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“What?” I manage to breathe, disbelief coursing through me.

“Everything doesn’t work on your terms, Vishnu. This is a relationship—a two-way street. My feelings matter just as much as yours. And right now, I’m not in the mood.”

The rejection is like a slap to my pride, but I see the fire in her eyes. She’s not doing this to hurt me—she’s showing me what it feels like to be pushed away. This—this burning need, this desperation—is exactly how I had left her before, denying her when she wanted me the most.

Simran steps back, clutching her unzipped dress to her chest, and before I can process what’s happening, she walks away.

The bathroom door clicks shut, and I stand there, burning with unfulfilled desire. The irony isn’t lost on me—the one time I’ve actively initiated intimacy, craving her touch like a man dying of thirst, and she’s turned the tables on me completely. For the first time in my life, I know exactly how it feels like to be left wanting.

Running my fingers through my hair, I try to calm my ragged breathing. My body is still thrumming with need, every nerve ending alive and aching for her touch. But she’s made her point crystal clear—her boundaries, her terms. I turn and walk out of her bedroom, my steps heavy as I head toward the guest room. A cold shower seems like my only option now, though I doubt even that will be effective in fully extinguishing the fire she’s ignited within me.

Simran Thakkar is the lone woman who can completely unravel me, and honestly, I have no idea how to fight it. And I don’t know if I even want to. She’s always known exactly how to challenge me, how to make me see things from her perspective. Tonight, she’s taught me a lesson I won’t forget anytime soon—in the most exquisitely torturous way possible.

CHAPTER 23

SIMRAN

Five Days Later

Five days have passed since that dinner disaster with Zane, yet the memories refuse to fade. My mind still replays the events that followed—the heated moment when Vishnu finally crossed that invisible line between us and the way I’d pulled back just in time when we were both teetering on the edge of surrender. The memory of his touch, his intensity, burns through me even now as I watch him from across the living room, cradling our fussy son.

These past few days have been an exquisite form of torture. Every time we occupy the same space, the air seems to crackle with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. The attraction pulses between us like a living thing, making even the simplest interactions feel charged with meaning. I’m always hyperaware of his presence—the way he moves, the subtle changes in his expression, the rare moments when his carefully guarded control slips just enough for me to glimpse the hunger simmering underneath.

That night, when he’d finally admitted that his fixation with me matched my own, something shifted between us. His quiet confession that I am the only woman he’s desired since our night together eighteen months ago still echoes in my head. The knowledge that I affect this controlled, commanding man as deeply as he affects me fills me with a sort of fierce pride. After all, making Vishnu Walia lose his legendary self-control is no small feat.

Sometimes, I wonder how this even happened—how this man, known for his impenetrable emotional walls, has allowed himself to be vulnerable with me. The fact that I alone can draw out this side of him both thrills and terrifies me. That night, when he initiated our intimacy, it had taken every ounce of willpower I possessed to pull away. Not just to give him a taste of his own medicine (though the thought had crossed my mind), but to make it clear that our relationship—whatever it is becoming—has to be built on equal ground.

Our courthouse wedding is now just four days away, and while my heart races at the thought, my mind is made up. If I am going to agree to some of his terms, he has to meet me halfway. He needs to compromise and agree to some of my conditions too. His need for complete control, while coming from a place of protection, can’t be the foundation of our marriage. I know I still carry the guilt of keeping Veer from him for so long, but I refuse to spend the rest of our lives as a puppet, forever dancing to the tune of my past mistakes.

We haven’t shared a room since that night at the club, except for that one evening when my guilt had overwhelmed me. After I’d apologised, he’d stayed and slept in my bed. That was the only night we were close together after the span of eighteen months. And I miss him now. I miss his warmth, his scent, and the way he makes me feel both completely safe yet dangerously alive. He is like a drug I can’t quit; each small dose only increases my craving. Even though we’ve already shared the most intimate of connections—evident by our beautiful son—I still want him with an intensity that sometimes frightens me.

I watch him now as he paces with Veer, who is unusually cranky and restless. My baby is teething, and it’s turning our days and nights upside down. The past three nights have been particularly rough, with Veer’s usual sunny disposition replaced by tears and frustration. His little gums are red and swollen, and his cheeks are flushed with discomfort. He’s constantly fussy, pulling at my hair, my clothes—anything to get my attention. He refuses to sleep for more than a few hours, and when he does, it’s always in my arms. The paediatrician has assured us this is normal, but watching my son in pain twists my heart.

Between managing my boutique and caring for a teething infant, I am at my wit’s end. And with our month-long trip to India after the wedding looming closer, there’s an endless list of things to organise before then. It’s exhausting, but what surprises me is Vishnu.

He’s stepped into fatherhood with the same intensity he brings to everything else. Right from handling Veer’s cranky moods while I work to picking up on our son’s cues and preferences with remarkable speed, he’s been simply amazing. Whether it’s rocking Veer back to sleep in the middle of the night, distracting him with toys during the day, or pacing the room with him when I need a moment to catch my breath, he has done it all.

Last night, when Veer woke up crying, I hurriedly stumbled out of bed to comfort him, but Vishnu was already there, his strong arms lifting our son as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say a word—he never does—but the way he looked at me, the way he handed Veer to me when it was time to nurse him, spoke volumes about his caring nature. He’s giving me the space I need, the support I never thought I’d get from him. And, honestly, it terrifies me how much I rely on it.

Like the other day, he showed up at the boutique in the afternoon with lunch because, by now, he knew I had a habit of skipping meals while working. It’s these little gestures that really show me how deeply committed he is to us.

So, amidst all this, the physical distance between us these past five nights feels like both a punishment and a promise. I know we need to sit and really talk before the wedding—about our expectations, boundaries, and the future we both want for our son. But for now, watching him softly whisper to our finally asleep baby, I allow myself to hope. Hope that the man who can be so tender with our son can learn to share control, that the passion between us can mature into something lasting, and that the walls he’s built so carefully can come down brick by brick, one at a time.

Because despite everything—the complications, the unresolved tensions of the masked man, the challenging road ahead of our future—one truth remains unchanged: in this complex web of feelings we’ve woven, we are equally entangled, equally vulnerable, and equally committed to finding our way forward together.

As I reflect on the past few days, I have this nagging feeling that something is off. Something about Vishnu’s team’s investigation into the masked man tugs at me. I’ve noticed how conversations stop when I walk into the room these days, how Vishnu and Abhay exchange these quiet, loaded glances. It’s like they are hiding something, but to be honest, I don’t have the energy to dig deeper with everything else that needs my attention.

Also, I’m well aware by now that the entire Walia family knows about me, Veer, and our connection to Vishnu. The silence from Meher and Devika, my best friends, speaks louder than anything. They haven’t called. Not even once. I can only imagine their hurt, how betrayed they must feel by me keeping their nephew from them.

The fact that I kept all this from Vishnu and my friends will haunt me forever. But there’s no undoing the past. I have no choice but to face the consequences. And when I step into Walia Mansion, I’ll have to face not just Meher and Devika but the judgment of everyone present there. How will I look into their eyes and justify what I’ve done? I’ve hurt their brother and kept his son away from him. No apology seems big enough, and the thought of facing them in India makes my stomach churn. They’re not just my friends; they’re Vishnu’s family. Their loyalty to him runs deep, and I’ve betrayed that too. The silence from them stings, but I know I deserve it. Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s one of them, but soon that hope deflates as I dread the conversation that’s bound to follow.

And then there’s Vishnu’s father, Pratap Walia, my future father-in-law. Surprisingly, of all people, he’s been the most kind and understanding of the lot. Now, he often texts me, asking about Veer and… and about me too. The man I once thought was intimidating has somehow become this caring father figure, especially after that scarf incident by the masked man at my boutique. He’s even asked me if Vishnu and I are okay, if we’re working things out. Vishnu must have shared everything with him. It’s strange how life works out sometimes. But one thing’s for sure—when it comes to ‘the Walias’, expect the unexpected.

Leila’s soft mew from the couch pulls me from my thoughts. I close my laptop and call it a night, taking a moment to stroke her fur before turning toward my bedroom, only to see Vishnu standing in the doorway.

“Veer’s asleep in his crib,” he says, his deep voice carrying across the room. “He should sleep through the night.”

I nod, grateful, though the gratitude feels insignificant compared to all the silent support he’s given me these past few days.