CHAPTER 32
ARYAN
The moment we step out of the car, I know bringing Ishika was either my smartest decision or the beginning of my downfall.
Maybe both. The venue is one of those five-star hotel ballrooms designed to make rich people feel richer.
Glass doors, polished marble, chandeliers hanging like they personally know electricity, staff moving around with the kind of smooth efficiency money can buy.
Normally, places like this barely register for me. Tonight, I notice none of it. Because Ishika’s hand is looped around my arm. Lightly. Not clinging. Not hesitant either. Just resting there like it belongs.
Her fingers press through the fabric of my suit every few seconds when we walk, and each tiny shift of her hand sends awareness up my spine like I’m some touch-starved fool. Which, judging by my current condition, I might be. “Relax,” she murmurs without looking at me.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’ve been clenching your jaw since we entered.”
“I do that naturally.” She glances up.
No one should be able to look amused and devastating in emerald green at the same time.
“Your lying ability scares me.” I smile despite myself.
The hall doors open. And then every male eye in a ten-foot radius commits a crime.
I feel it immediately. That subtle shift when people look too long.
The double takes. The scanning glances. Men pretending to be casual while staring at the woman on my arm like they’ve never seen one before.
I hate it. Not because Ishika can’t handle herself.
She can probably destroy half this room emotionally and the other half physically.
Hell, I would be hooting loudly if she decides to do that.
It’s not about control. It never is with her.
I don’t want to restrict her. Don’t want to tell her what to wear, where to walk, who to talk to.
Not that I have any rights on her anyways.
But I just briefly want to gouge out six pairs of eyes with cocktail forks.
Very different emotions. Her fingers tighten slightly on my arm.
I look down. She knows. Of course she knows.
“Try smiling instead of plotting murder,” she says under her breath.
“I am smiling.” I huff.
“You look constipated.”
I laugh immediately. We move deeper into the ballroom.
Music hums softly in the background. Waiters weave through the crowd with trays.
Business conversations bloom in stiff circles around us.
I greet a few people automatically, shaking hands, nodding through introductions.
Ishika gives polite smiles when required and terrifyingly blank ones when not.
She is excellent at this. I knew she would be.
Still, seeing her hold herself with that cool confidence does something dangerous to me. Like pride. Like wanting everyone here to know she came with me. Which is ridiculous.
When I finally notice Siddhant near the bar, already laughing too loudly at something, and beside him Rudraksh standing with his usual expression of permanent irritation, my lips curl up in a smile.
Shivani bhabhi is next to him, elegant and calm, which remains one of the world’s great mysteries.
How someone so sweet, so kind, agreed to marry him.
“Finally,” I mutter. “My people.”
“Those men look like they cause headlines,” Ishika says.
“They do.” We head toward them.
Siddhant sees me first and lifts both hands dramatically. “Late as always!”
“Shut up,” I say.
Then his eyes land on Ishika. He straightens instantly. “Well, well.”
Ishika’s grip on my arm loosens. I place my hand lightly over hers before she can step away. Instinct. She glances at me. But doesn’t move. Interesting. “This is Ishika,” I say. “She’s redesigning the office and tolerating me professionally.”
Siddhant grins. “Impossible task. Respect.”
“I agree,” Ishika says.
He clutches his chest. “I like her already.”
“Unfortunate for her,” Rudraksh mutters.
Ishika looks at him. Then at me. Then back at him. “You weren’t lying. He does look rude.”
Bhabhi laughs so suddenly she nearly spills her drink. Rudraksh stares at Ishika for two full seconds and then at his wife as his whole face softens, “I like her too, she made my wife laugh.” He says with such seriousness that I laugh. Bhabhi turns crimson next to him.
Shivani bhabhi smiles warmly and steps forward. “Any woman who survives Aryan daily deserves a medal.”
“I survive beautifully,” I protest.
“No,” three voices say together.
Traitors.
Bhabhi reaches for Ishika’s hand briefly. “You look gorgeous.”
Ishika softens a little. “Thank you.”
There it is again. That tiny change in her face when kindness reaches her before suspicion does. Easy to miss. Impossible for me to ignore.
“And this idiot,” Siddhant says, pulling a woman closer beside him, “is Gauri. My neighbor.”
She rolls her eyes immediately. “Hello.”
She’s warm-faced, sharp-eyed, and standing suspiciously close to him for someone being introduced as casually as weather.
Neighbor, my ass. The way Siddhant keeps glancing at her every few seconds gives away more than flowers ever could.
I almost laugh. Who am I to judge though, considering I’ve looked at Ishika at least fourteen times in the last minute. “Neighbor,” Siddhant says too casually.
Gauri deadpans, “He’s obsessed with repeating that.”
“Because it’s factual.”
“Because you’re scared.”
Rudraksh actually smirks. Historic moment. Ishika looks between them, then at me. “Your friends are chaotic.”
“My greatest flaw is loyalty.”
“Your greatest flaw is talking.”
“Another hit. I’m bleeding.” She hides a smile in her glass.
God. This woman could ruin me politely. We stay in that circle longer than expected. Conversation shifts fast the way it only does among people who’ve known each other too long.
Siddhant tells an exaggerated story about me breaking my arm at sixteen trying to jump from a terrace. “I landed heroically,” I interfere.
“You cried for your mother,” he says.
“I was medically expressive.”
Shivani bhabhi laughs. Rudraksh mutters, “You screamed.”
I turn to Ishika. “They’re jealous of my athletic past.”
She lifts one brow. “I believe them.”
Betrayal.
Absolute betrayal.
Then she joins in laughing with them, shoulders looser now, posture easier. It hits me suddenly that this matters more than the event itself. She’s comfortable. Maybe not fully. But enough to laugh in a circle of strangers. Enough to tease me in public. Enough to stay.
I didn’t realize how badly I wanted that until now. A waiter passes and I take a fresh drink for her before she asks. She notices. “You remembered.”
“You think I’d forget what you like?” Her eyes flick to mine.
“No,” she mutters quietly. The single word lands heavier than it should. Before I can recover, someone from the board catches my shoulder and starts discussing expansion numbers.
I answer automatically while half listening. Because Ishika is beside Shivani bhabhi now, talking softly. Because she’s smiling at something Gauri said. Because I am deeply distracted and increasingly doomed. Ten minutes later she leans closer to me.
“I’m going to the restroom.” I nod immediately.
“Second corridor left,” Bhabhi says helpfully. Ishika thanks her and slips away. The second her hand leaves my arm, I feel it. The room changes. Too many eyes again. Too much space between us. I watch three men track her path before pretending not to.
My jaw tightens. I try to continue listening to the man discussing quarterly forecasts. I last seven seconds. “Excuse me,” I say abruptly. Siddhant snorts before I’ve even moved.
Rudraksh doesn’t look up from his drink. “Hopeless.”
Bhabhi smiles into her glass. Gauri chuckles, “Go, lover boy.”
“I’m not—”
They all stare. I stop talking. Then walk away. Fast. Because yes, maybe I regret letting her go alone. Maybe I know she can manage perfectly well. Maybe I also know the world asks women to manage too much already.
And maybe—If I’m honest—I just hate being farther than necessary from her.