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“So to answer your question, I’m not just marrying her for Veer. I don’t know how we’ll bridge that gap of trust between us, or how to heal the pain she’s caused by keeping so much from me... I don’t know any of that. But I’m going to make this work. I’m going to make us work.”

A small smile appears on his face.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear from you,” he says warmly. “Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re trying to fix now, I’m proud of you.” He pauses, considering. “But what about Simran? Have you talked to her about this? Is she ready to marry you within two weeks?”

“No.”

The single word cuts through the air like a knife, and we both turn toward the apartment’s main door. There stands Simran, her arms crossed, and her gaze fixed on me. My blood runs cold—how long has she been standing there? How much has she heard?

But what truly irks me is the defiance in that single word—her continued resistance to this marriage, voiced so boldly before my father. After everything, after all the revelations and pain, she still stands there, challenging my decision to make things right. The anger rises in my chest, hot and demanding, as our eyes lock across the room.

CHAPTER 18

SIMRAN

I stand at the doorway, my heart pounding but my stance firm, as if that’s the only thing holding me together. In the middle of my living room are the Walia men—Vishnu and his father, Pratap Walia—their tall, imposing figures almost identical, a mirror image of each other.

The moment Abhay and I stepped into the parking lot, one of the guards informed us of Pratap Walia’s arrival. The news hit me like a rock. I had braced myself for many things, but not for coming face-to-face with Vishnu’s father—who, I was certain, now knew about Veer.

I’ve never exchanged more than pleasantries with Pratap Walia. Despite my closeness to Meher and Devika, he’d always remained a distant figure to me—stern, authoritative, a man who had only recently begun to acknowledge his son after years of denying him his right. While I can’t say I admire him, I know Vishnu does. His father, Pratap Walia, is his world, his role model.

For Vishnu’s sake, I would have to find a way to respect this man who had been both a barrier and a guiding light in his life. Yet nothing could have prepared me for the conversation unfolding before my eyes.

I had arrived mid-conversation, catching the tail end of an intense discussion. Pratap Walia’s question hung in the air—was Vishnu marrying me only for Veer?

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what I heard. Vishnu’s response stunned me, leaving me speechless.

The words he couldn’t bring himself to tell me directly, he had somehow found the courage to share with his father. He spoke about making ‘us’ work, about bridging the gap between us. It was a glimmer of hope, a promise I hadn’t dared to expect.

Yet, his insistence on getting married within two weeks, without even forgiving me, ignited a different kind of fire within me. No discussion, no compromise—just a decision he made entirely on his own. And I’m sure his father didn’t have any problem with it either. So, when he asked Vishnu if I was ready for such a rushed wedding, something inside me snapped.

“No,” I said firmly, my voice cutting through the room like a knife.

Both men turn to me, their reactions starkly different. Pratap Walia looks mildly shocked, but Vishnu? He looks livid. His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and his dark eyes burn with displeasure. But I don’t flinch. I know he wasn’t expecting me to challenge him, especially not in front of his father.

But this is who I am. The entire Walia family might cower before Pratap Walia, but I am not one of them. I never will be. After everything that happened, after months of being ghosted by Vishnu, he cannot simply dictate our marriage? Let him learn that I am not a passive participant in his plans. I stand my ground, meeting Vishnu’s fiery gaze with a challenge of my own.

However, his father’s presence makes the situation more complex. I can feel his eyes studying me, weighing my reaction, trying to understand the dynamics between his son and me. But I am not afraid of him. I am Simran—a woman who has fought all her battles alone, who has protected her son with everything she had, and who has built her life brick by brick after coming here. I will not be railroaded into a decision, no matter how much I might want the underlying emotions to be true.

As my eyes shift from Vishnu to his father, I can see the anger slowly simmering in his face. His expression hardens, and I know exactly what’s coming. His piercing gaze seems to pin me in place as if dissecting the gravity of my mistake—the truth about Veer, the years of secrecy, and the pain I’ve caused his son, Vishnu.

I step further into the room, squaring my shoulders as Pratap Walia’s voice booms in the air.

“Do you even know what you have done, woman? You have not just kept a father away from his son—you kept your son away from his father and his entire family. You’ve denied Veer his rightful place in this family! He is a Walia, the heir to everything our family stands for.”

His words hit hard, but I steady myself.

“He is too young to understand what his mother did,” he continues. “But mark my words—if you delay this any longer, he will hold you responsible when he grows up. You’ve kept him from his father’s love, his grandfather’s pampering, his aunts’ doting affection—in short—from the entire Walia family. And now, when we’re trying to right this wrong, you’re blatantly refusing to cooperate?”

“I am not saying no to the marriage,” I clarify boldly. “I just want more time.”

“Time?” His eyes narrow, his stance growing more intimidating. “You had all the time in the world, didn’t you? It’s not Vishnu’s fault that you decided to chase your dreams while hiding his son from him.”

Something snaps inside me.

“And Vishnu?” I shoot back, my voice rising. “Did he not have all the time in the world to come after me if I was so important to him? It’s only now—when it’s about his son—that he’s decided to make me a priority. How is that fair, Mr. Walia?”

“Simran!” Vishnu’s voice cuts through the air in a warning. He takes a step toward me, his towering frame stiff with anger, but his father raises a hand to stop him and continues.