Even if it meant being vulnerable in ways that scared him more than any enemy ever could.
Even if it meant risking his heart in a way he'd sworn he'd never do again.
She was worth it.
She'd always been worth it.
He'd just been too afraid to see it.
But not anymore.
Tomorrow, he'd make this right.
Tomorrow, he'd bring his wife home.
Tonight, he'd plan exactly how to win back the woman he loved.
And Sidharth Singhania always got what he wanted.
Even when what he wanted was the one thing he'd been pushing away for nine months.
Tomorrow, everything changed.
Tomorrow, he'd fight.
For her. For them. For the future they deserved.
Tomorrow.
Chapter Thirteen
Advika woke on the couch in her office, stiff and cold, her eyes swollen from crying. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then it all came rushing back—the scene in Sidharth's office, Nisha's poisonous words, the bedroom she'd fled from, the words he couldn't say.
She pulled out her phone, turning it on with shaking hands. Twenty-three missed calls. Fifteen text messages. All from him.
She deleted them without reading. Whatever he had to say via text, she didn't want to hear. If he couldn't say the words to her face, she didn't want them at all.
The morning light filtered through the bakery windows, soft and gray. It was going to rain—she could feel it in the air. Perfect weather for her current mood.
She dragged herself to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, tried to make herself look human. Failed miserably. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face blotchy. She looked exactly like what she was—a woman whose heart had been shattered.
The banging on the front door started around eight AM.
"Advika!" Sidharth's voice, muffled by the glass. "Advika, I know you're in there. Please. We need to talk."
She stayed in her office, door closed, pretending she couldn't hear him.
The banging continued for ten minutes, then stopped. She waited, expecting him to leave.
He didn't.
When she finally worked up the courage to peek through the window, she found him standing on the sidewalk across from the bakery, leaning against his car, arms crossed, watching the door.
Waiting.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.
But he wasn't. Hours passed, and he remained. People walked by, doing double-takes at the sight of Sidharth Singhania—billionaire businessman, known mafia king—standing on a public street in his expensive suit, clearly waiting for someone.
