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Images from yesterday assault my senses, still very vivid in my mind: my mouth on her knee, the taste of her skin as I traced her inner thigh with my tongue, kissing her like she was my salvation—raw and desperate, like a man starving for his woman for years. In that moment, it felt as though the eighteen months of separation had never existed. We picked up exactly where we left off that night, except the spark between us had grown even more intense, more explosive, and a few notches higher than before.

I can still hear her moans echoing in my ears, can still feel the desperate way she pressed against me, seeking her release. Even now, hours later, my body tightens at the memory of her fingers in my hair, the way she arched beneath me... urging me to continue pleasuring her.

“You sure about this?”

Abhay’s voice snaps me back to reality. I’m sitting in the apartment across from Simran’s, surrounded by my security team, yet my mind has been miles away. I look up to find him watching me with concern.

“Are you sure about letting Simran work at her boutique today?” he asks cautiously. “After yesterday’s incident? The masked man got dangerously close to both of you, and he’s still out there somewhere.”

My jaw clenches at the reminder. The thought of that man being anywhere near Simran makes my blood boil. But I also know her—her fierce independence and her determination to live life on her own terms. It’s one of the things that drew me to her in the first place. How could I deny her that?

“I don’t want her to live in fear,” I reply, my voice rough from lack of sleep. “I don’t want to cage her. She loves her work, and I can’t take that away from her.”

The image of Simran passionately discussing her designs and the way her eyes light up when she talks about her boutique flashes through my mind.

“So yeah, for now, let’s stick to her work schedule and ensure she does what she loves, and we do what we are best at. Double her security detail. I want eyes on every entrance, every window. No one gets even within fifty feet of her without us knowing.”

I pause, running a hand through my hair in concern. “And I’ll be personally overseeing her security too.”

Abhay nods, but I catch the knowing look in his eyes before he turns away. He’s worked with me long enough to read between the lines. This isn’t just about protecting her; it’s also about my need to be near her and ensure her safety myself. After yesterday, after nearly losing her to both the masked man and my own desires, the mere thought of staying away from her feels unbearable.

The memory of how I left her last night haunts me—her lying there, wanting me, her eyes filled with a mixture of desire and hurt. But I had to stop. How could I give in to this desire when she’s kept me away from my son all this time? I had to leave. Because if I hadn’t walked away then, I never would have.

Yet, even as I try to convince myself it was the right decision, my body still aches to go back to her to finish what we had started. To claim what my heart already knows is mine.

Just then, Claire appears at my door, that gentle smile of hers carrying an unexpected message.

“Breakfast is ready,” she says simply, as if this is a daily occurrence.

But it isn’t—not for us, not yet. I arch a brow, confused. Aside from the occasional coffee I make for myself while visiting Veer, I haven’t shared any meals with them.

Sensing my hesitation, Claire quickly adds, “Simran sent me to call you. She’s made breakfast and wants you to join her.”

My heart does a strange little flip in my chest. Simran cooking? For me? This feels… significant. Especially after last night, when the air between us had crackled with something dangerous and beautiful, something I’d backed away from at the last moment.

Without arguing or overthinking, I get up and follow Claire to the apartment, curious and more than a little intrigued. After everything that happened yesterday—her injuries and our charged moments—it’s hard to deny how much I want to see where this takes us.

As I step into the apartment, the scene before me halts me in my tracks. Simran is sitting at the breakfast table with Veer in his high chair, and she… she looks completely different. Gone is the sharp-edged businesswoman and the flirtatious woman I first knew. In her place is this... mother, and the tenderness of it hits me differently. She’s making silly faces at Veer as she feeds him, her whole face lit up with joy as he giggles at her antics. She’s spooning what looks like mashed fruit into his mouth, and he’s accepting it with varying degrees of enthusiasm, his tiny hands waving excitedly in the air. I can’t help but stare at the two while Claire heads to the kitchen. Simran’s softer, maternal side is truly mesmerising, and I just stand there, taking in the beauty of the moment.

Then Veer spots me, and his entire face brightens with joy. “Mmmmamaa!” he calls, his little arms reaching out to me, and something in my chest constricts painfully. Simran turns at the sound, and our eyes lock. The memories of last night floods back in an instant—the heat of her skin under my hands, the way she’d arched toward me, the herculean effort it had taken for me to pull away. I see it all reflected in her eyes, that same memory, that same hunger, as if she’s still processing it, still turning it over in her mind, wondering what could have happened if I hadn’t pulled away.

“Mmmmamaa!” Veer calls again, pulling us both back from the haze of our shared trance.

I move to him instantly, taking the bowl and spoon from Simran’s hands. Electricity zings through me as our fingers brush. But I focus my attention on Veer, spooning another bite of fruit into his eager mouth. He smacks his lips, some of it dribbling down his chin, and I quickly wipe it away with the soft muslin cloth hanging from his high chair. I feel a strange, grounding warmth spread through me. Feeding my child, caring for him—it’s something I’ve been waiting my whole life to experience.

“I’m not Maammaa,” I say softly, my heart full as I watch his bright eyes fixed on my lips as if trying to read them. “Say Papa. Pa-pa.”

He studies my mouth intently, his little brow furrowed in concentration, but what comes out is another gleeful “Maamaa!” followed by that adorable, infectious baby laugh that makes everything else fade away. He may not have said ‘Papa’ yet, but I know he’s going to be a Papa’s boy forever.

I try to feed him another spoonful, but he turns his head this time, clearly indicating he’s done with his breakfast. His tiny hands drum against the tray of his high chair, creating a staccato rhythm. Simran, who had been silently observing until now, reaches over to pick up Veer.

“Seems like he’s finished,” she says, brushing a tender kiss to his cheek as she holds him close.

His tiny face lights up as he squirms and giggles in her embrace. I watch them, literally aching to wrap my arms around them both.

As if summoned, Claire appears, offering to clean Veer up. He goes to her willingly, already familiar with the routine. The room feels different as they leave, quieter than before. It’s just Simran and me—no distractions and no baby to buffer our thoughts or words.

Simran is wiping down Veer’s high chair when I finally break the silence.