Page 7 of Entangled Vows (Destined Diaries #2)

A sharp pain shot across Vikram’s face and spread like wildfire down his neck. Bloody hell. His nose was likely broken. Fuck.

Mohit’s anger was expected, but he wasn’t expecting the punch.

In all honesty, he’d assumed Mohit would keep his anger in check until they were by themselves, all alone.

But no such luck. Mohit had started this here, in front of Mahika and Mr. Rao.

And Vikram, the arrogant bastard that he was, just added fuel to the flame by being a defensive jerk.

He definitely wasn’t a dreamy romance novel hero. He was a successful no-frills businessman who understood the rules of real life. A man who lived life on his own terms. His reasons were his own. Deep, deliberate ones that were nobody’s damn business.

Maybe he should’ve fought back, met Mohit’s anger with his own. But he didn’t. He held back. Not because he couldn’t, but because he chose to. That’s what set them apart.

So here he was… blood trickling down his face, jaw throbbing, as he stared into his childhood friend’s eyes. And a bitter truth dawned on him. Mohit didn’t trust him.

Vikram had been caught off guard by the clause a few days ago, right after his meeting with Mr. Rao.

That night, with a bottle of scotch for company, he locked himself in his father’s study, going over the clause again and again, searching for a loophole.

He even called Arjun, hoping for a fresh perspective on the situation he found himself in.

But no matter how hard they tried, the clause remained stubbornly unyielding. And that’s when it clicked.

This was exactly why Suraj had fled Dehradun.

To escape this trap of coercion that Vikram now found himself caught in.

Mohit’s anger, his resentment towards Arjun…

it wasn’t aimed at circumstances or fate.

It was directed at Vikram. He was mad that Vikram had left, made new friends, and had seemingly forgotten old ones.

He’d been away for too long, trying to escape the baggage of home, of obligations, of expectations.

And now that he was back, it wasn’t because of nostalgia; he had come back for his dad, to honour his last wishes, and to safeguard the family legacy.

Mohit knew of Vikram’s reputation, his emotional detachment, and the women who had been a part of his life, even though they were just flings.

But that was all in the past.

Things were different now. And so was he.

Vikram had changed. He no longer needed anyone’s approval to prove his worth.

If Mohit refused to trust him, that was his own choice.

It wasn’t his responsibility to convince him.

Behind his detached facade, Vikram was a man of action, shaped by childhood scars, hardened by duty, and strengthened by burying every trace of vulnerability.

But no matter what Mohit thought, one thing was certain: Mahika wasn’t, and never would be, a casual affair for him. Not now. Not ever.

His eyes locked onto her. As he breathed in, the intoxicating scent of coffee and berries surrounded him. That fucking scent. The one he kept telling himself he needed to forget. The one that had captivated him, knowingly or unknowingly.

Vikram hadn’t expected Mahika to rush in to rescue him.

Well, not exactly rescue him, but at least to stop her brother from punching his face.

Her dark hair was loosely pulled back, soft tendrils escaping to frame her face like a halo, making her look almost ethereal.

Her dupatta had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the elegant curve of her collarbone, and the long, graceful column of her throat.

Her face was devoid of makeup, and the dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed the tension she’d been carrying for the past year. He hated how worn out she looked.

Vikram gritted his teeth, resisting the sudden, irrational urge to brush away those stray strands from her forehead.

Lately, he hadn’t given much thought to how his future wife would be, but if he had, maybe she would’ve looked like Mahika.

Not that it mattered. He wasn’t the kind of man who believed in forever.

He’d made that choice long ago: no serious relationships, no attachments, no promises.

And yet, he was going to marry Mahika Jaykar. His brother’s best friend. His childhood friend’s sister. The titles didn’t matter. Not anymore. She was the girl he used to call Momo… partly to annoy her, partly because she could eat a plate of momos like it was serious business.

Back then, he told himself the teasing meant nothing, that it was just a way to justify how often she crept into his thoughts. But the truth was, he liked how something so simple could bring her so much joy. Maybe he liked it a little too much.

Now that he thought of it, Mahika was perfect on paper. Exactly the kind of woman anyone would want beside them. Sweet, quiet, obedient… the girl who always went by the rules.

But the woman in front of him now was nothing like the girl he remembered.

There was a fire in her glare, and instead of scaring him, it drew him in.

She was fierce, untamed, and strong enough to defy a world that expected her to stay invisible.

But beneath that fire was a quiet grace, a softness that grounded him in ways he couldn’t explain.

Forever was never in his plans, and he wasn’t the kind of man who chased it.

And yet, he was about to marry her… this breathtaking woman, who didn’t need designer labels to leave a man wrecked.

Mahika’s fiery and stubborn nature had always irked her father, who’d expected her to be obedient and docile.

She had clawed her way into the family business, demanded to be seen, and had proved she wasn’t just a name or a shadow.

And damn, Vikram couldn’t stop admiring her grit, her fire, and that sharp tongue she never held back.

But he couldn’t stand her closeness with Suraj.

It burned through him like poison. Maybe she had liked his brother once, or maybe she hadn’t.

He didn’t want to know. Just the thought of it made his fists clench.

Jealousy wasn’t a feeling. It was a wildfire under his skin, all violent and overwhelming.

He needed to stop thinking like that. They constantly fought like cats and dogs. End of story. That was their reality, and he had to cling to it.

But right now, staring into her eyes, feeling the fire between them crackle like a live wire, Vikram knew one thing with brutal certainty. She messed with his head, set his skin on fire, and he knew he was fucking doomed. And that scared the shit out of him.

“What are you looking at, Dr. Doom?” Mahika snapped.

Vikram rose to his feet and wiped the trickle of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. The sting in his nose, the dull throb in his jaw—none of it mattered.

“It was hot watching you try to protect me,” he drawled. “Now I’m sure you will make a great wife.”

Mohit moved forward, rage tightening his body, but Mahika’s arm stopped him cold.

“No. That’s enough,” she said sharply, her eyes blazing. “Mohit, you need to leave.”

For a beat, Mohit froze, her words colliding with his rage. But then, he saw the fire in her eyes and his shoulders sagged a little.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said stubbornly.

“I know.”

Mahika glanced at Vikram, taking in the cuts and bruises on his face. She pursed her lips, feeling a mix of both anger and a disturbing amount of concern for him.

Vikram caught it—the subtle crease between her brows, the flick of her eyes taking in every scrape.

Was she... worried for him? The thought ignited an unwelcome warmth in his chest, briefly dulling the pain.

He stuffed it into the box of unwanted feelings in his mind, deciding now wasn’t the time to ponder why it mattered.

“Mohit, please.” She rubbed her temples with a sigh. “This,” she gestured between herself and Vikram, “isn’t something you, or even God, can fix. Dad put us in this mess…”

“What the hell was he even thinking?” Mohit muttered, rubbing his hand down his face.

“Clearly, he wasn’t.”

Vikram’s gaze dropped to Mohit’s bloodied knuckles. If Mohit’s hands looked like that, then his own face must be a disaster. Mohit caught him staring and smirked with smug satisfaction.

Vikram didn’t blink. He held Mohit’s gaze, bloodied but steady.

“Listen to your sister,” he said. His voice was low and sharp. “This is private. Things between a husband and wife, you know?”

Mahika froze. “I’m not your wife.”

“Not yet.” His voice was like velvet, but with an edge. “But you’re going to be. Our fathers made sure of that.”

“Shut up, Grizzly,” she snapped.

Vikram almost laughed. Fuck, she was a firecracker. Every flicker of emotion on her face, the fire in her eyes, every inch of her was brimming with rage, and still, she was so damn beautiful. Breathtaking in a way that punched the air right out of his lungs.

He watched her take a steady breath before turning to Mohit.

“Mohit, please. Give me a few minutes. You check on Mom. Make sure she eats something before her nap. I’ll be out soon.”

Mohit exhaled sharply. “You worry too much about everyone, Mahi.” His voice softened. “Our parents never deserved a daughter like you.” At the door, he paused and gave one last murderous glare at Vikram. “I’m watching you, Vicky. If you’re both doing this, don’t screw it up.”

“Mohit!” Mahika’s voice rang out, final this time.

Mohit stormed out, slamming the door behind him, and a heavy silence settled between them. Mahika stared at the closed door, wishing it could somehow magically extract her from this mess.

But that miracle wasn’t going to happen. Her future was already signed, sealed, and delivered, and there was no way she could change it.