The ringing of my phone cuts through the haze. I pull it out of my pocket and see Naitra’s name flashing on the screen. I take a steady breath and answer. “Yeah?”
“Mr. Thakur,” she says crisply, “just a reminder—you have a ten o’clock meeting with the investors.”
I close my eyes, dragging a hand through my hair. Damn, I almost forgot about that.
“I’ll be there,” I reply before ending the call.
Sighing, I stare at my phone. I know I need to talk to Sana, but it’ll have to wait. This has to be face to face. With that, I start typing a message.
Me:Hey, I’ve got a meeting this morning, but I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Can we meet for lunch? There’s something I need to tell you, and I want to do it in person.
I stare at the screen for a moment before hitting send. It’s too early for her to reply, but I just need her to know that I want to see her. That Ineedto see her.
Shoving the phone back into my pocket, I head to my room. Pulling off my T-shirt, I head to the bathroom to finish my morning chores. As I get dressed, my thoughts keep spinning, tangled up in everything that just happened.
I fucking hate that my parents see Sana as less—just because she doesn’t fit into their narrow idea of what’s ‘worthy.’ It infuriates me, but that’s the world I grew up in. The world I’m trying to break free from.
But how the hell do I convince Sana that we need to get married before my parents create problems for us? I can already see it coming—the pressure, the emotional manipulation. I know my parents well enough, they won’t stop until they tear us apart. And I won’t let that happen. Iwon’t.
I know Sana is not ready. She needs more time, and I want to give her that time, to let her make this choice without pressure. But the truth is... I don’t have time. My parents are closing in, and the only way to protect us, to protect what we have, is to make it permanent.
Marriage is the only shield I have against them. If we’re husband and wife, they’ll have to accept it... eventually. But how do I explain this to Sana? How do I tell her that I’m not trying to rush her into anything, but that this is the only way I know to keep us safe?
I finish getting dressed, my chest heavy as I continue to battle with all the questions. I need to find a fucking way to make Sana agree with me... without losing her in the process.
Chapter 19
Sana
Aditya:Hey, I’ve got a meeting this morning, but I need to talk to you. It’s urgent. Can we meet for lunch? There’s something I need to tell you, and I want to do it in person.
I stare at the message, unease curling in my stomach.What could Aditya possibly want to tell me that couldn’t be said over the phone?I’m about to type back, saying lunch sounds good, when the sound of someone sharply clearing their throat makes me look up from my screen.
I find a woman standing across from my counter. She’s in her mid-fifties but carries herself with the effortless poise and elegance that only comes from old money. I also notice the way her eyes sweep over me, narrowing in thinly veiled contempt, as if the very sight of me offends her.
“So, you’re Sana,” she states with disdain.
My eyebrows knit together at her tone, but I quickly school my features into a polite smile. There’s no need to stoop to her level.
“Yes, that’s me,” I answer, keeping my voice steady. “How can I help you, ma’am?”
“By leaving my son,” she spits out, and my eyes widen in shock.
It takes me a second to process her words before it hits me—she’s not just any customer. She’s Aditya’s mother. But before I can say anything, she folds her arms and lifts her chin, her gaze hard.
“Yes, I’m Aditya’s mother,” she confirms, clearly reading the realisation on my face. Her lips curl into a scornful sneer. “The one whose son you’ve been stringing along for money.”
Her words land like a slap, cold and cruel. Indignation sparks in my chest, but I swallow it down, forcing myself to stay calm, even as her accusation slices through me like a knife.
“Aunty…” I start, but she cuts me off, her voice laced with venom.
“I’m not your aunty. Call me Mrs. Thakur—a title I know you’re dreaming of but will never become.”
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, a mix of anger and humiliation, but I stand my ground. “Mrs. Thakur, I understand you’re upset, but there’s no need to do this here. And I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding. Can we please take this somewhere private?” I say, keeping my voice steady even though my heart is pounding.
I glance around, noticing the curious eyes of customers now fixed on us, their conversations fading into murmurs as they watch us. The last thing I need is to make a spectacle out of this.
From the corner of my eye, I see Mili across the room, her posture tense as she starts to move toward us. I can feel her protective instincts kicking in, but I quickly shake my head, giving her a reassuring look that I’ve got this.
