Samaira’s POV

The morning light poured into the living room, casting a warm glow on the furniture as I sat across from my father. His face, usually calm and composed, was etched with worry. The cup of tea in his hands remained untouched, the steam curling into the air between us.

“You don’t have to do this, Samaira,” he said, his voice firm yet pleading. “I know what this is about. He’s manipulating you. Don’t let him use you like this.”

I sighed, placing my own cup on the table. “Papa, I know what I’m doing.” My tone was steady, but I could feel the weight of his concern pressing down on me.

“You don’t, beta,” he said, leaning forward. “This is the same man who left you at the altar a year ago. The same man who humiliated you in front of everyone we know. And now, he’s forcing you into this...this sham of a marriage. I can’t stand by and watch him hurt you again.”

I reached out, placing a hand over his. “Papa, this isn’t about me. It’s about us—our family, our business. You know the condition we’re in right now. If I don’t do this, we could lose everything. I can’t let that happen.”

He shook his head, his eyes glistening. “We’ll manage, Samaira. We always have. You’re sacrificing too much for us. It’s not fair to you.”

I forced a smile, trying to reassure him. “This isn’t a sacrifice. It’s a deal. A game. And if I play it right, we’ll come out on top. Trust me, Papa.”

He stared at me for a long moment, searching my face for any sign of doubt. Finally, he sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I trust you, beta. I always have. But promise me one thing—don’t let him break you. You’re stronger than that.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I won’t. I promise.”

Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. The name flashing on the screen made my stomach twist: Advait Shekhawat.

I picked up the call, bracing myself for his voice.

“I’m outside,” he said, his tone as calm and authoritative as ever. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

I ended the call without replying and turned to my father. “I have to go.”

He stood as I did, pulling me into a tight hug. “Take care, Samaira. And remember—you’re not alone in this.”

“I know, Papa,” I whispered, holding on for a moment longer before stepping back. With one last glance at him, I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.

__________

Advait stood leaning casually against his sleek black car, his phone in hand, scrolling through emails. When he saw Samaira approach, he straightened, slipping his phone into his pocket.

As she walked toward him, he noticed the way the light caught the faint streak of sindoor on her forehead and the delicate chain of the mangalsutra around her neck. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips.

“Nice touch,” he remarked, his voice laced with amusement.

Samaira shot him a glare as she opened the car door. “Your mother insisted. Apparently, someone thought it was a good idea to tell her about the press conference.”

Advait chuckled, unfazed by her irritation. “You wear it well.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response, slamming the door shut behind her.

The ride to his office was tense, filled with a heavy silence that neither of them bothered to break. Samaira stared out the window, her thoughts racing, while Advait focused on the road, a subtle air of triumph surrounding him.

When they arrived at Shekhawat Enterprises, Samaira couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. The building loomed above them, a symbol of Advait’s power and influence. Stepping into his world felt like stepping into enemy territory, but she straightened her shoulders and held her head high.

The lavish interior of the building was just as she remembered—opulent and intimidating. Employees paused to steal glances at the couple as they passed, their curiosity evident.

As they approached the conference room, Samaira couldn’t hold back any longer. “Before we go in, clear the mess you’ve created with my family’s business,” she demanded, her voice low but firm.

Advait stopped, turning to face her with a raised brow. “Don’t you trust me?”

Samaira let out a bitter laugh. “If you were the last person on this planet, I wouldn’t trust you.”

Advait smirked, unfazed by her hostility. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

Before she could retort, his assistant, Rohit, appeared. “Sir, everything is set. The media is waiting inside.”

Advait gave a curt nod. “We’ll be there shortly.”

As Rohit walked away, Advait pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. A moment later, he slipped it back into his pocket and looked at Samaira.

“All’s set now,” he said smoothly. “Your family’s business will be back on track by the end of the day. You can relax.”

Samaira narrowed her eyes, searching his face for any sign of deceit. But before she could push further, he gestured toward the conference room doors.

“Shall we, Mrs. Shekhawat?”

With a deep breath, Samaira followed him, her heart pounding as they stepped into the lion’s den.

The room was buzzing with activity, reporters chatting among themselves, cameras clicking as they adjusted their settings. But the moment Advait and Samaira walked in together, a hush fell over the crowd.

The reporters stared, their shock evident. Many of them had been there a year ago when Advait Shekhawat had left Samaira at the altar in a scandalous display of betrayal. Seeing them together now, dressed impeccably and exuding an air of unity, was nothing short of astounding.

And then there was the sindoor and mangalsutra. The tiny details didn’t escape their notice, sparking a flurry of whispers and hushed speculation.

“Isn’t that the same woman he left at the altar?”

“Why is she wearing sindoor? Are they...married?”

“Looks like we’re getting some breaking news today.”

Samaira kept her expression neutral, even as the weight of their stares pressed down on her. Advait, ever composed, led her to the front of the room with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

As they took their places, Samaira couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His face betrayed nothing, but she knew better. This was his game, his stage.

And today, she was playing her part.