Chapter 14 Not Just a Name
Sometimes the quietest hearts carry the fiercest fire.
- Adhrita Adani
Adhrita sat beside Vritant in the sleek black car, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows. He was deep into a phone call, voice low and clipped, the weight of business threading through every word.
She glanced out the window, uncertainty knotting in her chest. Where were they headed? The Vardhan Mansion was behind them now, but this didn't feel like a casual detour.
Finally, after a pause in his conversation, Vritant ended the call and glanced over, catching her silent question.
"We're going to Vardhan Media Communications," he said, voice cool but without explanation.
Adhrita nodded, her mind racing - the name alone carried the weight of power, influence, and a thousand unspoken stories.
The car slowed as it approached a discreet, heavily guarded building-security more visible here than anywhere else.
The car eased to a stop just before the towering glass facade of Vardhan Media Communications. Uniformed guards flanked the entrance, their gazes sharp and unyielding. Cameras scanned the perimeter, capturing every detail.
Without a word, Vritant stepped out first, his presence alone parting the sea of watchful eyes. Adhrita followed, her steps steady despite the weight pressing down from the silent scrutiny.
Inside, the lobby was a sleek blend of polished marble and cutting-edge tech.
Massive LED screens lined the walls, cycling through news headlines and social media feeds-most dominated by the Vardhan name.
Among the scrolling images, Adhrita spotted photos of herself and Vritant: candid moments captured at recent events, carefully posed shots, and even the latest Instagram post from Vritant's surprisingly active account.
Adhrita swallowed hard. Here, even a simple picture was a statement, a story crafted for the world's gaze.
A discreet nod from Vritant, a private elevator was summoned. The doors slid open smoothly, revealing a cabin fortified for the family's exclusive use.
They stepped inside, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound as it ascended silently toward the top floors-where power and control truly resided.
"Sorry, I have to make a stop here," Vritant said, voice calm but edged with authority. The elevator doors slid open before them, parting on command as his guards stepped aside.
They moved inside, the familiar chill of polished floors and whispered power wrapping around her.
Vardhan Media Communications? Adhrita's mind spun. Aaradhya Vardhan? Saanvi's sister-in-law? What are they doing here?
She had things to discuss with Vritant - important things - yet he seemed caught up in his own world, busy and distant.
There she was. Aaradhya, seated with practiced poise in a sharp coat and impeccably professional attire, radiating a strange mix of fear and arrogance.
Adhrita took a seat beside Vritant, both of them settling opposite Aaradhya's desk, the tension between them thick as the room hummed with unspoken challenges.
"Well, you're here finally," Aaradhya said, eyes flicking to Vritant with a mix of challenge and relief. Then, her gaze locked onto Adhrita.
"So, it was all about you, Adhrita. Good that you could join us."
Turning back to Vritant, her voice sharpened, laced with accusation.
"So for her, you forced me to post those pictures on social media and make headlines? I had to make it look like there was something between you two? And what's this sudden Instagram account of yours?"
Vritant leaned back casually, unbothered, and grabbed the LED control remote from the table. Pointing it at the panel, he started pressing buttons.
"AC remote?" Aaradhya asked, incredulous.
"Where's yours? Didn't like your tone," he replied, voice cool as ice.
Aaradhya's eyes narrowed, but Vritant's calm defiance left her momentarily speechless.
Adhrita sat quietly, the weight of the conversation settling like a stone in her chest. This wasn't the meeting she expected.
"You didn't like my tone?" Aaradhya's voice rose sharply as she stood, eyes flashing with anger.
She shot a pointed glare at Adhrita before turning back to Vritant.
"You made me look bad in front of Badi Maa.
She called me to her office, demanding to know why her son and his so-called future wife are plastered across every news channel. Obviously, she knows I made it happen."
Vritant rose slowly from his chair, expression unreadable but ice-cold beneath the faint smile tugging at his lips.
"You're the owner of Vardhan Media Communications. You must be talented enough to act in front of your Badi Maa. If you can twist our pictures and make them headlines however you want, I'm sure you're skilled enough to manage your own image too."
Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the microphone from the table and hurled it at the framed achievement behind her. The glass shattered with a sharp crack, shards scattering across the floor.
"Next time, don't ever command me to come to your office. Don't ever raise your voice. And most definitely, don't ever call her 'my so-called.' Because next time, this frame won't be the only thing broken. It'll be you-and your image."
He smiled then, slow and dangerous.
"Bhai, please I am sorry..." Aaradhya's voice cracked, pleading as fear seeped into her tone.
But Vritant didn't flinch.
Adhrita's pulse quickened, caught between fascination and disbelief. This wasn't just family drama - it was a calculated show of power, a warning cloaked in calm menace.
He was smiling, threatening his own cousin.
And Aaradhya? She was the one who had made those headlines viral, painting their fractured family in bold, public strokes.
Adhrita shifted uneasily in her seat, suddenly hyper-aware that in the mansion, every word was a move on a high-stakes chessboard.
He moved toward the door, then stopped and turned back, eyes narrowing with deliberate intent.
"One of your minions called me-just 'Vritant.'" His voice dropped, cold and laced with biting sarcasm. "Oh, let me tell you his exact words: 'Vritant, what happened to your hand? Is it connected to her?'"
A slow, sardonic smile twisted his lips.
"And wasn't he the same one who called me 'Vardhan'? What was the headline again? Ah, yes-'Bandaged Hand, Hidden Story - Vardhan Spotted With CM's Daughter.'"
Adhrita's heart skipped. He remembered everything - the whispers, the rumors, the way the world had twisted their story into headlines.
"Bhai Please I am sorry, you told me no questions should be directed at her, but he..."
"He what?" Vritant interrupted sharply, his voice rising just enough to remind everyone who he was. "PM's son? I am fucking Vritant Vardhan-a businessman. Maybe you all forget that, and it's my responsibility to remind you."
His eyes locked onto Aaradhya's, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the room.
Then, slowly, his gaze shifted to Adhrita-eyes sharp and unyielding, carrying a silent accusation far heavier than any spoken word.
It wasn't anger. It was something colder, sharper-disappointment.
His eyes scanned her, as if measuring every inch of her resolve, silently questioning her strength.
Adhrita met his stare, heart tightening under that silent judgment.
She could almost hear the unspoken question lingering in the air: Is this the strength you promised?
The doubt curled inside her like a cold shadow, whispering she wasn't strong enough, wasn't enough.
But beneath that weight, something else stirred-a flicker of quiet defiance.
If you think I'm weak, she told herself, you don't know me at all.
That look, meant to break her, only forged a new kind of strength-one born not from ease, but from raw necessity.
She lifted her chin, heart pounding, and met his gaze without flinching.
Because strength wasn't about never falling-it was about rising, every single time.
Adhrita stepped closer, eyes catching a faint red spot near Aaradhya's neck.
"It looks like an allergy," she said softly, clinical and calm. "Have you used any new chemical products recently?"
Aaradhya's surprise was clear-the shift from heated accusations to quiet expertise caught her off guard.
For a moment, the room stilled. No one spoke, but the message was unmistakable: She wasn't just someone's shadow or political pawn. She was Doctor Adhrita-steady, observant, and in control.
Without breaking her gaze, Adhrita reached out, took a pen from the stand, and scribbled a few words on a notepad:
"The Hindi media keeps calling me 'CM's daughter.' Maybe they don't know how to spell my name. So, here's something for future reference."
Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and walked out with Vritant-leaving behind the sharp words and the weight of being dismissed as 'CM's daughter.'
Once outside, Vritant glanced at her and smirked.
"Wasn't expecting the doctor to pack up and leave so fast. Guess 'CM's daughter' has better things to do."
They settled into the car, the engine humming softly around them.
He smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. "You know, your handwriting? It's dangerously close to a new font. I'm thinking we could trademark 'Adhruta Adaani and Vrutant Vardhan'-catchy, right?"
Adhrita rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Better than whatever the media's been printing."
"How did you even write your name in Hindi like that?" he asked, voice low and playful.
She reached into her bag, fingers dipping into the side pocket. From there, she pulled out a sleek card - his card.
The Ace of Hearts. A of Hearts.
With a small, deliberate motion, she took a pen, wrote "dhrita" right after the 'A', then beneath it penned her name in Gujarati - ??????? - and just below that, in Hindi - ???????.
She slid the card toward him, eyes steady.
He laughed softly, slipping the card into the inner pocket of his coat with a satisfied smirk.
Then his eyes caught the screen - Ashwin Adani's name flashing again.
"Still ignoring your father's calls?" he asked, voice laced with dry amusement as he noticed her lingering gaze on the phone.
Adhrita just shook her head, her eyes drifting toward the window, lost in thought as the city blurred past.
??? V ? A ???
The evening sun cast a warm golden glow over the garden as Adhrita wandered along the winding paths. Around her, dozens of white pigeons cooed softly, their feathers gleaming in the fading light.
Her eyes caught a smaller one, slightly apart from the rest. Without hesitation, she knelt down gently, cupping the delicate bird in her hands. She pressed a soft kiss to its head, feeling a rare, tender calm settle over her.
Suddenly, a sharp bark shattered the quiet-Karma's voice. The startled pigeons burst into the air, wings fluttering like white clouds scattered by a gust.
Adhrita looked up to see Karma bounding toward her, tail wagging energetically. Was he jealous?
Smiling softly, she kissed the pigeon once more before releasing it into the sky, watching it soar free among its flock.
Karma barked again, and this time, she laughed-a genuine, light sound that mingled with the evening breeze.
Just then, Vritant appeared with Neil, his PA, following closely behind. Adhrita settled into a nearby chair, and Karma leapt onto her lap, tail wagging happily.
Vritant nodded toward Neil. "Give her the file."
Neil handed the folder to Adhrita. "Ma'am, this is the draft you asked for."
Vritant motioned for Neil to leave, then took a seat beside her, gently lifting Karma from her lap.
"Adhrita," he said softly, his tone carrying weight.
But Adhrita had already made up her mind.
"I know you have a lot of questions, Vritant," she said quietly, her eyes scanning the pages. "But this is what I want."
Her voice steadied as she pointed to the clauses-words clear and unambiguous, stating she was no longer an Adani in any official sense.
The decision was hers. Final.
"But why do you want to do this?" Vritant asked, confusion threading his voice. He still couldn't grasp why she'd insist on such a draft.
She looked up, eyes steady on the papers. "Vritant, I'll be Adhrita Vritant Vardhan soon. So whether I'm an Adani or not doesn't matter anymore."
Her mind flickered to the email from his father-the sting of those words still etched deep: Nothing at all. You're just the CM's daughter.
He frowned, searching her face. "I'm not asking you to change your name after marriage. Then what's all this for?"
She set the file down on the table and turned to face him fully, her eyes searching his.
"Would you not accept me as your wife? As a Vardhan?" Her voice was soft, laced with hope - raw and unguarded. For once, this was the Adhrita who didn't hide behind walls.
Vritant was caught off guard. This wasn't the guarded woman he usually knew - this was someone baring her truth, refusing to mask her fears.
"Adhrita," he began carefully, "if it's about why I didn't defend you in front of Aaradhya, then I'm sorry - but I don't fight other people's battles. She was belittling you, and it was your fight to own."
He paused, eyes steady on her. "That doesn't mean I won't accept you as Vardhan. If you marry me, you'll be Adhrita Vritant Vardhan. In fact, not just that - you'll be Dr. Adhrita Vritant Vardhan."
She shook her head, voice steady and fierce. "It's not about Aaradhya or anyone else. It's about me. About my identity. You told Aaradhya to remind everyone you're not just the PM's son. Well, I need to remind myself that I'm not just the CM's daughter too."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with determination - a quiet promise to herself as much as to him.
"Why don't you start with CM saab?" he asked, waving his phone at her with a teasing smirk.
Adhrita took a deep breath, nodded, and picked up her phone from the table. Her thumb hovered over the number for several seconds, but she didn't call.
When she glanced up for a bit of courage, Vritant was casually playing with a stray lock of her hair. Seriously? She shook her head, half amused, half exasperated.
"Texture still hard?" she asked quietly.
Without thinking, he muttered, "Yeah... it wasn't like this in New York-"
He cut himself off abruptly, eyes widening as he realized what he'd almost said.
Then, as if to erase the moment, Vritant's gaze shifted sideways, latching onto an easier distraction - Karma chasing after a flock of pigeons, scattering them in a flurry of wings.
"Good boy," Vritant said with a smirk.
"Good boy?" Adhrita raised an eyebrow. "He's scaring them away."
"If he doesn't scare them, they won't take flight," Vritant replied softly. "They think this place is their home. But it's a cage - one that feels comfortable enough not to be noticed."
"Then why is Karma here?" she asked quietly.
"Because some karmas are meant to stay behind walls." He turned back to her, voice soft but firm. "So now, Dr. Adhrita, please call CM saab."
She hesitated. "What will I tell him?"
Vritant grinned, eyes twinkling. "Forget that. Just send a pigeon with this letter."
He recited, voice dripping with sarcasm and warmth,
"Dear CM papa,
Hope you saw the news. I'm already home, so come and bless me.
Your dearest ex-daughter and soon-to-be Mrs. Vritant Vardhan."
Adhrita laughed, the sound light and genuine, breaking through the tension like sunlight through clouds.
Just then, Rawat entered briskly.
"CM saab is here," he announced.
Vritant smirked, eyes gleaming.
"Oops, looks like your letter's sealed and delivered."
Adhrita's smile faded, the weight of reality settling back in. Have some faith in yourself, Adhrita, she told silently, steeling her nerves for what was to come.
As they entered the grand main hall, Adhrita's eyes swept over the gathered Vardhan family-each figure exuding quiet power and polished grace. Her father stood nearby, bearing sweets, gifts, and the unmistakable weight of formality. Her uncle and aunty were there too, exchanging polite smiles.
"Arey CM saab, aap toh puri taiyari ke saath aaye ho," Vritant said with a teasing grin, sliding into the seat opposite him.
Ashwin Adani smiled warmly. "Adhrita beta, you should have told me you were already at the Vardhan mansion. I was looking for you everywhere."
Before Adhrita could reply, Vedashree's voice cut through the room, calm yet commanding. "Ashwin, I want to speak with Adhrita alone."
Adhrita froze. A private conversation with Vedashree Vardhan? Of course she would want to talk.
Her eyes flicked to Vritant, who sat nearby. He slipped a lighter silently into her palm-an unspoken reassurance. She clasped it tightly and gave him a subtle nod.
With that, Vedashree led her away toward the study room, the doors closing softly behind them.
Vedashree's steps echoed softly as she led Adhrita into the study. She stopped abruptly in front of a grand wall lined with portraits - each one steeped in history and quiet authority.
"Come," Vedashree commanded, her voice steady and unwavering.
Adhrita moved closer, clutching the lighter in her palm like an anchor, feeling its reassuring weight.
"He is my father-in-law, Raj Vardhan," Vedashree said, pointing to the first regal portrait. "And She," she continued, gesturing to the next, "is my mother-in-law, Devika Vardhan."
Adhrita's eyes scanned the royal faces - stately, proud, and cold.
Vedashree shifted her gaze to the next frame. "Vedashree and Shaurya Vardhan."
Then another. "Dev and Anamika Vardhan."
A smaller portrait followed - "Aaradhya Vardhan," a baby swathed in royal finery.
Finally, two side-by-side frames at the end. "These are... my sons."
She paused, letting the silence hang heavy before finishing, "Vedant and Vritant Vardhan."
Adhrita's breath caught. "They're twins?"
Vedashree nodded, eyes never leaving her.
"One died. One survived."
Her voice dropped slightly, sharper now.
"You're going to marry the one who survived."
Adhrita's breath hitched, her heart skipping a beat. For a moment, silence stretched between them - heavy, loaded with unspoken weight.
Her mind raced-They are identical, lookalikes. How do I live up to a shadow that was lost?
For a heartbeat, silence stretched, heavy with expectation and unspoken fears. She steadied herself, meeting Vedashree's gaze with a quiet resolve she hadn't yet felt.
"So that's the Vardhan family," Vedashree said, voice smooth but edged with meaning. "You already know the daughter of Vardhan, Shweta, and the nephew of Vardhan - Aryan? Your cousin is married to, right?"
Adhrita nodded, keeping her expression neutral.
Vedashree moved behind the large mahogany desk, her eyes sharp as she gestured toward the chair.
"Please, sit."
Vedashree settled behind the desk, fingers steepled as she regarded Adhrita with a measured, almost icy calm.
"You must understand, Adhrita," she began, voice low and deliberate, "in this family, appearances and allegiances matter more than feelings. Power isn't given - it's inherited, protected, and commanded."
Her gaze sharpened, piercing right through her.
"I don't dislike you for who you are, but for what you represent. The Vardhan name carries weight and responsibility. We don't have room for distractions or weaknesses - especially not from those who step into this house wearing a different legacy."
She paused, letting her words settle like stones.
"If you want to be part of this family - truly part of it - you will need to learn that loyalty isn't a suggestion. It's a demand."
Then, almost softer but no less firm, "Consider this a warning, not a welcome."
Vedashree slid a notepad across the polished desk toward Adhrita, then took a pen from the stand and placed it firmly beside the pad.
Adhrita stared, utterly confused.
"Are you mute?" Vedashree's voice cut through the silence, sharp and unyielding.
Adhrita shook her head quickly. "No."
"Good," Vedashree said, a hint of cold amusement in her tone. "Because Vritant speaks fluent sarcasm. At least you're able to speak. Now, write a speech-one that makes the country understand why my son and his future wife are plastered all over the headlines."
Adhrita took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and began to write.
The scrutiny that public figures face is an inevitable part of service to this nation. Recently, the presence of my son, Vritant Vardhan, and his future wife in the media spotlight has raised questions and stirred speculation.
Let me be clear: their personal lives are not separate from the future we envision for India-they are part of it.
This union is not a matter of gossip or headlines; it is a strategic alliance built on shared values, responsibility, and a commitment to uphold the legacy of this great nation.
As Prime Minister, I assure you that personal bonds will never compromise the duty we owe to our people.
I ask for your understanding and trust as we continue to serve India with unwavering dedication and integrity.
Thank you."
She wrote steadily, the words flowing with measured clarity and quiet strength. Then she passed the notepad across the table to Vedashree.
The Prime Minister scanned the page, her eyebrow arching in approval.
"Not just the beauty," she said with a faint smile, "I see why my son didn't refuse even once."
Without hesitation, Vedashree dialed a number and sent a photo of the note. Within minutes, the message was live-posted from the official PMO handle, reaching the nation's eyes with the weight it deserved.
"You can leave," Vedashree gestured sharply, dismissing her.
Adhrita hurried out, exhaling a long, relieved sigh once safely beyond the study's walls. Thank God, it's over, she thought, the tension slowly ebbing from her shoulders.
As she crossed the passage, Vritant was already there, leaning casually against the wall, as if waiting.
"Why did she call you in?" he asked the moment he saw her.
Adhrita handed back the lighter. "Thanks. It helped," she smiled faintly and started to walk past him.
But Vritant's fingers caught her wrist, halting her. "Adhrita, what did she say?"
Under her breath, she muttered, "Ketli panchat chhe?" (Does he want gossip?)- He caught the last word, puzzled. "What did you say? Panch-?"
"Itni panchat kyun hai?" Adhrita repeated quietly. (Why being so much gossipmonger?)
Vritant narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fine. Deal with everything alone then."
He started walking away, but she gently held his wrist, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
"Every time," he said with a smirk, "your eyes just won't work."
She bit her lip, then tried again, "Not even for your wife?"
Her eyes widened as she caught herself, quickly adding, "I mean... your wife-to-be."
Vedashree appeared and caught sight of them. She shot a sharp glance at both before walking past without a word.
Just then, his phone lit up. A news alert flashed across the screen - Vritant Vardhan - the ruthless businessman securing yet another international win.
The headline bled into the subtext, all sharp words and colder praise: strategist, negotiator, the man who never left a table without owning it.
Adhrita's gaze caught on the screen before she could look away.
Just this morning, he had told Aaradhya he'd remind the world who he was.
Now, the reminder wasn't coming from his mouth - it was stamped in bold across every newsroom ticker, echoed in the weight his name carried without him having to speak at all.
He slid the phone back into his pocket, eyes on me.
"Now say-what did she say?"
"She made me write her speech," I replied, "to explain to the country why her son and her son's soon-to-be wife made headlines."
"You wrote that?" His brow lifted.
I nodded.
"I thought you were..." He stopped short, his hand finding my wrist almost unconsciously.
"Weak?" I tilted my head, daring him.
His thumb pressed gently over the pulse, as if to confirm I was steady. "Not weak," he murmured. You're never weak. You just don't want to wade into the mud."
A corner of my mouth lifted. "Maybe that's why the lotus is my favorite flower."
He smirked, pocketing his hands.
"Careful, Adhrita... keep talking like that and I might start believing you're dangerous."
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