It's one million reads guys. ONE. FREAKING MILLION. That's a whole damn milestone, and I still can't wrap my head around it.
From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOUâ¤ï¸â¤ï¸ To those who've been here from the start, those who binge-read at 3 AM, those who yell at me for cliffhangers (you know who you are), and even those silent readers who never comment but feel every word.
That's All. Don't have more wordsð©·ð©·ð©·ð©·
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Author's pov-
It had been two days since the incident, and siara never gave it a second thought because anxiety attacks had long become a routine part of her life-unwelcome, exhausting, but familiar. They came, they consumed, and they passed, leaving behind nothing but the same hollow ache.
There was no one to catch her when she fell before. No comforting words, no steady presence. That was her life. But now, for the second time, Mahir was there. And for the first time in years, she hadn't needed the injection. She hadn't reached for it, hadn't felt the crushing weight of isolation pressing down on her chest. Somehow, he had pulled her back without a word, without force-just by being there.
But Siara's mind refused to acknowledge it. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Comfort was a mirage, and trust? For Siara, trust was a fragile promise, destined to be broken no matter how tenderly it was offered.
---
The night was nothing short of magnificent-a grand charity ball hosted by the Sehgal empire, an event that blended opulence with purpose. The family had already departed for the venue, their presence adding to the prestige of the evening. Avi was being picked up by the clan, swept into the whirlwind of celebration. Yet, amidst the splendor, the power couple remained behind-as Siara had arrived late from the hospital, delaying their departure.
Mahir stood against his car, a vision of power and control, the sleek black Armani tuxedo molded to his frame with an effortless elegance, the crisp white shirt beneath emphasizing the sharp lines of his body. His arms were crossed, a luxury watch glinting against his wrist, his posture exuding effortless dominance. The cool evening air carried the scent of expensive cologne and unshaken authority. His hair, gelled to perfection, didn't dare to be anything but impeccable-just like him.
His eyes fixed ahead, waiting for the women who solely occupies his heart.
Just as he checked the time, the atmosphere around him shifted-thickened-like the universe was holding its breath.
When he lifted his gaze, Siara stepped into view, draped in a royal blue gown that draped over her like it was sculpted solely for her, tracing each curve with an effortless grace, cascaded around her like liquid midnight. The fabric pooled at her feet, whispering against the ground with every elegant step. One hand delicately lifted the hem as she moved.
Mahir's breath hitched. His fingers twitched. His grip on control faltered.
Without thinking, his hand lifted, pressing lightly against his chest-steady, steady-but his pulse ignored the command. The other hand slipped into his pocket, his usual nonchalance failing him as his gaze remained locked onto her face.
The subtle glow of the evening light kissed her skin, highlighting the soft elegance of her features. Light makeup accentuated the sharpness of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips, the unreadable depths of her eyes. Diamonds dangled from her ears, catching the glow like stolen stardust.
She walked towards him, the rhythmic click of her heels slicing through the silence, each step measured, unhurried. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, she lifted her gaze.
The moment her eyes locked onto him, her breath hitched-sharp, quick, betraying her composure. Her steps faltered, just slightly, but enough for him to notice.
Her gaze raked over him, tracing every sharp angle, every inch of the man who stood before her like he was expecting her to falter, to stumble beneath the weight of his gaze but he was sorely mistaken.
She didn't give in. Instead, she walked towards him with the kind of confidence that could set empires ablaze. Her chin lifted ever so slightly, shoulders squared, the soft sway of her gown only adding to the quiet power she exuded. Each step was deliberate, unwavering, as if she was meeting him on her own terms-matching his intensity.
And Mahir? He was utterly, completely wrecked. A slow exhale left his lips, a smirk ghosting over them as he murmured under his breath, voice rough with unspoken longing-"Jaan leke hi manegi..."
(She won't stop until she takes my life)
Just as she took the final step towards him, Mahir wasted no time. In a fluid motion, he reached out, grabbing her hand and expertly reversing their positions. One moment she was walking, the next, she found herself pressed against the cool metal of the car door, with him towering above her, his presence overwhelming, his eyes locking with hers.
Siara's breath hitched, confusion swirling through her as the world seemed to slow down. She hadn't even realized what had just happened. His grip tightened around her wrist, and in one seamless motion, Mahir lifted her hand, a gleam of purpose in his eyes. Without breaking their gaze, he slid a diamond bracelet onto her wrist. The diamonds sparkled in the dimming light, tracing delicate, intricate patterns that made her breath catch.
Her eyes followed the beautiful design, the soft shimmer of the jewels reflecting in her gaze as if they were crafted solely for her. But before she could even gather her thoughts, a shiver ran down her spine as Mahir traced a slow, deliberate path along the curve of her neck, his fingers barely there, yet leaving a scorching trail in their wake.
"You look..." he murmured, voice low, deep, laced with something possessive, with an intensity that threatened to consume her whole.
His thumb brushed against the hollow of her throat, feeling the erratic beat of her heart beneath his touch. A smile ghosted his lips as he leaned in ever so slightly. "Beyond breathtaking."
Siara didn't flinch, didn't move away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharp and unreadable. "You don't look bad yourself" And just as effortlessly as she spoke, she pressed the pointed edge of her heel onto his shoe-hard enough to cause pain, to make a statement. A silent defiance. A warning wrapped in elegance.
But the man in front of her didn't even flinch, Instead, he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head and in a blink, he pressed her harder against the cold metal door, closing the already minimal space between them.
His breath, warm and teasing, ghosted over her skin as he leaned down, voice dipping into something rich, velvet, and entirely too intoxicating. "You have a way with compliments, no?"
His fingers trailed lazily over her wrist before gripping it lightly, thumb stroking once before he lifted her hand-slow, deliberate-guiding it to rest against his chest. He softly said,"You need to increase your efforts sweatheart---"
But he didn't get the chance to finish.
Because in a flash, Siara flipped the game on him. With a calculated move, she grabbed the back of his neck, twisting their positions in a fluid motion. Now, it was her pressing him against the cold surface, her body inches from his, her dominance undisputed.
Mahir barely had time to register what had happened before she yanked him forward by the collar, forcing his breath to hitch. "Speechless?"
Mahir didn't respond. He couldn't. For the first time, she had truly caught him off guard. His breath faltered, his usually sharp mind momentarily clouded, drowning in the weight of her sudden gesture over him.
Siara watched him, her smirk slow, victorious. Then, tilting her head, she mirrored his own move from moments ago-deliberate, teasing.
Still gripping his collar, she ran her fingers in a slow, featherlight touch from his neck to his throat, tracing the erratic beat of his pulse.
"Breathe, Mahir," she murmured, her voice smooth as silk, dripping with quiet amusement.
And just like that, she stepped away-graceful, effortless, leaving behind a silence that crackled with unspoken tension. Mahir stood frozen, his pulse hammering, utterly captivated by the woman who had just wrecked him without so much as a touch. But most importantly... aching.
His jaw clenched as she motioned for him to step aside. Snapping out of his daze, he swallowed his frustration and stepped forward, opening the car door with a composure that betrayed the fire raging inside him.
As she settled in, the rich fabric of her gown spilled over the edge, he gathered it carefully, his fingers brushing against the silk before tucking it inside. Then, with a sharp exhale, he shut the door.
He stood still for a moment, his fingers curling into fists. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back, exhaling through gritted teeth.
"Goddamn it..." he muttered, voice thick with frustration. His hand drifted down, pressing against the hard, undeniable proof of her effect on him. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he adjusted himself, the pressure doing nothing to soothe the aching need clawing at his control.
"How the hell am I supposed to survive this ride?" Mahir growled under his breath and with a long, shuddering exhale, he forced himself to move, stalking toward the driver's seat. Every step felt like a test of restraint.
He slid into the seat, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. He didn't dare look at her-not when the scent of her perfume was already suffocating him, not when the warmth of her presence beside him was licking at his control like a slow-burning flame.
His fingers tightened around the wheel, knuckles turning white as he hurriedly started the car. Jaw clenched, breath uneven, he pressed harder on the accelerator, the car roaring to life as if mirroring the storm inside him. But it was no use. Sweat slicked his palms. The ache between his legs an unrelenting reminder of just how much power she had over him.
And then-fuck. She crossed her legs.
The movement was slow, deliberate, the whisper of silk against her skin loud in the charged silence of the car. His grip on the wheel faltered for a fraction of a second, the vehicle jerking slightly before he corrected it with a curse.
Siara's gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, her brows knitting together in a faint frown. "Mahir, why are so many cars following us?"
He let out a dry, sarcastic murmur, too low for her to catch clearly, "Yaha pati dard mein hai, aur isse piche kaun aa raha hai uski padi hai."
(Here the husband is in pain, and she's more concerned about who's following her)
Siara turned toward him, her cold yet inquisitive eyes narrowing. "Did you say something?"
He shook his head smoothly, forcing a calm expression "Nothing, baby. And That's just our security."
She leaned back, crossing her arms, her gaze never leaving his face. "Aren't you alone... capable enough to protect me?"
At that, Mahir finally turned to look at her, his sharp features softening he answered, his voice sincere yet laced with something deeper. "You alone are enough for that."
"But," he continued, his voice turning serious, "we have enemies, Siara. can't take risks."
She studied him carefully before speaking, her voice quiet but pointed. "We... or I?"
Mahir didn't even hesitate, didn't need to think. His answer was immediate, unwavering.
"We."
Because no matter what haunted them, no matter who her enemies are-her battles are his. Always.
---------
When they stepped inside the grand venue, leaving the flashing cameras of paparazzi behind, the air in the grand hall shifted. And of course, the attention turned towards them, all eyes gravitated, captivated, curious, envious. Conversations faltered, movements stilled, as if the very air had shifted in their presence. But they? They didn't give a damn and walked through the storm of gazes with an unbothered look.
Siara, without realizing it, reached for Mahir's sleeve as she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin. Mahir instinctively lowered his head to listen, his sharp eyes flickering with intrigue as her voice, laced with quiet amusement, brushed against his ear. "You have fans here."
A low, knowing chuckle escaped him as he shook his head. Without a word, his fingers found the delicate fabric of her gown, gathering it effortlessly to ease her steps. "One look from you can handle them all," he murmured, his voice a blend of playful mischief and tender admiration.
As they reached the family, Siara's gaze instinctively sought out her brothers. They stood still, their eyes heavy with love and remorse, as if searching for a way to bridge the chasm of years lost between them. Her father was there too, his presence steady yet laced with unspoken emotions. But her mother... nowhere in sight.
"Where is she?" The thought echoed in her mind, a fleeting pang of something she wasn't sure she wanted to name.
And then, her eyes met her father's.
Aarav Malhotra looked nothing like the man he once was. The ruthless king of the business world, once feared and revered, now stood before her-burdened by guilt, and shattered by the weight of his own mistakes.
The past loomed between them, thick and suffocating, an unspoken chasm neither knew how to cross. But then, he stepped forward, his movements slow, hesitant, before finally placing a firm hand on her head.
His voice, deep and steady despite the storm beneath it, broke the silence."My little girl"
In that moment, nothing else mattered. No betrayals, no anger, no time lost. It was simply a father standing before his daughter, offering her the rawest, purest affection he had left to give.
She couldn't speak. Not a single word. Because despite everything-despite the betrayals, the agony, and the scars-he was still the only man in this world she had ever respected with her whole soul. If anyone dared utter a word against him, she could burn the world down in response. But now, standing before him, father and daughter were just strangers to words.
He never hurled accusations at her like the others. He never spat cruel words that could shatter her. But he never took a stand for her either. His daughter, his little girl had to live like an orphan when her father who can shatter the whole world for her was still alive. And that-that was his greatest failure.
He knew exactly where he went wrong, knew that no justification could ever erase the weight of his silence. Because silence was just as cruel as words-sometimes, even crueler.
There was no excuse for it. No reason that could undo the moment he chose to stay quiet when she needed him the most.
Aarav could see it in Siara's eyes, the turmoil she wouldn't voice. He took a step back, giving her space yet anchoring her in the same breath.
"Don't think too much doll," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "I'm your papa, not a stranger. If something is on your mind, say it. It's your right..."
Siara's breath hitched but again, she didn't voice out her thoughts.
"I know you're looking for your mumma..." He hesitated, a flicker of sadness flashing in his eyes before he continued, "She had some... work. So she didn't come."
A lie. A weak, pathetic lie. Siara knew something was wrong. She felt a sharp sting in her chest, but she refused to show it.
Her father's eyes turned glossy, his emotions slipping for just a second before he stepped away and with a lingering look that held everything words failed to express-he left.
Siara snapped out of her daze, her emotions locked away behind an unreadable expression. Without sparing a glance at the weight of emotions lingering behind her, she stepped forward-towards something far more familiar. Chaos.
Avi, as expected, was deep in an animated verbal war with Divya, his face twisted in frustration, hands flailing as if that would somehow strengthen his argument. Divya, equally fierce, stood her ground, arms crossed, eyes blazing with defiance.
Mahir followed behind Siara, his gaze sharp, unwavering, but she was already stepping into the storm like it was second nature.
Reaching Avi, she effortlessly ruffled his hair, her voice laced with amusement."So, what's the new argument this time?"
Avi frowned, "This D for Dayan almost fell near the entrance, and says that was MY fault instead of her heels and those two penguine feets"
Divya gasped, scandalized. "Excuse me?! My heels are designer-"
"-Your brain isn't." Avi shot back without missing a beat.
But before divya could start her wild behaviour Avi hold siara's hand and gave hir a 360 twirl and and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.
With a broad, cheeky smile, he declared, "Diii, you look the prettiest tonight! Unlike this crazy girl over here."
Divya let out a dramatic gasp, already rolling up her imaginary sleeves, ready to attack. "Avi, YOU-"
Before she could pounce, Mahir grabbed her with one hand, pulling her effortlessly. His grip was firm but exasperated. "Why can't you stay in one place quietly?" he muttered as if this was a daily struggle.
Divya huffed."I can! I just choose not to."
Siara just shook her head at the madness, when suddenly, Mahi and Kavya came striding towards her.
Mahi clasped her hands dramatically, eyes sparkling. "Hayee, bhabhi! You're looking beautiful."
Shivay snorted, adjusting his cuffs. "No one complimented me."
Silence.
Not a single soul turned to acknowledge him.
He blinked. "Wow. This family has no taste."
Still, not a single reaction.
Feeling personally attacked, he even cleared his throat loudly-twice-just in case someone had missed his existence.
Nothing.
Meanwhile, Myra crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Mahir, clearly unimpressed."Mahir bhai, where are YOUR manners? Complimenting your wife is a basic husband duty."
Mahir, still holding Divya in place like a misbehaving cat, just arched a brow "I don't need to say it. She already knows."
Siara, completely used to the madness, simply patted Mahi's cheek and said, "You look stunning."
Mahi gasped dramatically. "Bhabhi, please say that again. I felt important."
Siara ignored her and instead, turned towards Shivay."Poocharello, you look...cute."
Dead silence. Every single head turned so fast, someone's neck probably cracked.
Shivay blinked. Once. Twice. Then, realization hit. Siara just complimented him. That too, without looking like she was being held at gunpoint.
Shivay's entire face LIT UP like Diwali fireworks while Kabir grabbed his chest, feigning a trauma.
Shivay, still riding his high, threw an arm around Siara's shoulders. "So bhabhi, can we go for our non-icy hangout tomorrow?"
In that instant, the entire clan-Avi included-erupted in uproarious laughter. In unison, voices rang out,
"In your dreams!"
-----
Mahir had left to engage with potential business associates, while the ladies, Shivay, and Avi remained seated, chatting and laughing amongst themselves. The lively banter surrounded Siara, yet a distant ache settled in her chest as she caught her brothers stealing longing glances at her.
She knew they wanted to talk, to bridge the chasm between them. But she wasn't ready. The wounds were too raw, the past too heavy.
Her gaze, seeking distraction, drifted across the room-until it landed on Mahir. His sharp, commanding presence undisturbed by the sea of guests around him. But he wasn't entirely alone.
A woman stood beside him. She was stunning in a way that demanded attention-tall, draped in a crimson silk gown that clung to her curves, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder in practiced waves her earrings catching the light as she laughed just a little too sweetly.
Siara nudged Shivay and casually pointed. "Who is she?"
Shivay, without missing a beat, smirked. "A female."
Siara's head snapped toward him, and in that single, ice-cold glance, his confidence crumbled like a house of cards in a hurricane.
"Uh-someone your husband is giving absolutely no shit about," he corrected hastily, raising his hands in surrender. "Just look."
Siara turned back, and sure enough, Mahir was the very definition of disinterest.
The woman, persistent as ever, subtly reached for his arm, her manicured fingers barely grazing the fabric of his sleeve. Mahir shifted effortlessly, hands tucked in his pockets, dodging her touch as if it were second nature. Another attempt-this time, she leaned in slightly, her laugh trailing into something suggestive.
Mahir? He picked up a drink from a passing waiter like he hadn't even noticed. His posture was relaxed, almost indifferent-until the woman gestured toward the dance floor.
Siara's eyes narrowed slightly, observing the flicker of something in Mahir's gaze. And then, without hesitation, he set his drink down.
The woman might have thought she had a chance. She was utterly mistaken because Mahir didn't spare another glance in her direction. Instead, with effortless grace, he excused himself and crossed the room, his strides purposeful. His focus was singular-Siara.
Her breath caught the moment he reached her. He leaned in just slightly, his warmth brushing against her cool exterior, his presence intoxicating.
In a move impossibly gentle and assuring, he extended his hand. His voice, rich and smooth, curled around her like a whispered promise."Dance with me, biwi."
Siara Malhotra had spent years mastering the art of stillness, of ignorance, of never stepping into spaces where she didn't belong. Usually, even the thought of dancing sent a thousand thoughts swirling through her mind-excuses, refusals, walls she had built too high to climb.
But tonight... the night itself seemed to hold its breath.
Because for the first time in a decade, Siara Malhotra didn't hesitate to took a step forward, leaving behind an empty space and with that another scar had begun to heal.
Life had taken everything from her-her innocence, her trust, her very sense of self. It had left her shattered, abandoned in the wreckage of memories too cruel to forget.
But she was still here. Trying to survive.
As she placed her hand in his, he tightened his grip-firm, reassuring. A gentle smile spread across his face- meant only for her.
The audience, captivated, exchanged stunned glances. Whispers buzzed through the air like an electric current.
But Mahir? He didn't care.
His entire world was standing before him, her hand in his, taking a step she hadn't taken in a decade.
.
.
.
.
.