Unravel my Love (Threads of Love #1)

CHAPTER 1

ARYAN

Jayesh sits across from me on the leather chair, shoulders tight, fingers knotted together like he’s about to confess to a murder.

He isn’t normally like this. Jayesh is calm, methodical, confident—a man who knows exactly how to build a space from the ground up and make it feel lived in. So seeing him fidgeting? Yeah. Something’s wrong.

He clears his throat, voice strained. “My wife..." He looks everywhere but me, "She is seven months pregnant and…she’s having complications.” His eyes shift down, worry swimming there. “I need to stay with her. I know this is last minute and very unprofessional, and I apologize—”

I don’t let him finish.

I stand, reaching for my blazer resting on the chair’s back. “It’s okay,” I say gently, slipping my arms through the sleeves and buttoning it. “I get it.”

He looks up, startled.

I fasten the second button, then meet his eyes fully, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Go, be with your wife, Jayesh. That’s more important.”

Jayesh blinks at me once, twice…like he wasn’t expecting kindness from me—like that’s rare. And honestly? I shouldn’t find it funny. But I do. What is it with people assuming CEOs must be arrogant, rude, calculating machines? Cold-blooded, emotionless, profit-driven tyrants. So typical. So not me.

I’m the CEO of The Evergreen Group, not a Bond villain. If they want rude and arrogant, they should try having a conversation with Rudraksh—my childhood best friend, human embodiment of “I don’t give a damn.” He was born with a frown and an attitude problem, I swear. Though it suits him perfectly.

I’m…not that. Never have been. I did try.

But it felt more like acting and I didn't know how long I could act.

So I gave up and followed my own mantra: Kindness can solve almost everything.

It works for me mostly. Of course, there are people who assume since I am all bright and shiny, I am weak, but that's a very illogical analysis and if someone tries to provoke, they get their answers too.

Jayesh stands up too, looking like I just pardoned him from a death sentence. “Mr. Khanna, I—thank you. Really."

“Before you go,” I say, raising an eyebrow, “can you help me find a replacement?”

His relief is almost comic. His shoulders drop, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for an hour. “Yes, definitely. I’ll ask around and get back to you.” He gives a grateful smile, bows slightly, and rushes out.

I watch him leave, and the moment the door shuts, I let out a slow breath and sink back into my chair.

And just like that, the office feels too big again.

My gaze drifts to the window—the city stretching wide and loud beneath us. Eight years. Eight long, exhausting, exhilarating years since I started Evergreen with nothing but a borrowed office space, a temperamental laptop, and the idiotic belief that I could build something meaningful.

Now? Now we’re one of the fastest-growing investment companies in the country. We outgrew this building three years ago. Bought the land next to it two year back. Construction finished two months ago, and the moment it did, Jayesh began remodeling the interiors.

And yet…here we are. Still not finished. Still nowhere near done.

Because apparently, interior design isn’t just “make it look nice.”

Who knew? Not me. I have zero sense of design. Absolutely none. If anyone asks me to choose between two whites, I will panic. If anyone asks me the difference between “cream” and “ivory,” I will assume it’s a trick question.

And now my only designer is gone.

I rub a hand over my jaw. Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed.

My phone rings.

I sigh when I see the screen light up, of course.

Ma.

I inhale slowly, mentally preparing myself. There is no force on earth as unavoidable as my mother on a mission.

I swipe to answer. “Hi, Ma.”

“So,” she begins without greeting—classic—“your aunt’s friend’s daughter—”

“Nope,” I interrupt instantly. “No arranged marriage talk today.” She is silent for a moment and I assume a network issue. But gosh, I am so wrong.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” she scolds, forcing on each word as if this isn't just a scolding but a speech she has to deliver. “Avoiding the topic, dodging the proposals—Aryan, you are my son. I know every trick in your book.”

I lean back in my chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ma…”

“One of these days I am going to find you a girl myself,” she continues, full dramatic mode activated. “And if you don’t marry, I will force you. You are thirty-two now, Aryan. It’s not funny anymore!”

I sigh, long and heavy. “Ma, I’m not ready for marriage.”

“Oh, you’re never ready for anything except work! Work, work, work—”

If only she knew I came out of the womb tired.

“Ma—”

The door opens.

Ajay, my assistant, steps inside holding a stack of files. “Sir, it’s—”

Bless this man.

“Ma, I have an urgent meeting,” I say quickly. “Gotta go.”

“Aryan,” she fusses “don’t you dare hang u—” I end the call.

I wince a little at the guilt but hey… she’ll survive. The lecture will come back like an angry boomerang anyway.

I exhale and look at Ajay. “Thank you. You saved me.”

He chuckles, pushing his glasses up. “She’s not wrong, sir.”

I glare. “Not you too.”

He just laughs, absolutely unbothered, and places the files on my desk. “Mr. Goyal’s file. You might want to take a look at the accounts.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off. “I will. Thanks.”

Ajay nods and leaves.

I pull the file toward me and flip it open, trying to focus, but my brain is still half stuck on my mother’s words, the pressure pressing behind my ribs.

Marriage.

It’s not like I’m against the idea. I’m not. I like the idea of coming home to someone. Sharing stupid little moments. Watching Christmas movies together—okay, I should not admit that out loud. That is information Rudraksh and Siddhant would use to emotionally destroy me.

But marriage itself? Arranged marriage?

No. I wouldn’t survive it. Putting myself in a relationship with a stranger and hoping for compatibility feels like being tossed into deep water and told to “just swim.”

And as for finding someone on my own…that feels impossible. People assume girls are falling over themselves to date me—and yeah, some absolutely do.

But they’re not interested in me. They’re interested in the idea of me. The CEO. The bank balance. Sometimes the face—fine, yes, I’m decent to look at, not going to lie. But none of that has anything to do with the person I actually am.

They see the polish, not the person.

Sometimes being admired feels…lonely.

I close the file, leaning back, letting the silence settle.

My gaze lands at the new building. It looks like a cracked eggshell—beautiful structure, hollow insides waiting to be shaped.

Jayesh leaving means everything gets delayed.

And I don’t trust myself with colors, textures, layouts.

I never learned to see beyond numbers and strategy.

I need someone reliable. Someone good. Someone who won’t run when things get messy. Jayesh better find me a damn miracle. I sigh and scrub a hand through my hair, glancing once more at the empty designer seat through my window.

The office suddenly feels colder. The city outside feels alive and relentless, and I sit in the middle of my glass kingdom, pretending I have everything under control.

But the truth is—I’m thirty-two. My staff still treats me like a golden retriever in a suit.

My mother is plotting marriage threats. My designer just quit.

And I have a brand-new building that looks like a barren stage waiting for someone else to write the script.

Perfect. Just perfect. I open the file again, forcing myself to work. Because that’s what I do. Because unlike my love life, my company won’t fall apart if I show up for it, which I always do, because all I have is Evergreen.

No. Not thinking about that. Focus, Aryan.

I grab my pen again to push the feeling. Work first. Everything else later. That has always been my way, and it has always worked.

Hopefully, Jayesh finds someone good. Someone who knows what they’re doing, because God knows I don’t.