And somehow, she'd have to find a way to survive it.
Chapter Two
The restaurant was the kind of place Advika had only seen in magazines—all crystal chandeliers, gold-trimmed china, and waiters who moved like ghosts. Ashiana was neutral territory in the truest sense, owned by someone powerful enough that neither the Pradhans nor the Singhanias would dare cause trouble within its walls.
Small mercies.
Advika smoothed down the emerald green saree Anjana had sent over that morning with a curt note:Wear this. Don't embarrass us.The silk was beautiful, expensive, but it felt like a costume. She was playing a role now—the obedient daughter, the willing bride.
The lies tasted bitter on her tongue.
"Remember," her father said as they walked through the restaurant's main floor toward the private dining room in the back, "you're a Pradhan. Act like it."
I'm a Pradhan when it's convenient for you,Advika thought but didn't say. Anjana walked beside Yash, her hand possessively on his arm, her expression one of cool satisfaction. Abhishek and Rahul followed behind, the former looking amused, the latter uncomfortable.
The same dynamic as always. The same family that had never felt like family.
The maître d' opened the door to the private room, and Advika's breath caught in her throat.
They were already here.
The Singhanias sat on the opposite side of a massive table that could have seated twenty but held only eight place settings. And at the head of that side, commanding the space like a king on his throne, was Sidharth Singhania.
The photographs hadn't done him justice. Or perhaps they'd been too kind.
He was tall—she could tell even with him seated—broad-shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her monthly revenue at Sinfully Sweet. His dark hair was styled perfectly, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. But it was his eyes that made her stomach drop.
Amber. Cold. Assessing.
He looked at her the way someone might look at a business acquisition. With interest, perhaps, but no warmth. No humanity.
Those were the eyes from her nightmares for the past two weeks.
"Yash." Sidharth stood, and Advika realized she'd underestimated his height. He was easily over six feet, his presence filling the room. When he moved, it was with the controlled grace of a predator. "You're late."
It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.
"Traffic," Yash replied smoothly, though they both knew it was a lie. A power play. Making the Singhanias wait.
Sidharth's expression didn't change, but something flickered in those amber eyes. Advika filed that information away—he didn't like games. Or at least, not ones he didn't control.
"Shall we sit?" A woman's voice, sharp and cultured, cut through the tension.
Advika's gaze shifted to the stunning woman seated to Sidharth's right. She was beautiful in an intimidating way—high cheekbones, perfectly styled black hair, wearing a designer dress that screamed money and taste. Her dark eyes swept over Advika with undisguised disdain.
"Nisha," Sidharth said, his tone holding a warning. "Manners."
"Of course,bhai." But her smile was anything but polite as the Pradhans took their seats. "I was just admiring our guests."
Advika found herself directly across from Sidharth. The table suddenly felt too small and too large all at once. To his left sat another man, younger than Sidharth but with similar features—the same sharp jaw, the same commanding presence, though his eyes held more warmth.
"Rishabh Singhania," he introduced himself with a nod in her direction. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Pradhan."
At least one of them had manners.
"Advika," she replied softly. "Just Advika."
"How... quaint." Nisha's smile was razor-sharp. "So this is what a peace offering looks like."
