"I'm proud of us," she replied. "For what we've built together."
They fell asleep with smiles on their faces, partners in every sense of the word.
Chapter Eighteen
One Month Later
The call came at 6 AM.
Advika was still half-asleep, curled against Sidharth's side, when his phone rang. He answered with a grunt, listened, then went very still.
"When?" A pause. "I see. Thank you for calling."
He hung up, and Advika felt the shift in his body—the tension that meant bad news.
"What's wrong?" she asked, pushing herself up.
"That was Rahul. Your father..." He turned to face her, his expression gentle. "Advika, he's dead. Heart attack this morning. He died before the ambulance arrived."
She stared at him, trying to process the words. Dead. Her father was dead.
"Oh," she said. And then, because she didn't know what else to say: "Okay."
"Okay?" Sidharth sat up fully, pulling her into his arms. "Advika, it's okay to feel something. Anything."
"I don't know what I feel," she admitted. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears—distant, disconnected. "Should I be sad? I barely knew him. He barely acknowledged me. But he was my father, so shouldn't I..."
"There's no 'should.' You feel what you feel."
"I feel..." She searched for the right word. "Empty. Like I'm grieving something that never existed. The father I wished I had, not the one I actually had."
"That's valid." He held her tighter. "All of it is valid."
The funeral was scheduled for later that day. Advika went through the motions, choosing a simple black salwar kameez, letting Sidharth handle the logistics of their attendance.
"I don't have to go," he offered. "If you'd rather face this alone, or with Rishabh instead—"
"No." She grabbed his hand. "I need you there. I can't do this without you."
"Then I'm there. Always."
The funeral was held at the Pradhan estate, in the same gardens where Advika had played as a child—when she was allowed outside, when she was permitted to exist in her father's world.
The turnout was large. Yash Pradhan had been an important man, and everyone who was anyone in both the legitimate and illegitimate worlds attended.
Advika stood beside Anjana, Abhishek, and Rahul in the receiving line, accepting condolences from people who barely knew her father was hers. More than one person did a double-take seeing her there, clearly surprised Yash had an illegitimate daughter.
"I didn't know Yash had another child," someone whispered, not quietly enough.
"The bastard daughter," another replied. "Married into the Singhanias. Smart move by Yash, using her like that."
Advika's jaw tightened, but Sidharth's hand found the small of her back—warm, solid, supportive.
"Breathe," he murmured. "You don't owe them anything."
Anjana was a study in bitter grief. She accepted condolences with tight lips and hard eyes, barely acknowledging Advika's presence. When their eyes did meet, the hatred was palpable.
"You got what you wanted," Anjana hissed during a brief lull. "Married up. Made something of yourself. Left us behind."
