"I didn't want any of this," Advika replied quietly. "I never wanted to be part of this family. You made sure of that."
"Good. Because you're not family. You never were."
Abhishek overheard and smirked. He'd always enjoyed the family drama. Rahul, at least, looked uncomfortable, shooting Advika an apologetic glance she didn't acknowledge.
The ceremony was traditional, full of platitudes about Yash's business acumen and family dedication. Advika listened, stone-faced, as people who'd never seen Yash's cruelty praised his character.
Sidharth stayed beside her throughout, a silent pillar of support. When she trembled, his arm came around her. When tears threatened—not for her father, but for the father she'd never had—he pulled her closer.
After the ceremony, the will reading. Advika hadn't expected to be included, so it was a surprise when the lawyer called her name.
"To my daughter Advika," the lawyer read, "I leave the property located at 1247 Merchant Street—the original location of her bakery, Sinfully Sweet—with full ownership and all associatedrights. Additionally, she is to receive a sealed letter, to be given to her privately."
The room went silent. Abhishek's face turned red.
"That property is worth—" he started.
"The will is clear and legally binding," the lawyer interrupted. "All other assets are divided as outlined between Mrs. Anjana Pradhan and sons Abhishek and Rahul Pradhan. The reading is concluded."
Abhishek stood, his chair scraping. "This is bullshit. She doesn't deserve—"
"Sit down," Anjana said sharply. "You're making a scene."
"But—"
"I said sit."
He did, but his glare at Advika was venomous. She ignored him, her mind reeling. Her father had left her the building. The actual property she'd once rented for Sinfully Sweet.
Why?
The lawyer handed her an envelope after everyone else had left. "He asked me to give this to you personally, Mrs. Singhania. Said it was important."
Advika took it with shaking hands. The envelope was thick, expensive paper, her name written in her father's bold handwriting.
She didn't open it there. Waited until they were in the car, Sidharth driving them home in silence, before she broke the seal.
The letter was two pages, handwritten.
Advika,
If you're reading this, I'm dead. Good. It means I don't have to see the disappointment in your eyes when you realize I was never the father you deserved.
I don't expect forgiveness. Don't want it, honestly. I made my choices, and they were cowardly ones. I loved your mother—truly loved her—but I wasn't brave enough to choose her. Wasn't willing to risk my marriage, my reputation, my comfortable life. So I kept her as a secret, and made you pay the price.
You were never supposed to exist, but once you did, you were inconvenient proof of my weakness. And instead of being a man about it, instead of owning my mistakes, I hid you away. Made you feel less than. Let Anjana and your brothers treat you like you didn't matter.
For twenty-three years, you lived in my house as a ghost. And you deserved so much better.
I don't know when exactly I realized what I'd lost—what I'd thrown away by not knowing you. Maybe it was at your wedding, seeing you walk down the aisle with your head held high despite everything. Maybe it was months later, hearing reports of how you'd thrived in the Singhania family. Maybe it was that conversation we had at the café, when you looked me in the eye and told me you didn't need my approval anymore.
You were always stronger than your brothers. Smarter. More resilient. You had to be, given what I put you through. And instead of recognizing that, instead of nurturing it, I buried you in the shadows.
The building is yours now. Sinfully Sweet—your dream, your creation. I bought the property years ago from the owner who was renting to you, told myself I was protecting yourinvestment. Really, I think I was trying to keep one small connection to you. One thing I could point to and say 'I helped with that,' even though we both know you did it entirely on your own.
I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know that I see you now. See what you've become despite me, not because of me. You're remarkable, Advika. You always were.
I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough to say it while I was alive. I'm sorry for twenty-three years of cruelty by omission. I'm sorry for everything.
