iva froze as her father's voice echoed in her memory.

"Your mother wanted to end it, once and for all. We worked together. We exposed the mafia's deals to US intelligence. Your mother gave them everything. She wanted freedom for you. For all of us."

Her eyes flicked to Adwait.

He wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking at her father - then at her.

And then, without a word, he turned and held Shravani's hand.

"Adwait..." she whispered.

But he had already begun walking away, his mother beside him. No anger in his face. Just quiet-devastating-distance.

Iva stood still, the world narrowing around her.

The truth settled like ice in her veins.

Her mother had traded their safehouse-his family's safety-to save her.

To save Iva.

Because of Christina Ambani, Adwait lost everything.

And Iva... was the reason why.

He didn't say a word. Not even a look. Not a question. He just... left.

Iva couldn't move. Her feet were rooted to the floor, but her mind was spiraling.

Did he hate me? No-he didn't even react enough to hate me.

He looked through me. The silence between them was worse than anger.

If he had yelled, blamed, raged... maybe she could have said something.

Maybe she could have taken the fire and turned it into some form of redemption.

But this? This quiet withdrawal... it was final. It was unforgiving.

How many lives did my mother's love for me destroy?

Iva clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wanted freedom for me.

.. and gave him chains. She saved me from a country I didn't even know, but doomed him in a world he was born into.

How could she defend that? How could she ever look at Adwait again and pretend her name didn't bring with it the scent of betrayal?

The woman he lost-his father, his home, his family-all gone because Christina Ambani saved her child and made a trade no one else consented to.

I didn't ask for it. I was a baby. But I'm still paying the price.

And so is he.

He never hated her-he was too kind for that. But he carried her choices, her name, her privilege... like a wound that never closed. And she-foolishly, selfishly-tried to love him without understanding the blood that still stained his past.

"Iva darling, you don't need to worry about anything," Olivia said, her voice unusually gentle, as she reached out to hold her shoulder.

"But Adwait-" Iva's voice cracked, eyes still fixed on the door he'd disappeared through, heart thudding like a metronome gone wild.

"Stop fucking ranting his name!" Olivia snapped, her calm shattering into sharp edges. "You're just like your mother. Always choosing others over your own damn family!"

Iva flinched, but Olivia didn't stop.

"Your mother never chose us. Not once. And now you're walking the same path. She made her bed with traitors, thinking she could rewrite fate with some noble sacrifice. And now you-god, Iva-now you're repeating history without even knowing the full damn story."

Her voice trembled, not from sadness but rage long buried.

"I told her to stay in the shadows. I begged her.

But no-Christina wanted a happily ever after.

What did that get us? A CIA raid. A fucking funeral.

A child who grew up in guilt. She gave hell to everyone and left us to clean it up.

And now look-look what she left behind. Look at you. "

Her voice rose. "She burned everything down for some idea of freedom. She gave us war and walked away. She wanted a happily ever after, and all she left behind was ruin. And now you-you're dragging yourself into the same fucking pit."

Iva stood frozen. Not because Olivia was right. But because she finally saw her for what she was.

Olivia's jaw tightened. "You think I'm cruel?

I gave everything for your mother.

My position. My security. I erased myself so she could have a chance at something better.

I told her to stay in the shadows. I begged her not to chase some fairytale with Viren.

But no - Christina wanted love. Wanted a fucking baby.

Wanted peace in a world that doesn't give it to women like us. "

She stepped closer, eyes narrowed. "And look what she gave us in return. A broken trail of bodies. A family torn apart. A daughter who didn't even know the truth for half her life."

Iva's lip trembled, but Olivia wasn't done.

"You were supposed to be our redemption. You were the only thing left after she burned it all down. And now you're doing the same fucking thing she did - choosing him over us. That Agnivanshi boy will be the end of you. Mark my words, Iva. He will be your ruin."

Iva met her gaze, breath shallow. "At least I'm choosing him - not surviving off the regrets of someone else's life, like you are."

Olivia's eyes flinched - just for a second. The truth cut through her armor sharper than any bullet ever had.

The silence after Olivia's outburst stretched like a noose. Iva stood in it, unmoving.

Inside her, something had cracked wide open.

She looked around - at the mandir, the unfinished pooja, the guests who didn't matter, her father with a truth too late, and the memory of her mother who had meant to save her but ended up destroying everything Adwait held dear.

Her gaze lingered on the entrance.

She could still hear Adwait's voice echoing in her mind: "Do you know how many people you've hurt? Mumma. Me."

It wasn't just a question-

It was a wound. Quiet, deep, and still bleeding.

And for once, she had no answer. No fire left. No defense.

She turned, quietly. Took one step back. Then another. Nobody stopped her. Not even Olivia - who just looked on with her usual bitter satisfaction.

No dramatic declarations.

No goodbye.

Just escape.

Because in that moment, Iva knew the most dangerous truth of all - she wasn't the cure to Adwait's pain.

She was the reason for it.

And love, no matter how fierce, couldn't undo what had already been scorched.

So she ran.

No suitcase. No plan.

Just a girl who carried a dynasty on her shoulders and a war in her heart - finally choosing silence over chaos.

And as the gates of Leela Rêve closed behind her, only one thought echoed in her mind:"He deserved peace. Even if it meant a world without me in it."

Maybe next time, the universe could skip choosing her as the plot twist.

? ? ?