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Aayat's POV

I was in my office. My phone buzzed again, dragging me out of the half-formed thoughts I'd carried from the night before. I froze as I read the message:

Tej Kapoor: "If you don't come today along with your husband you'll lose half your father's property. And Mihir? I'll make sure he doesn't win the election. Or the consequences will be yours to bear."

My hands trembled as I reread it. My father's property... the stakes. And then... Mihir.

It was never about the property. Not really. It was about him. My father. Him. Me. No one not Tej Kapoor would ever lay a claim to anything that belonged to me not my father, not his legacy.

The thought of Mihir losing his election because of me made my stomach twist. I knew the truth I didn't mean anything to him, not really. I was just... a name, a face, the wife he had to present to the world. And yet, I couldn't let the people of this city see him fail because of me. I couldn't.

I stared at the ceiling, mind racing, heart hammering. Slowly, determination replaced panic. If this was about my father... about preserving what was his... then I had no choice. I would protect him. And Mihir.

I grabbed my phone, fingers swift and decisive.

I called Mihir and informed him about the dinner at 8 o'clock.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet at first, the city buzzing around us. Mihir's hand rested lightly on the steering wheel, eyes on the road.

"Where exactly are we going?" he asked finally, voice curious.

"Tej Kapoor," I said evenly, keeping my tone neutral.

He glanced at me, brow furrowed. Confusion flashed across his face.

"You mean...?"

"Yes," I interrupted softly. I exhaled, steadying myself. "I told you yesterday I didn't know Tej Kapoor. I do know him... he's my stepdad. He invited us to dinner tonight."

The car was silent after that, the words hanging between us like smoke. I felt Mihir's quiet scrutiny even without looking. He hadn't spoken, but I could sense him processing, weighing the revelation.

And then it hit me. Of course he knew. He's in politics too how could he not? Tej Kapoor isn't just my stepdad. He's tangled in every move Mihir makes, every alliance, every election battle. That's why Mihir had asked me last night about him maybe.

When we arrived, Mrs. Kapoor was already there, impeccably dressed, her calm presence betraying nothing. And then Tej Kapoor appeared.

The mockery came immediately, smooth and deliberate, aimed at me.

"Ah, Aayat," he said, a sly curl on his lips. "Always so serious. And this must be... the famous Mr. Raghuvanshi. THE CM. Quite the catch."

I stiffened beside Mihir, the chair suddenly too hard under me. Before I could think of a reply, his voice cut through the room, calm, controlled, and colder than I expected.

"Yes. Tej Kapoor," he said, flat and measured.

By the time we were seated at the long dining table, I hated everything about the place. How much I hadn't wanted to come, every inch of this house felt like a bruise. It was ostentatious and fake and full of memories I didn't want to touch. Still, I had to be here. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat and forced my hands to lie still in my lap.

Tej didn't waste a beat.

"Aayat, you know why I called you?" he asked, too pleasant.

"To tell you and your husband to stop wasting effort on that land, understood?" He smiled as if delivering good news. "That land never belonged to you. Mihir, you're a CM, you shouldn't be meddling in these small matters."

"Shut up, Mr. Kapoor," Mihir said softly, but firmly. "She is my wife and a citizen of this state. It is my duty to listen to every grievance, no matter how small."

Tej's smile thinned. "Mihir, stop defending her. She's just a piece—"

"Complete that sentence," Mihir said, every syllable slow. "And you'll find out exactly what happens to men who talk like that."

The room held its breath. Tej's face tightened for a flicker of a second, then he forced the smirk back on as if nothing had happened.

I looked at Mihir from the corner of my eye and felt so grateful at once. For today, just for today, I wasn't alone in this. Part of me wanted to be ashamed for relying on him, for needing him, but selfish or not, the relief was real. My hand tightened around the napkin until the fabric dug into my palm.

Mihir's voice was quiet but lethal when he spoke again, not shouting, only precise. "What can I expect from a man like you, Kapoor? One who hides behind politics, who never makes a real appearance for fear of arrest or worse? Cowardice doesn't become a kingmaker."

The words landed clean. Tej's composure flickered. Mrs. Kapoor eyes were polite, but I could see the calculation behind them. My chest unclenched a fraction. The threats, the insults, Tej's weapons, were blunt against Mihir's calm. And for the first time since the message on my phone, a small, dangerous hope threaded through me: maybe we could stand up to him. Maybe, together, we could.

Tej's lips pressed into a tight line, but his eyes flicked to Mihir, sharp and calculating. He opened his mouth, probably to fire back, but Mihir's gaze didn't waver. Calm. Unflinching. Dominant in a way that made the room shrink around us.

I felt my chest loosen just slightly. Mihir had taken the weight of this confrontation onto himself, and I, just for a moment, could breathe.

"I think," Mihir said slowly, letting each word settle, "we're done here."

Tej's smirk faltered entirely this time. "Done? You—"

"We're leaving," Mihir interrupted, voice quiet, steady, but impossible to argue with. "And I suggest you remember that no one, no one, gets to dictate the terms of our lives. Not you. Not anyone."

He stood, pulling me up with him. My hands were trembling slightly, but Mihir's presence anchored me. I felt the heat of my own anger flare again, but it wasn't just mine, it was Mihir's resolve, sharp and precise, flowing into me.

Tej's mouth opened, shrieked something about consequences, threats, politics, but Mihir didn't even look back. He guided me toward the door, shoulders squared, calm radiating from him like armor.

As we stepped into the car, I finally let out a slow breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"Thank you," I murmured, voice low, barely audible over the quiet hum of the engine.

Mihir glanced at me, one eyebrow slightly raised, almost teasing, almost gentle. "For what?"

"For being here, for not letting him get to me," I said softly, still gripping my hands in my lap. "Even for a day, I, I wasn't alone."

He said nothing, but the way his eyes met mine held more than words. Calm. Protective. Steadfast. I realized then, fully, that no matter the threats, the politics, or the property, Mihir was a wall I could rely on. And for once, I allowed myself to feel, less afraid.

The city lights blurred outside the car window as we drove away from the house. Inside, a quiet tension remained, but it was tempered now by something stronger: the knowledge that we faced this together.

And I couldn't stop thinking, even amid the anger and fear, that maybe, just maybe, that was enough for today.

"I, I'm sorry," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Because of me, you had to face all of that. If I'd known it would end like this, I, I never would have asked you to come. I didn't know it would go so far..."

"Stop being sorry," he said softly. "It wasn't your fault. None of it."

I swallowed hard, but the guilt wouldn't leave me. "But, because of me..."

He shook his head, calm and precise. Then, after a pause, he said, almost casually, "I knew."

I turned to him sharply. "Knew? Knew what?"

He met my gaze, steady, almost teasing in the way only he could manage. "About Tej. About you, and your father."

My chest tightened. "What, how? When?"

Mihir exhaled, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yesterday. You got upset, you tried to hide it, but I could see. So I had to find out. Zyran, gave me everything I needed."

I blinked, startled. "Zyran? He, he told you?"

"He knows me well enough to understand when I'm looking for answers," Mihir said quietly. "And he knows how to find out things." His eyes softened for the briefest moment. "I wanted to know what I was really dealing with, with you. With him. With everything."

I felt a mixture of relief and something I couldn't name, a strange, dangerous trust threading between us. "You, you already knew?" I murmured.

He gave the faintest nod.

And in that quiet car, moving through the city that had suddenly grown dangerous and uncertain, I let myself breathe.

"I, I am sorry too," he said quietly, almost reluctantly. "I know I shouldn't have found out about it without your permission. I should've waited, let you tell me in your own time."

He gave a faint, wry smile, but his eyes remained serious. "But, Aayat, trust me. It was necessary. If I hadn't known, if I hadn't found out, many worse things could have happened."

I blinked, my chest tightening. "Worse things? Like, what?"

Mihir's gaze flicked briefly to the road, then back to me, steady and calm. "You don't even realize how much Tej Kapoor can manipulate. How far he's willing to go. If I hadn't known, if we hadn't been prepared, it could have gone beyond threats. Beyond property disputes. Beyond politics. It could have been dangerous. For you, for your family, even for me."

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. "I, I didn't know. I didn't realize..."

"You couldn't," he said softly, squeezing my hand gently. "You didn't see what was coming. But I did. That's why I acted. Not to control you, but to protect everything."

I looked down at our hands, his warmth grounding me. "I, I just, I hate that I made you face all that because of me."

Mihir's voice was calm, unwavering, and filled with a quiet authority. "You didn't make me do anything. I chose to be there. And you, you didn't know how far it would go. None of this is your fault."

Through the whole ride, I could sense him stealing glances at me. Just brief, careful ones, but enough to make my chest tighten.

Why, why is Mihir Raghuvanshi doing this? He doesn't do this. He doesn't falter. He doesn't look at anyone like that.

Please, I thought, silently, don't. Don't make me feel this.

I stared out the window, heart hammering, refusing to meet his eyes, afraid of what it would mean if I did.

Mihir's voice cut through my thoughts, calm and steady as always. "What do you want to eat?"

I froze for a second, and then my mind flashed back to the morning. That breakfast pasta. How much I had hated it from the core of my heart. The texture, the sauce, everything, yet, somehow, I had eaten it. All of it.

And to be honest, it had been delicious.

"You..."

Mihir blinked, his hand pausing slightly on the wheel. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, voice caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.

I froze, realizing instantly what I'd said. I hadn't meant it, I was going to add words, clarify, explain, but before I could get the chance...

"Sharam nahi aati," Mihir said sharply, almost teasing, his voice low but cutting, "apne sage pati pe dore daalte hue?"

My face burned hotter than I thought possible. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I could feel the heat rising to my ears, my chest tightening with both embarrassment and something else I wasn't ready to name.

The car fell silent again, but now the tension wasn't just from the night's events, it was from the words I'd spoken, the glance I'd dared, and the way Mihir's voice had landed like a spark.

I stumbled over my words, panicked, "I, I didn't mean it like that, I was going to—"

Mihir cut me off, smirk tugging at his lips, voice calm but teasing: "Aayat, you don't have to explain. Tum normally bhi bol sakti ho, that you want me, hun hi itna hot."

I froze. What did he just say? My

brain short-circuited.

Chiiiiiiiii! You're being too delusional. TERRIBLE HUMAN! I screamed at him.

I pressed my palms to my face, mortified, heat blazing through me. He wasn't just teasing, he was deliberately twisting my slip into something I didn't know how to respond to.

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, that faint smirk teasing me further, and my stomach did somersaults I couldn't explain.

I was still pressing my palms to my face, trying to erase the heat crawling up my neck, my mind a jumble of mortification and disbelief, when suddenly, out of nowhere, Mihir's voice cut through the hum of the car.

"Aayat..." he began, calm, steady, almost unnervingly casual.

I peeked at him from between my fingers, heart hammering, unsure what he was about to say.

"How many kids do you want?"

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Bahen ne aaj Tak hath pakadna mehsoos nahi kiya aur ye bacchon ki baat kr raha🥹

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To be continued

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