Location: Delhi, India
Maya had already sent a silent SOS to Virya and Vayu about Ivikaa's simmering mood. So, when they landed in Delhi, Vayu took charge before the storm could fully hit.
"We're throwing a party," Vayu announced. "Won something big. Time to celebrate. Club night, don't say no."
Virya added with a grin, "Some of my friends are joining too. Just vibes, no drama.
So, Iva agreed. It was easier to dance than dwell.
Later that evening, the club pulsed with music and unfamiliar faces. But when Ivikaa walked in, the atmosphere shifted-like the universe paused for a second to admire her. In a fitted beige dress that clung like it was made for her soul, she didn't just walk in-she arrived.
Virya introduced her around; Vayu dragged her to the dance floor. The three siblings danced like there was no tomorrow. Laughter, music, light-exactly what she needed.
Maya, of course, stayed tucked in a corner, her job done for the night, sipping a mocktail and watching Iva loosen up.
Later, Iva wandered to the bar, flushed from dancing, hair wild, heart light. Just as she leaned in to place an order-
"Vodka single malt for the lady," came a voice she knew far too well.
She turned.
"Rudra."
There he was. Leaning casually with a drink in hand, looking like he had just walked out of a slow-motion luxury ad-suited, smirking, annoyingly composed.
"Hello, beautiful," he drawled, voice slow and deliberate. Iva raised an eyebrow.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Well," he sipped. "I might be your new business partner, but I've been working with your brothers long before you graced us with your Parisian presence. So yes, I get invited to Ambani parties. What are you doing?."
"I have a family here," Iva smirked. "Not just a business."
He leaned in slightly. "So... you liked the bouquet, huh?"
She shot him a look, lifted her vodka. "It was... almost as lovely as that silk fabric." She downed the shot with a smile that was both charming and lethal.
Rudra laughed, a deep, knowing sound. "I'm really sorry about that, Iva. Must be the vendors. But don't worry-when Rudra Agnivanshi is involved, no one dares to mess with the legacy."
She rolled her eyes. "Legacy. Right."
"Dance?" he asked, extending a hand.
She didn't respond-just walked to the dance floor, and Rudra, of course, followed. The music wrapped around them. Once, twice, he tried to hold her hand. She sidestepped, keeping her rhythm and distance. Until finally, he grabbed her wrist-gently but firmly-and pulled her out to a private booth.
He cornered her against the wall. His voice was low, serious now. "So, you don't feel what I feel?"
She blinked, surprised. He was too close. Too intense.
Before she could respond, the door opened and in came Virya-with a girl on his arm.
"Oh," Virya blinked. "What are you two doing here?"
"I could ask the same," Iva replied coolly, eyes flicking to the girl.
Virya winked. Iva smirked, understanding everything and nothing.
"Can I have some privacy?" he said shamelessly.
Rudra and Iva stepped out of the booth, just in time for Vayu to spot them and drag them into a group picture. One of Vayu's friends put a hand on Iva's waist while posing.
Rudra's jaw clenched.
"Don't you fucking dare touch her," he snapped at the guy, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.
The boy backed off instantly. Iva's eyes narrowed. Possessiveness wasn't new to her-it ran in her veins too. She knew how obsession felt. If someone had touched her man, she'd have broken more than a wrist. But she was not Rudra's woman. And he had no right to behave like she was.
Yes, they looked good together. Perfect, even. And yes, the world might already be painting them as some power couple. But Iva didn't do love. Not the way people romanticized it. She was already married-to her empire.
Rudra's kingly charm might dazzle the world, but tonight, all it did was irritate the queen.
Later that night, Ivikaa couldn't sleep. Her mind wouldn't rest, swirling with too many thoughts, too many unanswered questions. Quietly, she slipped out of her room and padded barefoot down the hall.
In the soft glow of the living room, her father sat alone, eyes fixed on the flickering television but clearly not watching it. She walked over and curled up beside him on the couch, like she used to when she was a little girl.
"Why are you still up, Papa?" she asked softly.
He looked at her, his gaze heavy with memory. "I was missing your mom," he said. "In a few days, it's her-" His voice caught.
"Death anniversary. I know, Papa," Ivikaa finished for him.
He nodded slowly. "And I know why you're here. For her. You always come back around this time."
Ivikaa didn't reply. Her father studied her face for a moment and gave her a sad smile. "You remind me so much of her, you know. Fierce, always frowning, commanding... and rude," he added with a chuckle.
"I'm not rude," Ivikaa frowned. "And Mom wasn't like that either. She was a sweetheart. She was warm. She was just... my mom."
"She was exactly like you," he smiled. "You even inherited her American cheekbones. But she had that same fire in her. You just don't remember."
"I guess I don't," she admitted. "I was too young when she died. And then I left for Paris before I could really understand her."
He paused, then asked gently, "Wanna see her?"
Ivikaa nodded.
He stood up and led her to their old room. From the cupboard, he pulled out a stack of dusty photo albums and handed them to her. "I'll leave you alone with her," he said quietly, then left, closing the door behind him.
Ivikaa sat on the floor, albums spread around her, flipping through photos of a life she barely remembered. Her mother's laugh captured mid-motion, a hand holding hers as a toddler, moments frozen in time. She pulled out one of her mother's old dresses, ran her fingers along the faded fabric, and inhaled deeply. The faintest trace of perfume still lingered.
She found some things from her mother's family in the U.S.-letters, postcards, even an old recipe card written in her grandmother's handwriting. She smiled. Her mother had given up an entire life for love. For her father. This... this was love. The kind you sacrifice everything for.
As she reached into the bottom drawer, her hand brushed something unexpected.
A book.
The Bhagavad Gita.
Ivikaa's brows furrowed. Her family had never been religious. Her mother was Christian. This didn't fit.
She turned it over.
Gujarati.
Why would her American mother have a Gita in Gujarati?
Was she trying to learn the language? For Papa?
Curious, she opened it-and her heart stopped.
Inside the cover, in neat handwriting, it read:
To: Veer Agnivanshi
With love - Veer ki Vani
22nd Sept 1991
- SRA
Her breath caught.
Veer.
Vani-as in Shravani.
SRA-Shravani R. Agnivanshi?
Her brain started making rapid-fire connections. 1991. That was thirty-five years ago. Veer didn't look older than 30. How was this even possible?
And why was this book, with that name, in her mother's old cupboard?
Her mind rebelled against the implication. Her mother died giving birth to Kiaan. It was sudden, yes, but never suspicious. Her father had every resource in the world-if there had been foul play, he would have torn the earth apart.
So... how did this Gita end up here?
What connection did her mother have to the Agnivanshis?
To Veer?
No. This wasn't a coincidence. There were too many threads now, all leading back to the same family.
Her pulse racing, Ivikaa reached for her phone and quickly typed out a message to Maya:
"We're staying in India for two more months. Tell Rudra we're starting a new project based out of Mumbai. Hint that we're looking to buy property-he'll insist we stay at the Agnivanshi Palace. Inform Devaki Agnivanshi too. She'll push the idea through. I need to get into that palace."
She was done playing nice. If there were answers hidden inside those marble walls, she'd find them.
The next morning, Maya quietly set the plan in motion-no questions asked. As Ivikaa predicted, Rudra fell into the trap. Devaki Agnivanshi, ever the gracious host, declared that her "favorite business partner" could not stay in some rented apartment when the palace had more than enough room.
Everything was falling into place.
And soon, the day arrived. Her mother's death anniversary. Kiaan's birthday.
As they did every year, her family mourned one life while celebrating another.
Location: Mumbai, India
Rudra thought he had succeeded.
Ivikaa had moved to Mumbai. More importantly, she had moved into his palace. Along with Maya, she arrived that evening with her usual elegance cloaked in detachment-something that thrilled and frustrated him all at once.
To mark the occasion, Rudra made sure dinner would be flawless.
"Everything should be her favourite," he instructed the staff. "Especially Mexican. Leave no detail untouched."
But then, she wandered toward the kitchen.
Ivikaa paused at the threshold, her heels clicking against the polished floor, and saw Devaki overseeing the final preparations with practiced authority. To the side, her gaze caught someone else- Martin.
Focused as ever, hands moving with mechanical precision, barely acknowledging her presence. It was as if she were invisible.
Then Someone spoke.
"Martin, aaj sirf Kheer Puri."
Ivikaa's heart leapt before she could stop herself. Kheer Puri. Her absolute favorite Indian comfort food. Her eyes lit up, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
Just as he was about to leave, he turned sharply, his voice commanding:
"Kheer thodi zyada banana."
Martin gave a rare smile and nodded. Oh, so this man can smile, she thought with faint amusement.
"Wow... Kheer. I love it," Ivikaa murmured under her breath-but loud enough for Martin to hear.
Without looking at her, he replied coldly, "Not for you. It's for Adwait sir."
The chill in his tone was unmistakable.
"Martin," Devaki warned, stepping beside Ivikaa with a frown.
But Martin remained composed. "Ma'am, I'm only following the house rules. Adwait sir's food is made separately. It was Divya ma'am's instruction."
Devaki didn't argue. She knew too well-Martin never budged. His loyalty was carved in stone, and it belonged to one man.
"Don't worry, beta," Devaki said gently, softening her tone as she turned to Ivikaa. "I'll have someone prepare Kheer for you separately. It's just... for Adwait."
Ivikaa tilted her head, confusion evident. "Adwait? Veer, right?"
Devaki gave a weary smile. "No, his name is Adwait. My mother-in-law had three sons. The youngest was Rajveer-everyone called him Veer. He was my brother-in-law. After he passed, my mother-in-law lost her mental balance. Sometimes she still believes Adwait is her son Rajveer. She calls him Veer... and to keep her calm, Adwait plays along."
Ivikaa's world shifted a little.
Not Veer?
He was Adwait?
And then it clicked.
SRA - not just initials.
Shravani Rajveer Agnivanshi.
Her mind scrambled to catch up.
That meant...
"And Vani?" Ivikaa asked before she could stop herself.
Devaki's smile faltered just a little. "My mother-in-law believes Veer married a girl named Shravani," she added with a trace of dry amusement. "All imagined. In her mind, it's a love story. So Adwait goes along with that too... for her sake."
The Signature SRA was Shravani Rajveer Agnivanshi
Ivikaa stared at her. "So... is he Veer Agnivanshi's son?"
Devaki hesitated. "He is... Abhay bhaiya and Divya bhabhi's son but..."
She stopped mid-sentence.
A flicker of realization crossed her face. She had said too much.
Her voice turned sharp for a beat. "No, no. He's not Agnivanshi family, Ivikaa. Not really."
Then softer, forcing a polite smile: "Anyway, I'll make sure someone prepares Kheer for you."
Ivikaa held up her hands in mock protest. "No, Aunty, please. You know I can't digest too much Indian food. I'd rather not relive that vomiting episode again," she said with a wry grin, easing the tension.
Devaki smiled politely but her eyes remained guarded.
Ivikaa knew the conversation had already gone further than intended.
And yet-now the truth had a name.
Adwait.
Not Veer. Not a stranger. He is Rudra's brother.
So this was the reason Maya and Ivikaa could never find anything about him.
No digital footprint. No tags. No mentions in press releases, no photos from family events, no whispers in the usual social circles. It was as if Adwait V. didn't exist-and for the Agnivanshi family, maybe he truly didn't.
And for him? It seemed the feeling was mutual.
Dinner turned out to be a grand affair. For once, even Maya seemed to relax, genuinely engaging in conversation, her usual wall of reserve slowly dissolving.
Ivikaa sat surrounded by warmth, but her eyes were drawn elsewhere.
Across the table-Adwait.
He arrived late, quiet as always. Just a chair pulled out, a plate filled, and her favorite Kheer Puri disappearing from it bite by bite. He didn't glance at her even once. Finished, he stood and left without a word.
In Raha's words-I manifested Kheer Puri, Ivikaa thought dryly, but the universe sent it to the wrong address.
She masked her disappointment behind a sip of water.
On the surface, she was poised. She discussed upcoming campaign strategies with Rudra, investment ideas with Raghav chachu, and some supplier concerns with Devaki chachi. Divya aunty kept insisting she try more food-"You'll lose those pretty Parisian bones if you keep eating like a bird!"-while Abhay uncle, with the gravitas of someone who had seen a thousand seasons, offered unsolicited but endearing advice. And then there was Raha, keeping the mood light with her casual jokes and stories that made even the sternest of Agnivanshis smile.
Ivikaa smiled too, gracious and composed. But inside, she was half-a-step behind herself. Tired. Floating.
Blame the time difference. Paris was still whispering in her bones, her body not yet ready to eat a full meal when it was used to sipping espresso under gray skies.
But Rudra had gone out of his way for this dinner. The effort was all over the table-from the perfectly spiced enchiladas to the carefully folded samosas. And so, out of sheer politeness and guilt, she forced herself to take a little of everything.
I'll adjust, she thought. To the Indian time cycle.
She didn't add to him-but the thought sat unspoken in her mind like an unopened letter.
Later that night, when the palace had sunk into silence and the stars hung lazily outside the high windows, Ivikaa found herself wide awake-and hungry. Her stomach growled in protest, reminding her that she hadn't eaten much despite the grand dinner.
She slipped out of her room quietly, her silk robe whispering against the marble floors as she made her way to the kitchen. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows, but the soft hum of the fridge was enough company in the stillness.
Opening it, she scanned the shelves like a thief.
Her eyes lit up when she spotted it-the glass bowl of kheer. The same one she had longed for at dinner. She pulled it out with glee and placed it carefully on the counter. With one hand, she grabbed a water bottle and nudged the fridge door closed with her hip.
Just as she reached for a spoon-
"Not for you," came a clipped voice from behind.
She didn't need to turn to know who it was. Martin. Of course. The man had made it his personal mission to deny her everything she liked, apparently. Did he know any other line?
She whirled around, ready to snap, eyes flashing. "Excuse me-"
But she stopped. Because another voice cut through the tension.
"Martin," said Adwait. Calm. Low. Controlled. Yet it carried authority in a way that made even the refrigerator seem to freeze mid-hum.
Ivikaa blinked, surprised by the softness in his tone-and even more by the fact that it was for her.
Martin straightened instantly, his shoulders stiffening. He turned to her, all gruffness gone, like someone had flicked a switch.
"I-I am so sorry, ma'am," he stammered, bowing slightly. "This won't be repeated."
Ivikaa stared at him, stunned.
What just happened? Did Adwait cast a magic spell? Was this the same Martin who barked at her in the morning like she'd stepped on holy ground.
After Martin bowed and left, a strange hush settled in the kitchen.
Adwait didn't say a word. He moved with quiet purpose-pulled out a plate, lifted the lid of the casserole, and placed two soft, golden puris on it. He then poured a small portion of the kheer into a bowl and set it beside the puris.
Without looking up, he handed the plate to Iva.
She stared at him-this close, he was even more intense. The shadows of the dim kitchen played across his sharp features. As she took the plate from his hands, her fingers brushed against his. A jolt sparked through her. She stilled. So did he. But neither said anything.
He then calmly took another bowl, filled some kheer for himself, retrieved two spoons, and placed one in each bowl.
He turned to leave. She thought he might sit with her. But no-he didn't even glance back.
Still clutching the plate, Iva hesitated a moment before, almost absentmindedly, following him.
The hallway of the west wing was silent, moonlight slipping in through the tall windows like liquid silver. Adwait stepped up the staircase, then paused when he noticed her behind him. For a second, their eyes met.
He said nothing-just kept walking.
They reached the common terrace, where cool night air greeted them. He walked straight to a cushioned outdoor sofa and sat down, setting his bowl on the low table beside him. Without a word, Iva sat on a nearby chair, quietly relishing her manifested Kheer Puri. Joy softened every line of her face.
"Thanks," she said gently between bites, surprised at her own soft voice.
He gave a slight nod, picking up his own bowl.
Then her eyes spotted something on the side table: a flute. Long, wooden, familiar.
The flute. Her heart skipped. Was he going to play it tonight?
She smiled and took her chance.
"Adwait..." she said, as if they were just two friends having a midnight chat.
He hummed a casual "hmm."
"Will you play for me?" She motioned toward the flute with her spoon.
He looked at it, then at her, mildly confused. But then he nodded-silent agreement-and began sipping water, waiting for her to finish eating.
That's when she choked.
A sharp cough interrupted the quiet, and before she could react, Adwait was by her side. He took the plate from her hands, set it aside, and offered her the same glass he had been drinking from. She took it without hesitation.
She coughed more, gasping between sips, and instinctively moved closer to him. His hand found her back, caressing gently, calming her, grounding her. She felt warmth-not just physical but emotional, like something deep inside her had just been seen.
She leaned her head onto his shoulder.
And for that one breathless minute, she allowed herself to be still.
She remembered this feeling-the night she was sick and he carried her. That same overwhelming sense of being safe, understood, and... loved?
Adwait began to shift, perhaps to create space again, but she reached for his forearm and held it-lightly, gently.
"Just a second," she whispered, not ready to let the moment go.
He paused. Stilled. Neither of them moved.
After a moment, she exhaled deeply and released him.
They both returned to their spots. Iva didn't say a word, just searched his face for any sign of what he was feeling. But his expression was unreadable-serene, detached, his eyes a fortress.
She finished her food in silence. Meanwhile, he sat on the floor, on the thick white carpet, leaning against the larger sofa behind him. The flute rested easily in his hands.
Before he could begin, Iva rose from her chair and walked to the bigger sofa behind him. She half-laid down, clutching a cushion, making herself comfortable in the hush of midnight.
And then, he played.
The first note pierced the silence like the breeze itself had been turned into music. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed gently against the mouthpiece. Each breath, each pause, was poetry.
Ivikaa listened-no, she felt the music. It wasn't just a melody; it was a pull, a heartbeat.
She closed her eyes.
Tonight, the universe was listening.
And then, somewhere between the rising notes of the flute and the soft rhythm of his breath, she drifted to sleep.
Who knew her romantic arc would involve more dairy than dialogue?
✧ ✦ ✧
Author's Note:
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