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Her words hit me like a truck, leaving me momentarily speechless. She’s right, isn’t she? My family have always been my priority, and in protecting them, I lost sight of everything else. But that still doesn’t excuse what she did. It doesn’t change the fact that she deceived me.

The words keep spilling out of her—each one laced with more guilt, frustration, and a raw, aching truth.

“I know I didn’t do the right thing hiding Veer from you. I became selfish,” she admits, her hands trembling against my chest. “When I found out I was pregnant, I was afraid you wouldn’t let me fly to New York to pursue my dreams. I feared that you would keep me in India with you for our child’s sake, without me having any say in that decision. I just knew it.”

I stand there, my hands clenched into fists, my body rigid, trying to process every word.

“I came to New York in that same confusion,” she continues, her voice rising with desperation. “Throughout those nine months of my pregnancy, I was trying to figure out if I should tell you or not. Every day, I wanted to pick up the phone and let you know about our child. But my selfishness kept holding me back. And then… it was too late. I couldn’t just call you and drop that bombshell.”

Her eyes flash with renewed anger, and she hits my chest in frustration.

“But what about you, Vishnu? Where were you?” Another hit to my chest, harder this time. “I know your family meant everything to you. I know you were busy protecting them, building your career, planning to step up in your father’s shoes and enter politics. But in the middle of all this, why couldn’t you just make one phone call and ask about my well-being?”

Her sobs grow louder. Her words sting, but I can’t let that show. I’ve been carrying my own anger, my own pain. I don’t have space for hers right now.

“You didn’t miss me even once, Vishnu. You forgot me. You conveniently forgot what happened between us that night,” she accuses, practically shouting now as tears stream down her face. “We may not have been in love back then, but we still had something between us. I kept checking with Meher about you... I stayed updated on every little detail of what you were doing—be it your career or your family relationships with Meher and your father. But you?” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Did you ever check with Meher once about me? I doubt it. Your ego was too inflated to let your sister know that you had a soft corner for me.”

Suddenly, she grabs my collar, pulling me closer, her eyes burning with a fire that matches my own.

“Do you remember what you said that morning before you left? That‘we aren’t finished yet.’Yousaid it, Vishnu, and thenyouwalked away yourself finishing that thing between us.Youdid it. Notme.” Her grip tightens, her voice laced with pain. “You made it impossible for me to feel safe, to feel like I could come to you and tell you about Veer. You didn’t care about me enough to reach out, so I stopped trying.”

Her words hang in the air like a weight too heavy to bear.

“That’s why I gave up, Vishnu. I gave up that thought of ever telling you about Veer because I didn’t want you to care for me only because we had‘Veer’in the picture now. I knew if you found out about your son, you would leave everything to come to him and try to mend whatever was between us. But I didn’t want that. I didn’t want you to come to me, to care for me only for this. I wanted you to care for me on your own terms, not just because I gave birth to your son.”

Each word sinks into me, forcing me to confront the uncomfortable truths I’ve been avoiding. She’s right. In some ways, I did leave. I did let my family take over my life. I did let her fade into the background. But again… that doesn’t justify what she did—keeping my son from me for eighteen long months.

Silence hangs between us, my chest heaving with the effort to keep my emotions in check. I’m so angry I can barely breathe. When I finally speak, my voice is softer, though the anger hasn’t completely disappeared.

“My not contacting you for eighteen months and you hiding such a crucial truth about my son’s existence from me are not comparable. I may not have called you, but you hid my son from me. That’s not the same thing, Simran. You lied to me. You can’t hide your deceit behind my negligence in not reaching out to you.”

She looks at me, her eyes wide and brimming with tears.

“Then you tell me now!” she explodes. “What do you want me to do? I’ve been going mad for the last three days, thinking about what I should do to make things right now?”

If only I had an answer to that.

Around us, my men—including Abhay—stand as silent spectators to this messy confrontation. They don’t move, don’t speak, but their presence is heavy, like a wall pressing down on us both. They’re waiting, watching, but I know they won’t interfere. This is between me and her. Abhay stands closest, his usually stoic expression betraying concern as he watches us tear each other apart with words and truths long left unspoken. These men have seen me face down threats without flinching and have witnessed me take a bullet for my father, but now they watch me struggle with something far more dangerous—the raw truth that I was kept away from my own son.

When I look at Simran again, I really look at her. She’s crying, completely drained, her body trembling with exhaustion and raw emotion. It’s only then that I realise my own eyes are misty with unshed tears. Without another word, I grab her wrist, my grip firm but not rough, and drag her toward my car. Simran doesn’t resist. She’s too tired to fight back anymore. She’s as exhausted as I am, and it’s showing.

She doesn’t even protest when I force her into the passenger seat of the Raptor. She just sits there, staring out the window, her face still wet with tears.

I climb into the driver’s seat and slam the door shut, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. My men get into their cars and follow, but I don’t spare them a glance. I’m too focused on the road, too focused on the storm brewing inside me.

We drive back in silence, the tension between us so thick that it’s almost suffocating. I steal glances at her from the corner of my eye, watching as she wipes her tears away but remains quiet. I don’t know what to say. I’m still angry, still hurt, but there’s something else creeping in now—the pressing urgency of what I should do next to sort it all and untangle the mess we’re caught in.

The moment we reach the building, I yank Simran out of the car and drag her toward the entrance, my grip tighter than necessary. Her tears have subsided, but her anger is flaring again. She’s resisting, trying to pull free, her voice sharp with frustration.

“I can walk! Stop dragging me like this!” she protests, her wrist straining against my hold.

But I don’t let go. I can’t. The fear and panic of what could have happened today because of her reckless actions still claws at my mind. I don’t trust her not to make another foolish move, and I can’t risk her safety. Not again.

She stumbles slightly as I pull her into the elevator and press the button for her floor. Her glare burns into the side of my face but I refuse to look at her. Simran’s words from earlier keep echoing in my head—the accusations about not calling her, and not checking on her for eighteen months. There’s more to that story than she knows, but I can’t think about that now. I can’t justify anything. My mind is consumed by only one thing: keeping her and Veer safe, and figuring out how we can move forward from here—all three of us.

When the elevator dings open, I don’t give her a chance to take a step on her own. I pull her down the hall and stop at her apartment door. She’s furious now. I know I am acting like a wild caveman, but I can’t help myself. My emotions are all over the place, and I can’t think straight.

“Vishnu, stop! You’re hurting me!” she snaps.