Aarav drove through the city like a man chasing a vanishing horizon.
Traffic lights blurred into streaks of red and gold, horns screamed around him, yet all he could hear was the echo of Siya's voice in his head—steady, wounded, honest.
The contract is over. The truth isn't.
For the first time in his life, Aarav Malhotra wasn't thinking like a businessman, a son, or a man bound by expectations. He was thinking like someone who had realized—too late—that love was the only asset he could not afford to lose.
Siya sat on the edge of the bed in her small rented apartment, one hand resting unconsciously on her stomach. The place was modest, nothing like the penthouse she had left behind, but it felt real. Quiet. Safe.
Fear curled in her chest, but beneath it was something stronger—resolve.
She had lived her whole life bending for others: parents, partners, expectations. This time, she had chosen herself. And the life growing inside her.
A knock on the door froze her.
She didn't need to look through the peephole to know who it was.
Her heart knew before her mind caught up.
She opened the door slowly.
Aarav stood there, breath uneven, suit wrinkled, eyes burning with something she had never seen before—raw desperation stripped of pride.
"You didn't give me a choice," he said hoarsely.
She crossed her arms, guarding herself. "You had six months of choices."
"I was afraid," he admitted. The word looked unfamiliar on him, like a crack in marble. "Afraid of losing control. Afraid of failing again."
"And loving me?" she asked softly.
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "Terrified of that."
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything they hadn't said before.
"You should've trusted me," she whispered.
"I want to now," he replied. "Let me."
She shook her head, tears finally breaking free. "You don't get to decide that anymore."
Days passed without resolution.
Aarav fought fires at work—investors withdrawing, public scrutiny tightening—but for once, business felt secondary. He sent messages Siya didn't reply to. Left voicemails she listened to but never answered.
Yet she didn't block him.
She couldn't.
At night, she reread the contract—not for the rules, but for the irony. How two strangers had agreed to everything except the one thing that mattered.
She hadn't told him how far along she was.
She hadn't told him about the complications the doctor warned her about.
Some truths felt too fragile to hand over.
Fate intervened cruelly, as it often does.
At a charity gala—one she had sworn she wouldn't attend—Siya appeared unexpectedly, standing under crystal chandeliers, radiant and composed. Aarav spotted her instantly, his chest tightening.
Then he saw who stood beside her.
Rohan.
Her former fiancé.
Aarav's jaw clenched as memories snapped into place—the past she had never fully shared, the name she avoided. Rohan leaned in too close, his hand hovering near her back, possessive in a way that made Aarav's blood burn.
He crossed the room before logic could stop him.
"What is he doing here?" Aarav asked sharply.
Siya's eyes widened. "This is not the place."
Rohan smiled thinly. "I was wondering when the husband would show up. Or should I say—ex-husband?"
Aarav ignored him, his gaze locked on Siya. "Is he part of your future?"
She hesitated.
That pause shattered something inside him.
Later that night, alone in the parking lot, the argument finally exploded.
"You don't trust me," Siya said, voice shaking. "Not when it matters."
"I saw the way he looked at you," Aarav snapped. "Like he still owns you."
"He doesn't," she shot back. "But neither do you."
The words hit hard.
"I never wanted to own you," Aarav said quietly. "I wanted to choose you. And I wanted you to choose me back."
She turned away, tears streaming. "You chose the contract first."
He stepped closer. "Then let me choose differently now."
She looked at him then—really looked. The man who had learned too late. The man who still might learn.
"I'm not the same woman who signed those papers," she said.
"And I'm not the same man who wrote them," he replied.
Across the city, Rohan made a call.
"She's pregnant," he said into the phone, voice edged with calculation. "And Malhotra doesn't know the whole story."
The person on the other end laughed softly. "Good. Then it's time we remind them both… some contracts never truly end."
As Siya lay awake that night, her phone buzzed with an unknown number.
A single message appeared:
If Aarav finds out the truth the wrong way, you'll lose more than your freedom.
Her hand trembled as she read it again.
Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
And somewhere between love, lies, and unfinished promises, the past was preparing to collide violently with the future—one neither of them was ready for.
The contract may have ended.
But the consequences were only just beginning.
The message stayed on Siya's screen long after the phone went dark.
She sat up slowly, heart pounding, the echo of the threat crawling under her skin. Rohan. It had to be him. He had always known where to strike—never loud, never obvious, always precise. The kind of man who smiled while dismantling your life piece by piece.
She deleted the message but not the fear.
Her hand rested on her stomach again, protective now. "I won't let you hurt us," she whispered into the quiet room, though she didn't know who she was trying to convince.
Aarav hadn't slept.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office long after midnight, Mumbai glittering below him like a mockery. Every deal, every crisis he had ever handled—none of them felt as terrifying as not knowing where he stood with Siya.
The pause at the gala haunted him.
Is he part of your future?
Her hesitation replayed again and again, twisting into doubt. He hated that doubt. Hated that after everything, there were still walls between them he didn't know how to break.
His phone buzzed.
An internal report. Background research his team had dug up on Rohan Mehta after the gala incident—old business dealings, political connections, lawsuits quietly buried.
And then one line made his breath hitch.
Previously attempted to sabotage Malhotra Group acquisition in 2018.
Aarav's jaw tightened.
"So it was never just about Siya," he murmured.
The next morning, Siya felt dizzy before she even made it to the kitchen.
She gripped the counter, breath shallow, vision blurring.
The doctor's warning echoed in her mind: Stress is dangerous right now. You need support.
Support meant vulnerability.
Vulnerability meant Aarav.
The doorbell rang.
She froze.
Another ring—gentler this time.
When she opened the door, it wasn't Aarav.
It was his mother.
Mrs. Malhotra stood there, elegant as ever, but her eyes were soft in a way Siya had never seen before.
"I hope I'm not intruding," she said quietly. "May I come in?"
Siya stepped aside, unease tightening her chest.
They sat across from each other in the small living room, the contrast between their worlds impossible to ignore.
"I know about the contract," Mrs. Malhotra said without preamble. "I also know my son is an idiot when it comes to emotions."
Siya swallowed. "This isn't his fault alone."
"No," she agreed. "But it is his responsibility now."
Siya looked up sharply.
Mrs. Malhotra reached into her purse and placed a document on the table.
A medical report.
Siya's breath caught. "How did you—"
"I've learned to read silence," the older woman said gently. "And I see the way Aarav looks at you. Whatever this marriage started as… it didn't stay that way."
Tears filled Siya's eyes. "I didn't want to trap him."
Mrs. Malhotra shook her head. "A child is not a trap. Love is not a weakness. And if Aarav fails to see that, then he will answer to me."
For the first time in weeks, Siya felt something loosen in her chest.
Hope—fragile, trembling, but alive.
Across town, Aarav confronted Rohan.
The tension between them crackled like exposed wire.
"Stay away from her," Aarav said coldly.
Rohan smiled. "You don't get to make demands anymore. The contract's over, remember?"
"You leaked it."
"Prove it."
Aarav stepped closer. "If you touch her life again, I will dismantle yours—legally, financially, publicly."
Rohan leaned in, voice dropping. "Then you should be very careful. Because if the truth comes out… you might lose her forever."
Aarav's eyes narrowed. "What truth?"
Rohan straightened, already walking away. "Ask your wife."
That night, Aarav stood outside Siya's apartment again.
This time, he didn't knock immediately.
Through the door, he could hear her—soft breathing, the faint clink of a glass being set down. Real life. The life he had almost walked away from.
When he finally knocked, the door opened slowly.
They stared at each other, the air heavy with things unsaid.
"What is it, Aarav?" she asked.
He searched her face. "Rohan says you're hiding something from me."
Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach.
Aarav noticed.
Everything inside him went still.
"Siya…" His voice was barely more than a breath. "What aren't you telling me?"
She looked away, tears slipping free despite her effort to stay strong.
"I was going to tell you," she whispered. "Just not like this."
His heart began to race. "Tell me now."
She met his eyes again—fear, love, and determination colliding.
"There are consequences to loving me," she said. "And once you hear this… you won't be able to walk away."
Aarav stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"I already can't," he said quietly.
The space between them felt charged, fragile, dangerous.
And as Siya took a breath to finally speak the truth, fate held its breath with them—because once the words were said, nothing would ever be the same again.