Ayaan P.O.V...
Another notification buzzed at the top of my screen.
"Sanya Raichand: The new face of Rosé Luxe. Set to launch her own collection-designed by herself."
My jaw clenched. My grip on the phone tightened like it was the only thing holding back the storm inside me.
She agreed?
She actually agreed to work with him?
I stared at the post, trying to make sense of it, trying to breathe. But the more I looked, the more the rage started to boil beneath my skin.
Did she even think before doing this?
Did she not stop to wonder why, out of all the people in the world, he chose her-suddenly, out of nowhere?
Maybe she didn't know the real Karan Shegal.
Maybe she saw the polished suit, the charming smile, the brand name, and thought it was just business.
But I knew better.
I'd seen the man behind the curtain. The manipulative, twisted side he hides so well behind silk curtains and designer suits.
And then the worst thought hit me, like a sucker punch straight to the chest.
Was it really just professional?
Or had he done what he always does-creep into someone's mind with his flattery, his smooth talk, his fake respect-making them believe they were calling the shots, when in reality, he was playing them like a goddamn puppet?
I couldn't sit anymore. I shot up from the couch, running a hand through my hair, pacing across the room like a caged animal.
I needed air. I needed answers.
Most of all, I needed to know what the hell was going on.
If she had agreed-if she had actually said yes to working with him-then whatever he was planning... it was working.
And I couldn't stand still while he played his twisted game with her at the center of it.
Because out of everyone, why her?
Why now?
There was something off. Something I couldn't see clearly yet-but I could feel it.
This wasn't about a campaign.
It wasn't about fashion or business.
It was something deeper. Dirtier.
And I don't care how influential or powerful Karan Shegal thinks he is.
No one messes with Sanya.
No one plays with her.
Not when I'm here.
She might not realize it yet.
But if Karan Shegal thought this was going to be easy-if he thought I would sit back and watch this unfold-
He has no idea what I'm capable of.
This was getting out of my hands.
And something told me...
It was only just beginning.
Just as I was pacing here and there, drowning in my thoughts, trying to figure out what to do next, a soft sound broke through the chaos—
a tiny, sweet coo.
I stopped in my tracks.
My eyes darted toward the crib.
Did I wake her up?
I walked over and leaned in.
There she was.
My little bundle of peace in the middle of all this madness—wide-eyed, curious, kicking her legs softly, and waving her tiny fists in the air like she was conducting her own invisible orchestra.
God, she looked so pure. Untouched by all this mess.
A small smile tugged at my lips as I sat on the edge of the bed and scooped her into my arms.
"Did my baby sleep well?" I asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She cooed again, resting her head against my chest like she knew exactly how to calm me down.
Everything slowed.
The noise, the anger, the confusion—it all dimmed when I held her. Like she was my anchor in a storm I didn't know how to navigate.
I gently rocked her, watching her tiny fingers curl and uncurl against my shirt. Her warmth grounded me. Reminded me why I had to get to the bottom of this.
Not just for Sanya.
Not just for myself.
But for her too.
Because she deserved a world where no one could touch her family. No lies, no manipulation, no hidden agendas.
Just love. Safety. Truth.
And I would burn the whole world down to protect that.
---
Night time...
After finishing dinner and wrapping up the rest of my work, I finally allowed myself to breathe. The day had been long—too many thoughts, too many emotions—but now, the quiet hum of the night surrounded me like a blanket.
I sat on the bed, gently cradling my baby in my arms as I fed her. Her tiny fingers occasionally curled around mine, her eyes fluttering open and shut as sleep tried to pull her in. Once she was done, I carefully laid her down beside me, letting her roll around and play in her own little bubble of joy.
She babbled softly, playing with the edge of her tiny blanket, her legs kicking the air as if dancing to some lullaby only she could hear.
I picked up my phone and opened the camera.
I couldn't resist.
Click.
The sound made her pause. She turned her head sharply toward me, eyes wide like I had just caught her red-handed.
My lips curled into a soft smile. "Hey, little miss... caught you."
Her expression was priceless—surprised, then confused, then a gurgle of delight as she gave me the tiniest of grins.
I clicked another photo. And another.
"You're going to fill my gallery faster than I ever filled my schedule," I murmured, chuckling softly.
She looked at me, wide-eyed, as if trying to understand my words. Then she reached out a hand, almost like she was trying to touch my face through the camera.
I leaned in closer and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You're the calm in my storm, you know that?"
She yawned, her arms slowly dropping as her eyes began to droop.
I gently covered her with the soft baby blanket and lay beside her, watching her slowly drift into sleep.
In that moment... it didn't matter what was happening outside.
Right now, it was just me and her—and I wouldn't trade this peace for the world.
I tried to sleep. Really, I did.
But sleep had other plans.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers to the chaos in my mind. Beside me, my baby slept peacefully, her little breaths rising and falling, unaware of the storm brewing inside me.
I turned my head to look at her—so innocent, so untouched by the world's ugliness. I brushed a hand over her head softly, careful not to wake her.
But my mind was restless.
I sat up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. The dim night lamp cast long shadows on the wall, and everything felt too quiet. Too still.
I should talk to Sanya. I have to.
This isn't something I can let slide—not this time.
Even her father... I'm sure he has no idea what's going on behind the scenes. And if he does, and he's letting it happen...
No. That can't be. He wouldn't let someone like Karan Shegal get near her.
But this isn't just about politics.
This is about her—and how she's being pulled into a game she doesn't even realize she's part of.
The manipulation, the timing, the headlines—everything was too damn perfect.
And Karan Shegal doesn't make moves without reasons.
My jaw tightened.
I hope it's not what I think it is.
I reached for my phone from the side table, unlocking it quickly. My fingers were shaky, mind racing. I opened the call app. It had been over a year since I called her.
The silence between us had lasted longer than I thought it would.
I typed in her name—Sanya.
No results found.
What?
My brows furrowed. I scrolled up and down, checking again. Nothing.
I didn't remember deleting her contact. Had she changed her number? Or... had I done it in a moment of anger?
Then it hit me.
A quiet click in my mind.
I hadn't saved her number as Sanya.
I saved it by the name I used to call her.
The name only I ever called her.
I slowly typed:
Precious
Flashback...
We were tiny things back then—maybe eight or nine. I was sitting on the old swing in her backyard, waiting for her. She had gone to buy some snacks because, as usual, we were hungry after playing in the sun all day.
I saw her running back, her ponytail bouncing, holding a plastic bag clutched tightly in her arms like it was treasure.
"Sanya!" I called out, jumping off the swing and running to her.
She laughed, out of breath but smiling wide. We made our way to the old tree in the corner of the yard, our secret spot. We sat under its shade, our legs crossed, ready to open the treasure she had brought.
One by one, she pulled out packets of chips, a bar of chocolate, and a small box I'd never seen before.
"I have one more thing," she said, her eyes gleaming with excitement.
She took out two colorful packs labeled BHOOT KA KHAJANA.
"What's that?" I asked, fascinated.
"We find gifts inside!" she explained and handed one to me.
I tore it open eagerly. Inside was a toy car—tiny, red, adorable. My eyes lit up.
Then I noticed her silence.
She sat there, pouting. Quiet.
"What did you get?" I asked, leaning closer.
She wordlessly handed me her paper slip. It had no toy. No candy.
Just a tiny message printed in curly letters:
"You are precious."
I looked at her face again—upset, but still trying to act okay.
I remember the way my heart did something strange that day. Something I didn't understand back then.
So I smiled, leaned closer and whispered,
"You are precious."
Flashback ends...
And since that day—she'd been that.
Not Sanya. Not just a girl.
Precious.
Always.
My thumb hovered over the screen, over that name.
The name that still had all of me in it.
I swallowed hard and tapped Call.
Each ring felt like a heartbeat louder than the last.
And as I waited, I whispered to myself—
"You still are."