Chapter 44: Chapter 42- Frost and Fire

Hey Readers ❤️

I read your comments and I’m so glad you're enjoying the story.

Apologies for the delay, but I'm excited to finally share the next chapter with you all! I hope you enjoy it. As always, feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments and don't forget to vote!

Enjoy the read! ✨

_______________________________________

Siara's pov-

Dinner at Lucia’s house was anything but peaceful. The long table was practically groaning under the weight of the Italian feast—freshly made pasta glistening with olive oil, golden-brown focaccia that looked almost too perfect to eat, and an array of decadent dishes that could easily cause a food coma. The Sehgal's had fully taken over her house, sprawling across the dining table like it was their birthright. Lucia, ever the gracious host, had put in extra effort ensuring everyone’s plates were overflowing before they even had a chance to lift their forks.

And of course, there was the matter of Shivay. Lucia was feeding him like he was actually her long-lost beloved dog.

“Eat, bambino,” she cooed, shoving spoonful of pasta into his mouth while he dramatically leaned back, sighing like an overfed prince.

Lucia, with the warmth of a mother and the authority of a mafia boss, lifted another spoonful of pasta and pushed it towards Shivay’s mouth,“You must eat well! So thin, so fragile!”

Shivay, already six mouthfuls past his stomach’s capacity, leaned back like a man facing his execution. "I swear, I—I’m stuffed. I can’t—”

Lucia clicked her tongue, unimpressed. “Madonna! You refuse my food? You should eat more...Pfft! My Poocharello had more meat on his bones than you.”

Silence.

Pure. Deadly. Silence.

Shivay looked personally offended. “Excuse me?! Are you—are you saying I have less muscle than a

deceased animal?”

Lucia shrugged. “Poocharello had strong legs. You?” She squinted at him like she was searching for any sign of strength. “Eh…”

Shivay’s mouth fell open. “YOU’RE BODY-SHAMING ME?! IN FRONT OF MY OWN PEOPLE?!" Then he turned to me,"Wait..... bhabhi why are you looking around like that?”

My face remained as blank as ever when I finally answered, “Who are these own people you speak of? I don’t see any.”

Kabir wiped tears from his eyes. “This is the best dinner I’ve ever had, and it has nothing to do with the food.”

Avi nudged me. “Should we help him?”

I took a sip of my water, watching Shivay’s internal breakdown, I was thoroughly enjoying every second of it.

“No,” I said. “Let him marinate.”

“Lucia, I know you love me the most,” shivay suddenly declared with a tragic sigh, patting his stomach. “Unlike some people at this table who glare at me like I owe them money.”

I raised a single brow.

“Like who shi--sorry, poocharello” I asked, my tone deceptively calm.

Kabir snorted, stuffing his mouth with bruschetta. “Like you, obviously. We all know you want to strangle him at least twice a day.”

Lucia waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, Siara is just shy. She loves you deep down.”

The entire table erupted into snickers.

“Deep deep deeeep deepest down,” Devansh corrected. “Like, if you dig hundreds of feet into the ground, maybe...maybe you’ll find a speck of affection.”

"Or you’ll just hit hell," Divya added, grinning like a devil while stuffing her mouth with garlic bread.

Laughter exploded around the table again. It was familiar. Loud. Chaotic.

And yet…

I wasn’t really there.

I was sitting, holding my fork, nodding absentmindedly when needed, but my mind? It was trapped somewhere else. Somewhere I didn’t want it to be.

Mahir’s words from last night clung to me, refusing to be ignored.

"I love you siara."

"I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. But don’t you ever say that nonsense about yourself again."

My fingers tightened around my fork.

Mahir Sehgal was many things. Ruthless. Overpowering. Dangerous. Intense. But now, he was something worse.

Unrelenting.

A madman willing to burn himself in the same fire I had been drowning in for years.

I had seen men desire me before. Lust after me. Some wanted me for power, some for control, and some just for the twisted satisfaction of owning something unattainable. Some.... who destroyed me, my sanity, my willingness to live.

But Mahir?

He said he wants me. Not my body. Not just my name. Only Me.

I chuckled to myself, a dry, humorless sound. I don’t need anyone, yet this stubborn man—claims he will carve a place for himself in my already ended life. As if I would ever allow it.

I closed my eyes, but the echoes of his words refused to fade, burning like embers beneath my skin.

"I won’t leave. No matter what."

Fool.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t see that love isn’t meant for me. It never was. I don’t do love. I don’t do hope. I don’t do foolish dreams of forever.

If I had any expectations from love—or from this marriage—I would have divorced him the same night he walked away from me Or better yet, I would have dragged him back, pinned him to the ground, and shot him through the chest, carving into him a brutal reminder of what abandonment truly costs

He was lucky I had wanted the same thing. For him to stay away.

For him to vanish from my life as if he never existed.

I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone.

If he doesn’t understand that, if he refuses to see that I am too far gone, that’s his fault. His mistake. His waste of time. I wouldn’t stop him from destroying himself if he was determined to do so. I don’t care.

My throat tightened. I took a slow breath, forcing my expression to stay neutral, forcing my mind

away from him, away from his words.

But then—Mahir entered. The shift in the room was instant. Not silence, exactly. But something shifted. Like an invisible ripple passing through, a change in the atmosphere itself. Sleeves rolled up, his presence effortless yet commanding, and—most noticeably—a fresh cut on his lip.

He didn’t acknowledge the way everyone froze. Didn’t explain. Didn’t offer so much as a glance of amusement. He simply walked forward, slow, deliberate, like he knew all eyes were on him and didn’t give a damn. And then, without hesitation, he slid into the empty chair beside me.

Avi smirked. Leaning slightly towards me, he whispered, "Out of 10… rate my punching skills, dii."

Without a glance, I replied smoothly, "Three. I thought I taught you better."

He let out a dramatic sigh. "I’ve failed you."

Kabir was the first to recover, grinning like a maniac. "Looks like bhabhi chose violence instead of silence today. She punched you hard"

Shivay leaned slightly towards Mahir, his tone deceptively light. "Did you hurt my bhabhi?" His voice dropped lower, almost lethal. "If yes, I won’t hesitate to do the same with you."

Mahir didn’t even blink instead he exhaled, slow and unimpressed, finally breaking his silence. He turned his head just enough to glance at shivay, then leaned back against his chair, stretching out like he had all the time in the world,"You think she’d stop at giving me just a split lip?"

Shivay considered that for a moment, then nodded sagely.“…Fair point. Ice Queen would probably freeze you in place with her glare—just like she did to me a few minutes ago.” He turned to me with a look of pure betrayal, as if I had personally disowned him.

That’s when I finally looked up to him, my voice calm but carrying enough weight to silence them. “Not a word more. Start eating or else I'll never take you anywhere again”

My gaze swept over them, sharp and unwavering. The effect was instant. Forks were picked up, mouths shut, and suddenly, the food on their plates seemed far more interesting than the nonsense they had been spewing.

Mr. Marco chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah, Mahir, look at this! Your wife has these boys under control. You must be proud.”

Mahir, simply smirked. And I? I was glaring at him but He picked up his fork, unbothered by the scrutiny. “Of course.” His gaze flickered to me, dark amusement dancing in his eyes. “You can glare all you want, But unless you plan on fighting me right now, you’re going to eat Mrs. Sehgal"

"You haven't eaten properly all day," he stated, quieter this time, the teasing edge gone.

The table collectively groaned. Mahi choked on her drink. Avya dropped her fork. Kabir made an exaggerated gagging noise and I...well, I stayed unaffected, choosing silence.

None of these tactics—caring, patience, whatever game he thought he was playing—would work on me.

Because that’s all this was. A show.

And I wasn’t an audience.

I wouldn’t be. I won’t be someone’s regret, someone’s afterthought.

Mahir, who had been silent for a while, finally spoke, his voice calm yet firm. “We need to leave tomorrow. Dadi has called for us. She didn’t tell me anything, but it sounded urgent."

A collective groan echoed around the table, the weight of the sudden shift in plans sinking in.

Of course, Shivay couldn’t hold his tongue for long. He opened his mouth, and his words earned him a simultaneous glare from both me and Mahir. “Dadi definitely doesn't want grandchildren,” he muttered, his tone dripping with his usual irreverence.

------------------

Author's pov-

The morning air was crisp, carrying with it the lingering scent of damp earth and salt from the nearby sea. The sun had barely risen, casting golden hues over the vast landscape of Lucia’s estate, where the Sehgal clan stood gathered around their newly repaired van. Marco, leaned against the hood, wiping the grease off his hands with a smirk of satisfaction.

Siara and Mahir stand side by side, breathing the same air, sharing the same space, but their hearts beat in different worlds. Some distances cannot be measured in steps. One reaches out in silent devotion, while the other has built walls too high to be touched. He longs for her, but she remains frozen. He reaches out, but she is already gone. They are together, but they are far apart. Destiny, however, is an unpredictable player—it bends, twists, and rearranges paths, forcing two opposing souls to collide.

Mahir didn’t touch her, didn’t invade her space, but his presence wrapped around her like an unspoken promise. A silent shadow. His dark eyes traced her every movement, his focus unwavering, his body attuned to every subtle shift in her stance. He was close—dangerously close—but careful, as if aware that any unnecessary proximity might make her retreat even further.

She didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t even glance his way.

But he?

He saw everything.

She rubbed her arms, the morning air pressing against her bare skin, but she wouldn't acknowledge the cold. She never did. Instead, her fingers curled around her sleeves—an old, unconscious habit that made his chest tighten. She wouldn’t ask for warmth. Wouldn’t take it even if it was given freely.

Mahir didn’t speak. He didn’t offer. He simply acted.

He slid off his jacket, the leather worn yet sturdy, and draped it over her shoulders. No words, no hesitation. A quiet claim, a silent defiance against the distance she tried to maintain.

Siara stiffened. The weight of the jacket was more than just fabric—it was him. His presence, his warmth, his unwavering insistence that she was not alone, no matter how much she wished to be.

She didn’t shrug it off. But she didn’t pull it closer either.

However, everyone else around them froze as if they had just witnessed a ghost. Eyes wide, mouths slightly agape, the younger clan exchanged looks, unsure if they had actually seen what they thought they saw.

It was Divya, of all people, who dared to break the silence. She leaned toward Mahir, whispering loud enough for the whole group to hear, "Blink twice if you’re being held hostage, Mahir bhai."

"What in the name of all things unholy--" Kabir choked out, staring at Mahir like he had just witnessed a paranormal event.

He stood there, unbothered, towering over them with that dark, unreadable gaze. And then, in a tone so calm it sent a chill down their spines, he said, "Enough. Everyone, inside the van. Now."

The command wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. There was something in his voice—a quiet finality—that sent them scrambling. Before they could settle, a wail—loud, dramatic, and utterly grief-stricken—pierced through the crisp morning air.

Shivay barely had time to react before Lucia launched herself at him, arms outstretched, sobbing like a woman in mourning.

“My dead Poocharello!” she cried, her voice cracking with unrestrained sorrow.

“Get—off—me! I'm not your dead dog. My Non-Icy hangout with Ice-Queen is still pending.” Shivay wheezed, struggling to pry her off, but Lucia’s grip was ironclad.

Siara, who had been silently watching the absurdity unfold, finally exhaled, her voice dripping with cold amusement. “Last time I checked, the chances of that hangout had already been reduced to minus infinity.”

Her lips curved into a slow, deadly smirk. "Then ...You wrote a beautiful letter about my undying love for my dearest husband——in which you somehow managed to include a recipe to boil rice. Oh.. and what was that...yes, Yours, Queen of...queen of what kabir??"

Without missing a beat, Kabir smirked. "Antarctica, Bhabhi. Queen of Antarctica.

Mahir raised a brow, clearly entertained.

"Correct," Siara said smoothly, her expression as frosty as ever. "And then," she continued mercilessly, "you made me sit on that death machine of a scooter, got this doctor chased by angry vendors, beaten by tomatoes—"

"Red, juicy, flying murderers," Shivay muttered under his breath, still struggling against Lucia’s grasp.

Siara ignored him. "And last but not least—" her voice dipped lower, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade—"you gave me the best flower shower of my life. How can I forget that? That was the best thing I have ever experienced. It was like..." she paused, tilting her head slightly before delivering the final, brutal jab—"raining garbage. Sooo beautiful."

Shivay physically flinched.

Kabir lost it. He clutched his stomach, doubled over with laughter. "Gone. Absolutely finished. Somebody call an ambulance for my brother."

Divya collapsed against the van, breathless, clutching her stomach from laughing so hard. "Bhabhi doesn't speak much," she gasped between fits of laughter. "But when she does... you're gone."

Avya, wiping her eyes, nodded vigorously. "Exactly! One sentence and game over for you."

Avi clutched his stomach, laughing. “RIP. Non-Icy Hangout, you will forever stay in our hearts.”

Mahi wiped fake tears. “Gone too soon,”

Shivay groaned, defeated, dragging a hand down his face. "Someone, please, end my suffering and Ice-Queen..... for your kind knowledge I'm not giving up."

Mahir stood there, a silent observer amidst the chaos. His eyes never left Siara, watching her with a subtle intensity. He had seen her evolve in ways only he had noticed—how her silence had begun to crack, how her words came more freely, more powerfully. She wasn’t just the cold, distant woman she used to be. There was something else now. Something sharper, and undeniably more alive. She was speaking more—sometimes cutting with precision, at other times playful, but always potent.

Siara herself didn’t even realize it. She hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in her own words, the way they now carried weight, like stones sinking deep into the ocean. She hadn’t seen it, but everyone else had—the way her responses had become less like shields and more like weapons, cutting clean and sharp with intention. She was speaking in full sentences now, no longer hiding behind terse words or the suffocating silence that had once been her fortress.

She wasn’t just the Ice Queen anymore—not completely. Beneath the cold surface, something was stirring, slowly and quietly, like the first crack in an iceberg. She was healing, piece by piece, moment by moment—and she didn’t even know it. She hadn’t recognized the subtle transformation happening inside her, how the walls she had built to protect herself had started to crumble, one word at a time.

And Mahir? He could see it. He saw the way her eyes flashed with life when she spoke, the small flickers of vulnerability she allowed herself to express. Every now and then, the cracks in her armor became more visible, and he stood there, silent but steadfast, as her silent strength began to shift, unknowingly pulling her from the past that had chained her.

And though she couldn’t feel it yet, but the journey of healing had already begun.