Page 30 of Drunk On Love

“Can we talk, Kiara?”

“I know there has been some misunderstanding, but we can’t put the business at risk, right? Our families need us. Just one meeting.”

Business. That’s all it ever is to him—business. Every part of me is reduced to a damn transaction.

I don’t need his messages lighting up my phone.

And I don’t need the constant nudges from my editors to finish this damn book.

And then, amid all this chaos, there’s Manav Oberoi.

I need to forget him. I need to erase every thought of him—his perfect hair, that smooth deep voice, the way his biceps flex without effort, those impossibly blue eyes. And the way he looks at me—like I’m some alien he’s still trying to figure out. Yet, he somehow knows exactly what I want, cooking all my favorite meals without even asking.

Then there are those customized handwritten notes with every dish. Each one delicately explains the secrets of its origin, the layers of its flavors, and why it’s been made just for me.

I don’t know how to handle this man.

Myra had been right all along—I couldn’t keep wasting time and energy on people who didn’t choose me. Vihaan. Dad. My stepmother. They had all moved on, and it was time I did too.

I needed to reclaim the pieces of my life I’d let slip away—a book waiting to be finished, interviews piling up, a version of myself I barely recognized anymore. The world I once belonged to was still out there, waiting. And yet, here I was… hiding in a breathtaking, isolated corner of the world, trapped somewhere between Roy’s absence and the maddening, magnetic presence of Manav Oberoi.

____________

I paused, my eyes lingering on the cover ofThe Perfect Lies, wedged between other bestsellers as though it had always belonged there. I reached out, fingers brushing over the title, and for the first time in ages, I picked it up and flipped through its pages. As I read the opening lines, memories surfaced—the long, sleepless nights spent writing, pouring my heart into these characters, believing in their lives, their struggles, and their victories.

“Here you go—apple cake, fresh and warm!” Lina set the plate down, her smile as bright as ever.

“Thanks…” I said, setting the book down.

I picked up my plate and started toward a table when an adorable voice chirped from behind me, “Hi… Are youKarrraaa…?”

I turned, smiling as I took the tiny hand extended toward me. “Hey…” I ruffled his hair, kneeling to his level. “And you must be…?”

“I am Nick, Maavav’s best friend.”

“Hi, Nick! It’s nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his tiny hand with a smile.

“Are you Mumma’s new friend?”

“I guess I am,” I replied, glancing over at Lina, who was smiling at us.

She chuckled softly, “Alright, mister, why don’t you go play inside while I finish up here?”

I smiled, though my cheeks were still faintly warm. “He’s adorable.”

Walking out of the bakery, I felt an unusual lightness in my steps. I started the engine and made my way over to the bookstore Manav had taken me to the other day. The shop was expansive and full of charm, with warm lighting, towering bookshelves, and a grand reading space that felt inviting enough to make anyone want to curl up with a good book. As soon as I parked, the owner, Orry, spotted me through the glass door, his signature ear-to-ear grin lighting up his face.

“The international bestseller Ms. Kiara Randhawa graces us with her presence!” he announced dramatically, causing heads to turn.

For the next hour, I was stationed at a cozy corner, signing copies of the books for excited readers andanswering an endless stream of questions. By the time the clock struck 7 PM, my wrist was sore, and my brain was begging for some quiet. I grabbed my purse, ready to make a swift exit, when an all-too-familiar voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Well… Well… Well… What a small world,” came an unmistakable drawl from behind me.

I froze, my hand hovering over my purse. The peaceful buzz of the bookstore seemed to evaporate, replaced by a suffocating tension that sent chills down my spine. I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and turned around, forcing a smile onto my face as my eyes met his.

“Mr. Mehra…”

Rocky sauntered toward me with that same smug grin plastered across his face, radiating an air of entitlement that seemed to shrink the room. “It seems like fate keeps throwing us together.” His eyes scanned the shop as he owned it.