Page 49 of Entangled Vows (Destined Diaries #2)

It had been ten days since Vikram landed in London.

Ten days since he left Mahika standing in the foyer of their home.

Since then, each day had been excruciatingly busy, packed with meetings, deal negotiations, media appearances, and boardroom discussions. But none of it held his attention. On paper, everything looked perfect, but in reality, he was on the brink of breaking down.

He hadn’t been okay since the moment he drove away in that car.

He’d sent her a message saying he’d landed, but he hadn’t called her.

And now, all of a sudden, he wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to behave.

They had crossed several lines in the past few days, but none of it had prepared him for how to act when they were apart.

He never thought he’d have to think about missing her. Ever.

And that was the core problem.

He missed her. Plain and simple. And what made it worse was the gnawing feeling that maybe she didn’t miss him at all. She hadn’t called him. She’d simply replied to his message, and that was it. It was as if her life was going on fine without him, and he was not okay with that.

These alien feelings, or whatever the fuck they were, shocked the hell out of him. He didn’t do feelings. At least, not like this. This had to be temporary, he told himself over and over again.

Fuck. He needed to get a grip. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

Except he wasn’t.

This strange longing for her was dismantling the calm order of his life, like dominoes falling one after another.

Ever since Vikram had landed in London, every single day had been pure agony.

Being without her felt like moving through life without a limb.

Her voice played on a loop in his head, and he could still feel her scent lingering faintly in his thoughts.

Even now, Vikram leaned forward, elbows on his knees, clutching a red scarf tightly in his hands.

He couldn’t believe that, like a lovesick fool, he had snuck her scarf into his luggage.

His throat tightened as he lifted it to his face, and like a man chasing his next hit, inhaled deeply.

The scent hit him like a shot of ecstasy straight to his soul.

He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he had come to this stage. His sleeves were rolled up, jaw set hard, and hair a dishevelled mess from raking his fingers through it.

Without thinking, he picked up his phone and dialled Gaurav.

“Sir?” came his assistant’s crisp voice.

“Gaurav, prep the jet,” Vikram said. “I’m leaving for Dehradun tonight.”

There was a short pause before Gaurav replied, “Understood, sir. I’ll have the car ready for you downstairs and alert the crew.”

Vikram ended the call and began to pack his bags. A few minutes later, Mohit stepped into the suite from the adjoining room, coffee in hand.

He glanced around, his gaze landing on the luggage. “What’s going on?”

“I’m heading back,” Vikram said, rising to his feet.

Mohit narrowed his eyes. “Back where?”

“Home.”

“What? We still have the Mayfair meeting and the Mason contract to sign,” Mohit said, his voice sharp with confusion.

Vikram nodded. “I know. You stay and handle it. Please.”

Mohit crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “What’s going on? Did something happen between you and Mahi?”

“No,” Vikram replied.

“Then why the sudden change of plans?”

There was a pause. Vikram looked at him steadily. “Because I need to see her.”

Mohit tilted his head, not satisfied. “And?”

“And nothing,” Vikram said. “I haven’t slept properly since I got here. I feel like hell. And I’m not going to justify to you why I need to leave to see my fucking wife.”

Mohit exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I’m not saying anything. But you know how this looks, right? Walking out like this… Dylan and his team will think you’re not serious about this deal.”

“I don’t care what Dylan thinks,” Vikram snapped angrily. “You’re my co-CEO. You can handle this. I trust you.”

He grabbed his blazer from the chair and shrugged it on, his mind already miles away.

Mohit studied him for a beat longer, then nodded. “Alright. But if you have screwed things up with Mahi and that’s why you’re leaving, then—”

“I haven’t,” Vikram cut in, his tone cold and final. “Don’t start.”

Mohit shot back, unfazed. “Good. Because if you had, I’d make sure you regretted it every single day of your life. My sister puts on a brave face, but she’s not as strong as she pretends to be.”

“I’m not the villain you think I am. Don’t worry about her.” Vikram looked Mohit square in the eye, then opened the door.

And just like that, he was gone. Down the hallway, into the car, already thinking of the things he was going to say and do to his wife.

This wasn’t just a return trip anymore. It was a reckoning.

He was done pretending. He was going home.

To his wife. And to the woman he missed like his very next breath.

∞∞∞

Mahika had just finished work and was driving home, the city lights fading in her rearview mirror.

The day had been long and draining, and all she wanted now was something simple: a plate of dal-rice with crisp papad, followed by a mug of hot cocoa, while she curled up on the couch and tried to get some writing done.

But home was still twenty-five minutes away.

She was tired, having been sick for the past two days.

Not that anyone knew. It was just a stomach bug, most likely from the overly spicy momos she had eaten with Ishika during one of their impulsive late-night binges when she’d been feeling low.

She’d thrown up terribly that night, leaving her utterly drained.

Her stomach still felt a bit unsettled, though it was better than before.

And though she’d taken her medicines, her body still felt weak and her head heavy.

Maybe it was the meds. Or maybe she was just pushing herself too hard.

She glanced at the dashboard. The digital clock blinked 10:47 p.m.

It was late. The silence in the car felt too loud, and her thoughts too messy.

She should’ve left work earlier, should have been home by now.

Her hands tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles turning pale against the smooth leather.

She had gone back to work today only to keep herself distracted, to stop overthinking about Vikram’s silence, and to remind herself that this marriage was supposed to be temporary.

And that just because they’d slept together, it didn’t have to mean anything monumental.

She exhaled sharply and adjusted the rearview mirror.

Her fingers began tapping an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel, trying to chase away the unease curling in her chest, as the long, empty road stretched ahead in front of her.

She didn’t know if the restlessness stemmed from missing her husband or from being sick.

But before her scattered thoughts could figure it out, the car jerked violently, followed by a loud sputter.

Her sucked in a sharp breath as it lurched forward again with a jolt. She pressed the accelerator, but nothing happened. She tried again. Still nothing. The engine coughed once more, sputtered, and then died completely.

“Shit,” she muttered, as anxiety crept up inside her.

She tried restarting the car, but it clicked uselessly, refusing to come alive.

With a shaky breath, she yanked the handbrake and sat frozen for a second, her hands clenching around the wheel.

She debated getting out and checking what was wrong, even though she knew next to nothing about cars.

Still… doing something would be better than doing nothing at all.

First, she grabbed her phone from the dashboard and tapped on the screen. There was no network.

Her brows furrowed in absolute confusion.

Why the heck was there no network? This was her usual route. Isolated, yes, but there had never been a network issue here before.

“What the fuck,” she breathed as panic crept in.

How was she going to contact anyone if her phone was not working?

She raised the phone higher, waving it towards the window, trying to see if any network bars would appear, but still nothing happened.

She tried angling it in different directions, but it was of no use.

A surge of nerves shot through her as she considered her next move.

She was used to being independent, but nothing like this had ever happened before.

It seemed like she would have to get out and check what was wrong with the car.

Just as she reached for the door handle, ready to step out, a low rumble of the engine made her freeze. She quickly shut the door, abandoning the thought of getting out. Her stomach knotted at what she saw.

Headlights glowed in her rearview mirror. Two bikes came into view. Then a third. The engines roared louder as they closed in, tires crunching over the gravel.

There were six men in total, and none of them wore helmets.

Instead, they had black fabric wrapped loosely around their faces, partially concealing their features.

Mahika’s heart beat loudly as she took in the scene before her.

Their bikes had no license plates. As they drew closer, they looked like dark shadows in hoodies and worn jeans, the occasional flash of metal glinting from somewhere on their bodies.

Shit, Mahika cursed inwardly. She wasn’t easily scared, but right now, she was sick, exhausted, and alone on this isolated road.

Slowly, the fear was taking over her courage.

In that moment, she regretted not taking those Krav Maga classes seriously. Still, even if she had, facing six men wasn’t something she could handle, trained or not.

The men came to a stop just behind her car and got off their bikes one by one. For one chilling second, there was silence. Then came their laughter and comments, which were a cruel mix of crude and foul language.