What would happen if Dadi found out?
The thought alone was enough to make my head spin. She wouldn’t just be upset; she’d be heartbroken. Dadi adored Manav already, and his perfect execution of the “ideal boyfriend” act was making it all the more dangerous.
The lines between real and pretend were blurring, and for the life of me, I couldn’t tell if I was more afraid of Dadi uncovering the truth—or admitting how much I wanted it all to be real.
But I couldn’t let myself fall further. In a few days, I’d be on a flight to France. For now, I had to hold myself together, keep the lines between Manav and me clear, and stay focused on my dream. It wasn’t just a goodbye to him—it was a step toward the life I was meant to create. At least, that’s what I needed to believe.
Dadi would throw herself into her charities, settle back into her perfectly chaotic version of normal. I needed to focus—on the life I’d carefully planned for myself.
A life without distractions.
A life without Manav Oberoi.
25 ♥?Kiara
Mumbaiwas a contradiction.
Too fast, and yet somehow still—loud chaos wrapped in silken quiet. A city that blinked neon while you weren’t looking and swallowed hours before you even noticed.
The first two days blurred into a haze of conference rooms, handshakes, and boardroom battles. Manav was caught in a relentless loop of back-to-back meetings, late-night calls, and intense strategy discussions with his loyal shadow—Justin.
But even buried beneath piles of files and mergers, he never forgot me.
He texted me between presentations: “The cheeseballs are in the oven. Eat.”
He showed up with my favorite coffee, just how I liked it.
And that first night—despite a high-stakes negotiation in full swing—he walked out of the meeting just to be home before I fell asleep.
“You’ll sleep better if I’m here.”
And I did.
Now, tonight was the Gala.
One of those polished social events where the champagne never stopped flowing and billionaires wore tailored suits with their cufflinks. The room would be packed with legacy surnames, Botoxed smiles, and old money masquerading as charm.
Manav had been busy the entire night, weaving through the crowd like he owned not just the room but the entire world. He talked about strategies, built partnerships, and somehow managed to charm even the most difficult of personalities. He was happy—ecstatic, even. It was written all over his face. Anyone could see it. After all, he had defied the odds and won the business deal with the Queen.
But me? I had a different kind of attention tonight. The Queen herself had been unusually focused on me. And oh, the media? They practically forgot about Manav for a moment when we walked in holding hands. Flashbulbs went off in rapid succession, and heads turned. I couldn’t miss the hushed whispers among some ridiculously stunning women—some about Manav, but most about my dress.
Yes,the dress. Sasha had outdone herself. An emerald-colored gown, high-slit on one side, with delicate straps and a perfectly tailored fit that hugged every cell. I felt like a goddess when Sasha’s makeover team was finally done with me.
At one point during the dance, Manav leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. “I can’t focus tonight,” he murmured. “Can you tie your hair…?”
It took everything in me not to burst into laughter right then, but it also left me a little flustered, as his words always did.
The worst part? I had absolutely no control over myself tonight. The way he was looking atme—as if I were the only thing he’d ever wanted. And the way his eyes kept flickering to my lips while he spoke sent shivers down my spine. His fingers, oh God—his fingers—grazing my bare arms just enough to tease, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. And when he smiled, that knowing, infuriatingly gorgeous smile, I knew he was holding himself back. Barely.
And now, hours later, he’s driving us back home. The soft hum of the engine mixes with the soothing melody playing on the car’s stereo. His hand, warm and steady, is wrapped around mine as he hums along to the music. The streetlights cast fleeting glows on his sharp features, and I amthis closeto throwing all reason out the window, leaning over, and kissing him senseless. And every stolen second left my heart racing, my mind spiraling into places it shouldn’t go.
As he pulled into the driveway, I reached for my seatbelt, fumbling in the process, but before I could unbuckle it, his hand was already there. His fingers worked the buckle effortlessly, and the proximity made me forget how to breathe. My gown, a traitorous emerald masterpiece, exposed far too much of my skin—skin that betrayed me with every goosebump he could undoubtedly see rising.
And then he smiled. Honest, genuine, devastating. That smile.
“Are you okay?”
“Ye… yes,” I stammered. The words barely leaving my lips as his finger brushed lightly against my cheekbone. My heart skipped and tumbled, hopelessly at war with itself.
