Aditya Kapoor 25 yrs old owner of well known interior designing company a self owned billionaire. handsome, cold, charismatic, a well raised men and most eligible bachelor. love his family a lot can do anything for them
A man girls can die for , he...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
“Mom, please stop. I really don't want to meet anyone. I’m already swamped with the new project, and you’re not even trying to understand,” I say angrily into the phone before hanging up abruptly.
My already ruined mood sinks further. She knows damn well how I feel about relationships, yet she keeps searching for a suitable wife for me. I’ve told her countless times it’s pointless, but she won’t listen. I’m not going to marry anyone, period.
A knock on my cabin door interrupts my thoughts. “Come in,” I say. The door opens, revealing my secretary, Mr. Sharma, holding a file. He hands it to me, and as I go through it, I realize all the data is completely incorrect. We have an important meeting in an hour.
“Who worked on this file?” I demand.
“Mrs. Riya Singh,” Mr. Sharma replies.
“Call her in here, right now.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, hurrying out.
Why is everyone on a mission to sour my mood today?
Five minutes later, Miss Riya stands in my cabin, looking nervous.
“Did you check this file after you finished with it?” I ask.
“Yes, sir,” she replies, her voice trembling.
“Then what the hell is wrong with it? This is the fourth time you’ve made the same mistake. How could you mess up every single time? Who are you doing this for?”
“No one, sir,” she stammers, fear evident in her voice.
Sensing both fear and a lie, I snap, “You’re fired.”
“But sir, please listen—”
“Just get out!” I yell.
Turning to Mr. Sharma, I say, “I want you to keep an eye on her.”
“Okay, sir,” he says.
“And bring me all the files related to the meeting in five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” he responds and leaves.
Taking a deep breath, I immerse myself in work.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Meanwhile, across the city, i and Kiara are shopping for anarkalis. As we sift through the vibrant fabrics, Kiara asks about my anxiety—a secret only she knows.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
“What?” I reply, feigning innocence.
“Don’t play innocent, Vanya,” she chides.
“It’s alright, don’t worry,” I assure her.
“When are you going to tell them about your anxiety?” she presses.
“I don’t know. Let’s just focus on choosing an anarkali for now.”
“Till when?” she persists.
“I don’t know,” I reply.
“I’m with you, Vanya. Just tell them. If not everyone, then at least tell Granny or your mom,” she suggests.
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I say with a faint smile. “Now, can we choose an anarkali?”
“Sure, babe,” she says, smiling back.
After shopping, Kiara and I head to my home. As soon as we step inside, we hear my father’s screams, sending shivers down my spine. I know what’s happening. I immediately tell Kiara to leave.
“I can’t leave you this time, Vanya,” she protests.
“Please understand, Kiara, just go now. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, but call me if anything happens. I’m just a call away.”
“I know,” I say.
“Just call me when you reach.”
“Okay, take care, Vanya.”
I reply with a hmm, and she leaves.
Inside, I see my father yelling, my mother and my brother Moksh standing by. He’s just back from his school trip. As my father steps towards me, I start trembling, trying my best to control it.
“Where were you whoring around?” he shouts.
“I just went to buy some groceries,” I lie, knowing the truth would make things worse.
“You know you can’t lie to me,” he snarls, then slaps me hard. The sound reverberates in the room, leaving my mother and Moksh shocked and terrified. When they try to intervene, he stops them. Moksh also tries to come near, but my father, consumed by rage and alcohol, blocks him.
“I’m not lying,” I say.
“If I find out there’s even the slightest involvement with any boy, you’ll see, the consequences won’t be good,” he threatens, before walking away, calling me a useless asshole. He tells my mother to take me away before leaving. Moksh stands there, staring at me for a whole minute. I want to leave as soon as possible. I can’t let him see how anxiety is devouring me. It’s incredibly hard to control.
I try to retreat to my room, but Moksh interrupts, asking, “Is he mad or what? And why did you go? Is it hurting?” referring to my cheek. I just walk away without replying.
Once in my room, I lock the door, remove my earrings, and collapse on the floor, leaning against my bed, folding myself into a ball. A sharp pain of anxiety shoots up in my chest. I tightly clutch my shirt as tears roll down my cheeks. The sting on my cheek feels like it’s burning.
Why does he always hurt me like this? Why does he always trigger my anxiety? He always makes hurtful accusations. I only went shopping with Kiara; there’s no involvement with any boy.
I dig my nails into my right arm until it leaves a mark, hoping to distract myself. It helps a little, but the pain in my chest persists. I start counting, and after reaching seventy, I feel slightly calmer. I sob for a few more minutes before crawling into bed. Exhausted from shopping and crying, I don’t even realize when sleep consumes me
