Page 48 of Drunk On Love

“I was an assignment for her.” His voice was quiet. Fractured. Like he’d rehearsed this confession in his head a thousand times, but never let it out loud.

I blinked.Assignment?

“A job… that she did really well. Too well, actually. I was her eighth.” He let out a dry laugh—more air than amusement. “Seven before me. Powerful men. CEOs. Politicians. All vulnerable in just the right places.”

My stomach twisted. Every instinct screamed to reach for his hand, to tell him it wasn’t his fault. But I didn’t. Because this wasn’t the kind of pain you fix with a touch.

“She played the part perfectly. The charm. The fear. The vulnerability—it was all scripted.” He looked away, voice splintering. “I fell for a scam. Not a woman.”

“Manav…” The name tasted like heartbreak on my tongue.

“She disappeared the night I got stabbed—vanished like she never existed. No real name. No trail.” He looked like stone—but his voice was all shrapnel.

“Interpol’s after her now. She’s apparently in charge of a Russian cartel’s surveillance arm. Assigning new businessmen as… study projects.” His jaw clenched. “Guess I was just another lab rat.”

“Oh my God…”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” But it did. I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, in how his eyes refused to meet mine—as if looking at me meant remembering how deeply he’d once trusted… and how wrong he’d been.

“You were just trying to love someone.” My voice cracked—soft, helpless.

“And she was just gathering intel.” He gave a shrug, empty and hollow. “The world thinks I had something to do with her disappearance. That I snapped. Or covered it up. I’ve heard it all.”

No wonder he was always guarded. No wonder his silence felt heavier than most people’s screams.

“That’s insane.”

“Not to the media,” he said, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose like he was holding back something sharp. “Not to the investors. Not to the board. To them, I’m the cold, calculated Oberoi who loved the wrong woman… or made her disappear.”

His voice cracked—barely. But enough to shatter the air between us.

I stepped closer, my words barely above a whisper. “She doesn’t belong in your story anymore.”

He turned away slightly, shoulders angling like he was slipping back into his armor. Back into the version of himself the world knew—untouchable. Sharp-edged.

But then… His eyes opened slowly. And when they met mine—finally—for a fleeting second, I saw it.

Not the rage.

Not the mask.

Just a man. Broken. Brave. Still standing.

“No,” he said. His voice steadier now. “She doesn’t.”

He blinkedslowly, like he was finally laying that ghost to rest.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, the words weighted with more meaning than he could explain.

I offered a small, crooked smile. “Thankyoufor saving me. If Dadi had found out I died in the kitchen, she would’ve followed me to heaven just to scold me. And then bring me back down just to kill me again.”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound rough and short-lived—but real.

“You’re not exactly low-maintenance, are you?” he said.

“Shocking, right?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And yet, here you are. Voluntarily listening to my nonsense.”

His lips curved just slightly at the corner, but something in his eyes lingered—dark and quiet.