Page 96 of Drunk On Love

I scoffed, spinning her unexpectedly, catching her off guard.

She laughed, stumbling slightly into my arms. Her hands rested lightly on my shoulders, and I could feel the rapid beat of her pulse through her fingertips. I leaned down, my forehead brushing hers. “You were right aboutone thing,” I murmured. “This does work wonders.”

Her hands tightened slightly on my shoulders. “You’re…surprisingly good at this.”

“I’m a fast learner,” I replied, my lips curving into a smile as I twirled her again, bringing her right back into my arms. This time, though, I didn’t let her go.

The rhythm of the music slowed, my hands settled at her waist, her fingers still brushing my shoulders, her gaze flickering between my eyes and my lips.

“Manav…” She started, but her voice faltered, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.

“Hmm?” I murmured, my head dipping closer to hers, our noses almost brushing.

“Why are you here?” Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

“You weren’t answering my calls…” My words trailed off as I struggled to explain why I was standing in her studio, completely uninvited.

“I was in meetings all morning. I couldn’t check my phone—”

“Kiara,” I interrupted softly.

Her voice cracked as she looked at me, her brows knitting together. “What’s going on?”

The phone rang. I flinched. She turned, answered, but her eyes never left mine.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute,” she said, her voice steady but her eyes lingering on mine as she spoke. Ending the call, she reached out and took my hand, squeezing it gently. “I have to go. I’ll see you at your place tonight.”

“I’ll come with you.”

We stepped into the lift, my hand still wrapped around hers, like I was afraid to let her go.

____________

“Dad…” Kiara’s voice trembled as we stepped into the cold, clinical confines of the meeting room.

Her father—Jay Randhawa, industrialist, billionaire, and stone-hearted patriarch—sat at the head of the table like a monarch presiding over a public execution. Two sharp-suited strangers—his legal hounds—flanked him like shadows, their faces void of any emotion.

“Please, take a seat, Kiara,” Mr. Randhawa said, his eyes never leaving the stack of documents before him.

Kiara sat cautiously, her eyes searching his face for some flicker of warmth. “Is everything okay, Dad?”

“Everything is fine,” he replied curtly. “Things arefinallybeing handled. You’ve wrecked enough. Now, let’s settle the consequences.”

He gave a silent nod, and one of the lawyers pushed a thick file toward her.

Kiara’s fingers twitched. “What is this?”

“A formal declaration of your severance from this family,” Mr. Randhawa said coolly. “You will no longer carry the Randhawa name. You will be removed from the will, the trust, and all corporate interests. Legally, financially, and personally, you will cease to exist in this family.”

The words crashed into the room like a thunderclap. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay silent as Kiara’s entire body stiffened.

“Dad…” she whispered, her voice cracked like thin glass.

He looked up slowly, his gaze colder than steel. “Don’tcall me that. I no longer have a daughter.”

She gasped, her eyes brimming. “This can’t be just about the wedding—”

Jay Randhawa slammed his palm on the table, the sound making everyoneflinch.