26. Confession
I genuinely cannot believe this girl. I put a marriage condition in front of her.
And she… went to sleep.
Who does that?
I exhaled slowly, trying to process the level of nonchalance I had just witnessed. If this were anyone else, they would’ve either cried, argued for three hours, or fainted dramatically.
But Dhwani Rathore?
She pulled my blanket and passed out like she had just negotiated vegetable prices.
I walked toward the bed, and sat on the opposite corner, before removing my glasses and placing them on the side table. For a second, I just stood there, looking at her.
Her face was calm. Serene. Almost annoyingly peaceful.
Yes, peaceful.
After completely wrecking mine.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across her cheek. Her breathing was slow, steady. No tension. No panic. No visible sign that I had just shaken her world.
Or maybe she had shaken mine.
I guess she was just too exhausted to react.
But how does she fight like a storm one second and then sleep like a baby the next?
I leaned slightly closer, studying her expression.
This same girl accused me of something that still burns in my chest… then came back begging for help… then rejected my marriage condition… then occupied my bed.
Uninvited.
Unapologetic.
Unbothered.
I ran a hand through my hair.
Marriage.
What the hell was I even thinking?
Was I trying to protect her?
Or trap her?
“You’re actually trying to keep her closer. Always.” My own mind threw the accusation at me.
Yes.
That’s exactly what I’m doing.
Every condition.
Every deal.
Every argument.
Even that damn marriage line.
It was never about control.
If I let her walk away now, she won’t come back. Not like this. Not willingly. Not openly.
After this, she won't be mine and I will never be hers.
The thought hit harder than it should have.
She barged into my life like a storm.
Lied to me.
Betrayed me.
Challenged me.
Accused me.
Fought me.
And still, somewhere between her chaos and my rage, she became something I wasn’t prepared for.
Necessary.
I leaned back on the couch, eyes closed, the memory dragging me back to last night.
After Dhwani walked out of my room, I didn’t give myself time to think. I called Ishaan.
He came within minutes—no questions, no delay. Just like always.
He stepped inside, took one look at my face, and sighed.“What happened?”
He reads me better than I read myself.
“I gave the designs to Dhwani,” I said flatly.
His brows snapped together. “You did what?”
“She’ll leave,” I continued, ignoring the disbelief in his tone. “She’ll go to the person who’s controlling all this. Follow her. Don’t let her know. Just… make sure she stays safe. And bring all the details, I want Samarth back in Mumbai before the Gala night.”
Ishaan stared at me like I had just confessed to arson.
“Aren’t you afraid,” he said slowly, stepping closer, “what if that person misuses those designs?”
I exhaled through my nose, rubbing my temple.
“Dhwani can be reckless, Ishaan. Emotional. Impulsive.” I paused. “But she’s not brainless. She won’t hand those designs to anyone until she’s sure Samarth is in front of her.”
“You trust her that much?” His voice sharpened. “Since she entered your life she has lied, manipulated, pretended. And still?”
I looked up at him.
“She might have chosen the wrong path,” I said quietly, “but her intentions were born from desperation. Her only crime is that she loves her brother too fiercely… and I don’t believe a sister who is willing to burn herself to save her brother can be evil at her core.”
Ishaan folded his arms.
“You’re defending her like you’re her lawyer,” he said dryly. “Even though the ‘innocent’ you’re defending accused you of the worst thing possible.”
I closed my eyes. Yes he knows everything. He always does.
“Can’t help it,” I muttered. “She’s… gotten under my skin in a way I don’t understand. It’s like my mind refuses to judge her the way logic should.”
Ishaan’s eyes softened for a second.
“What is it, Yugant?” he asked quietly. “What does she have that has you this messed up? Are you falling for her?”
The word hit hard. Falling?
“Falling?” I scoffed, turning away. “I’m doing this for Samarth. He was my best friend.” I tried convincing him, or myself.
Ishaan chuckled.
“Oh really? So that makes Samarth’s sister your sister too, right?” He tilted his head. “You know what I mean.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped instantly. “Dhwani isn’t my sister.”
“Oh?” He stepped closer. “Then who is she?”
“She is—” I stopped because I didn’t know either.
“She’s… just my…responsibility,” I finished stiffly. “Because Samarth isn’t here.”
Ishaan gave me a long, unimpressed look.
“Nice try,” he muttered. “But you can’t fool me. You’re not falling for her, Yugant.” He paused. “You’re already there.”
“No,” I said immediately. “It’s not like that.”
“Really?” He stepped even closer now, voice lower. “Or you just don’t have the courage to admit it?”
“You’re overthinking.”
“Well, if that’s true, then it's good news for me.”
I frowned. “What?”
He shrugged casually. “Dhwani’s a nice girl. If you’re not interested… I might have a shot. You already have a girlfri—”
I didn’t even remember moving.
My fist grabbed his collar, pulling him forward. “What did you just say?”
He raised both hands in mock surrender, but that stupid smirk stayed.
“Easy, Yugant sir,” he drawled. “Just stating possibilities. Unless… you actually have feelings for her?”
My grip tightened for a second before I shoved him back. I didn’t understand anything.
Did I want her?
Yes, I do.
Did I trust her?
Not completely.
Did I care what happened to her?
More than I should.
“Go,” I muttered, turning away. “Follow her. Make sure she’s safe.”
“Of course I will.” He adjusted his collar. Then his tone shifted—serious now. “But you should think about your own life too.”
I stayed silent.
He walked toward the door, then stopped.
“Friendly advice,” he said without looking back. “If you love her, keep her close now. Because if she walks away this time… you and I both know there would not be a second chance, and what's coming next. .”
The door closed behind him and I didn’t have a single argument left to deny it.
FLASHBACK ENDS :-
Ishaan was right. He and I both knew what was coming next.
The Gala.
The exposure.
The truth.
The choice.
And She
Everything was converging at the same point—and I was standing exactly in the middle of it.
My gaze shifted back to her.
She was asleep on my bed, one arm tucked under the pillow, hair scattered like she had fought a war before surrendering to sleep. Reckless. Stubborn. Annoying. Dramatic.
And mine.
I let out a slow breath.
Yes. I love this stupid, impulsive, firecracker of a girl.
I’ve known it for a while. I just didn’t have the courage to say it out loud—even to myself. I kept hiding behind excuses. Samarth. Responsibility. Revenge. Circumstances.
Truth?
I was lying to myself.
From the day she stepped into my house with those wide, pretending-to-be-innocent eyes…
something shifted. Every time she looked at me innocently, every time she glared, every time she tried to outsmart me and failed miserably.
She occupied space in my head without permission. And my heart followed.
Samarth is coming soon. And once her brother is back, once her world is stable again… what place will I have in it?
She’ll walk out of this house with her brother and she’ll take the noise with her.
The chaos.
The arguments.
The flour on my floor.
The unnecessary drama at dinner.
The way my name sounds when she says it.
She’ll take all of it.
And what will be left?
The Royal Silence.
The kind of silence this mansion has known before—heavy, echoing, suffocating. The same silence that followed my family’s funeral. The same silence that made these walls feel like a grave instead of a home.
She brought light without even trying.
Not soft light. Not gentle.
Wild light.
Like someone threw open all the windows in a storm and said, “Deal with it.”
I closed my eyes again, and I don’t even know when sleep finally claimed me.
?
My eyes opened before the sun had even risen. The sky outside was still grey.
Instinctively, my gaze shifted to the bed. Dhwani was sleeping peacefully, curled into the comforter. A smile came to my lips seeing her so peaceful, back again in my room.
My phone vibrated against the couch.
I glanced at the screen. Ishaan.
Exhaling, I answered.
“Yes, Ishaan?”
“Sir, I’m leaving for UAE.”
“I know,” I said, keeping my voice low. He had already messaged me from Rajasthan and updated me about everything.
“Have you found out who manipulated the charges against Samarth? Who actually put him behind bars?”
“I’ve tracked the person,” he replied. “Use my sources. But I can’t move from here. I’ll update you once I meet Samarth.”
My jaw tightened. “Fine. But make sure you come back with him. I want Samarth here.”
There was a brief pause on the other end.
“Don’t worry. He will be back before the Gala.”
I ended the call and looked at Dhwani again. “ Your brother will be back soon.”
I glanced at the time.
4:00 a.m.
Too early for the world. Too late for my thoughts.
Sleep wasn’t coming back, not with everything running through my head. So I pushed myself off the couch, grabbed a towel, and headed to the shower.
Cold water hit my skin, sharp and unforgiving. Good. I needed that. I needed something steady, something physical, something that didn’t involve emotions.
After drying off, I changed into my workout clothes and walked toward the gym.
If my mind refused to quiet down, I’d exhaust my body instead.
I finished my workout, pushed myself harder than usual, like if I exhausted my body enough my brain would shut up too.
It didn’t.
After that, I made myself a strong coffee. Bitter. Just how I prefer things when life gets complicated.
I showered again, changed into a crisp suit, and by nine I was at the office.
The Gala is in just two days.
I walked straight to the design vault. Today was about the actual pieces—the finished jewellery crafted from months of precision, sleepless nights, and five years of obsession.
Yes, I handed Dhwani the sketches.
But the real power lies in the physical pieces.
At the Grand Aurum Exhibition, nobody cares about paper. They care about diamonds, gold, craftsmanship, exclusivity. The real pieces are what get judged. What gets auctioned. What get immortalised.
So what would he possibly do with design drafts? Right? That's what everyone thinks. But that's where the downfall lies.
Maheshwar Pratap Rathore wants to sabotage Raizaada’s work.
If he has the sketches, he can leak them to a rival brand and claim design theft at the last minute or register the concepts under his own shell company before the Gala.
Or worse—accuse Raizaada Jewels of plagiarism during the Gala itself.
At Grand Aurum, even a whisper of “copied design” is enough to destroy reputation.
That's what happened last time as well. And the price of that downfall is still hanging fresh around my neck as a contract. Apart from that Raizaada went through public humiliation. Financial crash. Brand collapse.
And that's exactly what he wanted. He wanted Raizaada to fall on the same stage where we were supposed to rise.
Not happening this time.
“Good morning, sir,” the head artisan greeted me as I stepped inside the design vault.
I gave him a short nod.
The vault doors shut behind me with a mechanical hum. Cold air. White lights.
The first tray was placed in front of me.
The Rajgira Collection centerpiece.
White gloves on, I lifted the necklace carefully.
Emeralds sourced from Kashmir. Antwerp cut. Jaipur meenakari detailing on the reverse. The craftsmanship was flawless at first glance.
At first glance.
I tilted it slightly under the focused light.
“Perfect.” I don't have any other words to define that.
I moved to the next piece—a heavy choker with layered diamonds and polki fusion. It was breathtaking.
Next tray.
The showstopper piece.
The one designed to make the entire Gala hold its breath.
A structured diamond collar with floating ruby droplets suspended almost invisibly.
I stared at it for a few seconds longer than the others. It would look perfect on Dhwani, wouldn't it?
“Security protocol?”
“Triple-layered, sir. Two internal guards, one external. Only coded access.”
“Alright,” I replied instantly. “From now on, no piece leaves this vault without my written authorization. Not verbal. Written. Even if it’s me asking.”
The artisan blinked. “Noted.”
I stepped back, hands behind my back, scanning the next design.
“And one more thing,” I added. “No digital copies of final CAD files. Delete backups from shared drives. Store encrypted versions offline only.”
“Sir… is there any threat?”
I looked at him. “There is always a threat. If anyone— media, sponsors—asks for a preview, they get curated images only. Not full designs. I want the reveal to hit like a bullet.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turned toward the final tray and paused.
If this time, if someone tries to pull the ground from under my feet—I’ll bury them under it.
Everything was perfect.
I turned and walked out of the vault, sealing the matter for now. After that, I headed straight into the conference room. The entire Gala team was already seated — designers, logistics heads, security coordinators, PR.
Since Ishaan wasn’t here, everything landed on me.
For two straight hours, I dissected every detail.
Lighting angles for the stage reveal. Model lineup rotation. Last-minute risk assessments.
No one breathed wrong around me.
By the time I stepped out of the meeting room, it was 12:05 PM.
I loosened my tie slightly and pulled out my phone.
Fifteen missed calls.
From Dhwani.
All within the last five minutes.
Before I could even process that, her call came again. My phone was silent.
I answered immediately.
“What is it?” I asked, colder than intended.
“I’m in your cabin,” she said.
I stopped walking. “What?”
“I said I’m in your cabin. Where are you?”
She is in my cabin?
Why? I turned toward the executive corridor and walked straight to my cabin, irritation still sitting on my shoulders.
As I pushed the door open—I stopped.
She was standing near the glass window.
Sunlight streamed in from behind her, framing her silhouette in gold. A paintbrush was tucked behind her ear. Her hair was tied in a loose, messy bun — strands slipping out. A canvas rested on the stand in front of her, and she was humming softly… completely lost in whatever she was creating.
She didn’t even notice me.
That black knee length dress. No effort. No jewelry. No pretence.
And Fuck. She looked unreal.
There’s something dangerous about a woman who looks most beautiful when she doesn’t know she’s being watched. My irritation dissolved.
I leaned against the door quietly, folding my arms.
“So,” I finally spoke, my voice low, controlled, “this is why you called me fifteen times?”
She flinched slightly, then turned. Her eyes softened when they landed on me.
Then, of course, she ruined it.
“Oh, you came,” she said casually. “Good. Don’t disturb. I’m fixing your future.”
“What fixing my future?”
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.
“Why are you here?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
“Told you,” she replied without looking at me. “Came to fix your future, Mr. Raizaada.”
The way she says Yugant is different. Softer. Warmer.
But she only uses it when she wants.
“How exactly?” I scoffed. “With a brush and paint on your Canva?”
I was irritated — not at her. At myself. Because my eyes refused to leave her.
“Come here,” she ordered, crooking her finger.
I walked closer.
She leaned slightly toward me and her fragrance hit me— something like rain-soaked earth mixed with faint sandalwood. Clean. Intoxicating. Dangerous.
“Look,” she said, turning my face gently toward the canvas. “This is your future.”
I looked.
It was me. Or at least a version of me. Standing tall. Confident. Wearing a black sherwani.
And beside me—A woman.
Painted delicately. Elegant. Graceful.
“Who is she?” I asked, my jaw tightening.
“She,” Dhwani said calmly, “is your future wife.”
I blinked.
“But you don’t look like her,” I replied before I could stop myself.
She pressed her palm to her forehead dramatically. “Obviously. Because it won’t be me. It will be someone else.”
Silence.
The words didn’t sting immediately. They settled. Then burned.
“That’s what I came to tell you,” she continued, still staring at the painting.
She pressed her palm dramatically to her forehead. “Obviously. Because it won’t be me. It will be someone else.”
Silence.
The words didn’t hurt instantly. They sank in slowly. Then burned.
“That’s what I came to tell you,” she continued, eyes still on the painting. “Stop throwing these deals in my face every time I need your help. I’m truly ashamed of what I did before… but marriage is a big thing. And I’m not ready for that.”
“But why?” I stepped closer.
She stepped back.
“It’s because…” She looked around the cabin, as if the walls were listening, then back at me. “It’s because I don’t know you. I don't love you and you don't know me either.”
I closed the distance anyway and cupped her face in my hand, forcing her to look at me.
“Okay,” I said quietly, firmly. “Then let me make this clear.”
Her breath slowed. “I know you, I love you and I want you.”
The words felt steady. Not impulsive. Not dramatic. Just true.
“I loved you from the day you walked into my life with these big, innocent eyes and turned my kitchen into a battlefield. From that chaotic, flour-covered disaster to this sharp, strong woman standing in front of me—I love every version of you.”
Her lashes trembled.
“I love your silence. I love your stubbornness. I love that reckless courage you carry like a weapon. I love the way you fight for your brother. I love the way you argue like you’re always right—even when you’re completely wrong.”
Her lips parted slightly.
My thumb brushed her cheek gently. “I want to marry you because when you walk out of a room, it feels empty. Because when you disappear for a few hours, my entire day derails. Because I cannot imagine building a future where you’re not standing next to me.”
Her eyes filled.
“You say you don’t know me,” I continued softly. “Then know this— I am not asking you to marry me because you need help. I am asking because I don’t want a life where you aren’t in it.”
I leaned closer, resting my forehead lightly against hers.
“I am not offering you a deal this time, Dhwani Rathore. I am offering you myself.” My voice lowered. “Stay because you want to. Not because you have to.”
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