Tarini returned to the Sangwan estate with Abhay, her mind swirling with a mix of emotions. She felt the weight of her secret pressing down on her chest like a heavy stone. When Abhay suggested grabbing a coffee to unwind, she quickly declined, citing exhaustion. He raised an eyebrow in surprise but said nothing, sensing something deeper than mere fatigue.
As they arrived home, Tarini steeled herself before entering the living room, determined to maintain her facade. "Just a bout of food poisoning," she told Dadi and her mother in law, forcing a smile as she spoke. Dadi's keen gaze scrutinized her, the lines of concern etched across her face. Though she nodded in acceptance, there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes that made Tarini's heart race.
As the evening wore on, the air in the estate grew thick with unspoken tension. Tarini retreated to her room, hoping to find solace from the storm brewing inside her. But as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows through the windows, she knew she couldn't hide forever.
Emerging from her sanctuary, she headed towards the drawing room, the flickering light of the television drawing her in. The soft murmur of voices grew louder as she approached, the sound weaving through her like a warning bell. When she stepped into the room, the sight that met her eyes sent chills racing down her spine.
On the screen, a news anchor spoke with urgency, his expression grave. "Breaking news from Haryana: Chief Minister Bharat Malik is under investigation by the Enforcement Directorate amid the upcoming elections."
Tarini's breath caught in her throat. The familiar name echoed in her mind like a siren's call, a reminder of everything she feared. Her father—the chief minister, a figure of strength and authority—was now at the center of a storm that threatened to engulf them. Panic surged within her, flooding her senses and freezing her in place. She felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet, leaving her suspended in a whirlwind of chaos.
"...allegations of corruption and financial misconduct are being investigated..."
Each word from the screen felt like a dagger, piercing through her carefully constructed facade. She stumbled backward, her heart racing, as the realization sank in. This was her worst fear coming to life, unraveling before her very eyes. The world she knew was suddenly shrouded in uncertainty, and the implications of her father's predicament weighed heavily on her soul.
Dadi's voice broke through her thoughts, a mix of concern and confusion. "Tarini? Are you alright?"
But Tarini was no longer listening. All she could hear was the relentless pounding of her heart, the echo of a truth she couldn't escape. She felt a shiver run down her spine, a premonition of the storm that was about to unfold. How could she face the world when her family was on the brink of a scandal? As her thoughts spiraled, she took a step back, her mind racing with questions, fears, and a growing sense of dread.
The car sped down the winding roads, the hum of the engine a steady backdrop to Tarini's racing thoughts. Sitting in the backseat, she felt a profound sense of urgency coursing through her veins, a relentless drive pushing her toward Delhi. Abhay sat beside her, casting occasional glances her way, but she remained quiet, absorbed in the weight of their circumstances.
Virender, her father-in-law, gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles pale against the leather. He was trying to connect with Devraj, but each failed call only deepened the tension in the vehicle. "What could be so important that he's not answering?" he muttered, his frustration palpable in the air.
Tarini's heart sank at the mention of Devraj. She couldn't shake the feeling that his absence was a silent statement, a chasm opening between them at the worst possible moment. The silence in the car was thick, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of the tires against the asphalt. The night outside was a blur of darkness, the headlights illuminating patches of the road ahead, but inside, her thoughts spiraled into uncertainty.
Earlier that evening, she had approached the dadoo in the drawing room, where the air had been thick with tension. Virender had been pacing, his brow furrowed with worry as he spoke on the phone, the glowing screen casting shadows on his worried expression. Daddoo, seated comfortably in his armchair, observed the unfolding drama with a stoic demeanor, his wise eyes betraying little of the concern swirling within him.
"Daddoo, I need to go to Delhi" Tarini had insisted, her voice steady yet pleading. She could see the flicker of surprise in both men's eyes.
Virender had opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on. "I can't just sit here while my father is facing an ED inquiry. I need to be there for him." Her tone was firm, each word laced with the urgency of her intent.
Daddoo had studied her for a moment, the silence stretching out as he weighed her determination against the potential risks. "Virender, let her go," he finally said, his voice calm yet authoritative. "She has the right to be there for her father."
Virender had hesitated, glancing at his father, uncertainty clouding his features. "But it's not safe, Bauji. We can handle this. She should stay back."
"No," Daddoo replied, his voice unwavering. "This is not just about safety; it's about family. Tarini has a right to stand by her father in this hour of need. If she feels that strongly, we should respect that." His words were imbued with the weight of tradition, yet they carried a hint of understanding, a recognition of Tarini's determination.
At that moment, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. Daddoo's support meant everything, and it emboldened her resolve. "I'll be careful, I promise," she assured them both, her eyes sparkling with a mix of fear and fierce determination.
With a reluctant nod, Virender relented, his protective instincts yielding to his father's wisdom. "Fine, but you must stay close to us at all times. We'll leave immediately."
As she recalled those moments now, Tarini felt a surge of strength course through her. She was more than just a daughter-in-law; she was a member of this family, and they would face whatever lay ahead together. The car's headlights illuminated the winding road ahead, but it was her determination that lit the path. She would stand by her father and navigate the storm that threatened to engulf them all, with her family by her side.
But the thought of confronting the situation without Devraj's support gnawed at her insides. She had tried to reach him, to bridge the gap that seemed to widen with each passing day, but his silence felt deafening now. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, how he viewed her father's situation. The tension was palpable, and her heart clenched at the uncertainty of it all.
"Don't worry, Tara. We'll figure this out," Abhay said, trying to offer reassurance, but the words felt insufficient.
With every mile they traveled, Tarini's resolve hardened. She wouldn't let fear dictate her actions. She had to be strong—for her father, for herself, and for the family she had chosen to marry into. As the car sliced through the night, she felt the weight of her responsibilities press down on her shoulders, but she was ready to face whatever awaited them in Delhi, even if it meant doing so without Devraj by her side.
They arrived in Delhi in the dead of night. Virender led them into his sprawling villa, the shadows of towering pillars and intricate arches casting a regal air of intimidation. He reassured her with a quick, controlled tone. "We'll meet your father in the morning. He's being held in interrogation overnight." His words sliced through the cold air, but they did nothing to soothe the storm brewing inside her.
Taraini spun toward him, her eyes blazing. "How is it even possible?" Her voice trembled with disbelief, frustration. "How can they just hold a Chief Minister for questioning? My father is the Chief Minister, for heaven's sake!"
Abhay moved forward, placing a steady hand on her shoulder, his expression calm but cautious. "Let's try to keep it together—"
Taraini cut him off, her voice now low and pained. "I married Devraj to keep my father safe, didn't I? So how is he in this situation?" She shook her head, her words trailing off in quiet defeat, as though the weight of her decision was settling in deeper with each breath.
Before Virender or Abhay could reply, a deep, husky voice interrupted, resonating from the shadows of the hallway. "Of course, you did."
Taraini's gaze snapped up, and there he was—Devraj Singh, standing in the dim light like a figure carved from old-world elegance and raw power. At 31, he moved with a quiet confidence, the kind that spoke of bloodlines steeped in heritage, power that didn't need to announce itself but was felt. His posture, relaxed yet unapproachable, held the weight of a man who had never needed to rush, his very presence commanding the room.
He wore only a shirt and trousers, the jacket likely discarded hours ago, yet the simplicity of his attire only sharpened the aura around him. The crisp white shirt, from the revered tailor Henry Poole, stretched perfectly across his broad chest, its hand-stitched detailing almost invisible to the untrained eye—an understated luxury that whispered of wealth without ever needing to shout. His trousers, custom-fitted from Rubinacci, hung with that same ease, tailored so flawlessly it seemed they had been sculpted to his body.
The watch on his wrist gleamed subtly in the low light—an A. Lange & Söhne, its face an intricate masterpiece, quietly marking time with the precision of an heirloom passed down through generations. It was more than a timepiece; it was a statement, a crown worn at the pulse, a reminder that some men carried kingdoms not in their hands but in the way they moved through the world.
His face, all hard lines and, was softened only by the faintest stubble, as though the refinement of his lifestyle brushed up against something more untamed, more dangerous. Black eyes flickered with an unreadable intensity, like deep waters concealing secrets. He looked like someone out of another era, a blend of authority and an aloofness that kept him just out of reach.
His presence was magnetic, a mix of royalty and raw strength, like he belonged both in a boardroom and on a battlefield.
When he spoke again, his voice was smooth, deep, with a husky undertone that sent a chill down her spine. "And we'll make sure your father walks out of that investigation, untouched."
In that moment, Devraj was more than just a man—he was a storm wrapped in silk, a phantom wrapped in flesh.
Taraini hadn't seen Devraj in a month, yet the moment her eyes landed on him, despite the tense situation, she couldn't ignore the pull. Even now, as she watched him, Devraj seemed engaged in an unspoken conversation with his father, their exchange made only through looks and subtle shifts—an understanding that was entirely their own. She had never been able to decipher it, this silent language they shared, and it left her feeling both curious and distant.
Virender, clearly sensing the conclusion of this wordless interaction, gave a crisp, deliberate nod. "Good night, everyone," he said, his voice as composed as ever, before turning and slipping away, leaving the room to its quiet tensions.
Taraini's eyes trailed back to Devraj, only to find Abhay now leaning in, whispering something close to his brother's ear. The sight struck her—the contrast between them so evident, yet there was an undeniable bond. No one would ever guess they were stepbrothers, but the way they moved around each other, an invisible rhythm of familiarity and tension, spoke volumes.
Devraj, didn't speak. He listened, his eyes narrowing slightly as Abhay murmured something, his brow furrowing in thought. Then, almost as if he felt her gaze, Devraj's eyes flicked toward her. It was sharp, intense—enough to make Taraini step back involuntarily, her breath catching in her throat. It was as though he had pulled her into the silent world he shared with his father, just for a moment. But just as quickly, his attention was back on Abhay, his expression unreadable once more.
Two minutes later, Abhay straightened, his posture shifting to something more neutral. He cast a brief nod in Taraini's direction, before he turned and walked toward his room, leaving her alone in the lingering silence of the night.
As Abhay disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Tarini's thoughts spiraled inward. The weight of her earlier words settled heavily on her chest—I married Devraj to protect my father. How wrong that must have sounded. She wasn't sure if Devraj had caught it or how he interpreted it, but guilt clawed at her. Her mind raced, retracing the moments since they had arrived. Had she really reduced their complex, layered relationship to something so transactional?
Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed Devraj move closer until his warmth enveloped her. His arms, firm but careful, circled her waist, pulling her gently against his chest. The suddenness of it jolted her, and it took her a moment to even register what was happening. He wasn't speaking, wasn't demanding anything—he was simply holding her, as though the unspoken things between them could only be understood through touch.
In those seconds, the world narrowed to the solid feel of him—his heartbeat steady beneath her ear, the scent of his skin mixing with the crisp remnants of his cologne. Tarini stiffened at first, surprised by the quiet intensity of the embrace. But as the warmth of his body seeped into hers, something inside her softened. She realized her small frame practically melting into his. There was no distance now, no cold barriers of words or misunderstandings between them—just the undeniable pull of two people caught in the gravity of something bigger.
His arms were strong, the kind that could shield but never trap, and the way he held her made it feel as though the weight of her worries was something he could bear without question. Her head rested against his chest, her cheek grazing the smooth fabric of his shirt, and she felt the rise and fall of his breath beneath her. Devraj, silent as always, was letting the moment speak for him.
Tarini's heart beat faster, not from the fear or confusion that had plagued her earlier, but from the unexpected tenderness of it all. In his arms, she felt both fragile and safe. She didn't know how long they stood there, wrapped in each other, but in that moment, everything else faded into the background. The harsh words, the complicated circumstances, even her own guilt—they all dissolved into the quiet understanding.
This was something deeper, something she couldn't name but was starting to feel in every inch of her being.
It was still early, just after 6 AM, when Tarini stirred from sleep. The room was awash in the pale glow of dawn, the soft light barely touching the edges of the curtains. Everything felt quiet, still, and almost too peaceful for her racing thoughts. She blinked slowly, her mind catching up to the reality that surrounded her—the warmth of the bed, the feel of Devraj's shirt, oversized on her frame, draping softly around her.
Tarini flushed as she remembered the moment she'd slipped into his shirt last night. It had smelled of him—clean, masculine, with the faint trace of his cologne lingering in the fabric. She had blushed then too, standing in front of the mirror, the shirt hanging loosely on her, a far cry from the designer suit she had arrived in, which had clung uncomfortably to her skin after the long night.
She shifted slightly, turning to her right, and there he was—Devraj, sprawled across his side of the bed. His upper body was uncovered, his skin glowing faintly in the early morning light. His muscular form, honed and strong, seemed even more imposing in the stillness of the moment. He lay on his stomach, one arm folded beneath the pillow, the other resting beside him, as though even in sleep, he held himself with a quiet kind of control. The blanket had slipped lower during the night, revealing the broad expanse of his back and the curve of his strong shoulders, while the lower half of him remained modestly covered.
Tarini's gaze lingered on him longer than she intended. She couldn't help but admire him, the way his body seemed both strong and serene. Her cheeks warmed again, and she bit her lip, trying not to let her thoughts wander too far. Devraj had always been so composed, so carefully measured, even in the smallest things.
Last night, when he'd offered her his shirt with that quiet, steady gaze, she hadn't expected it. And yet, it was so him—no words, no grand gestures, just a simple act of care wrapped in his quiet demeanor.
She remembered how he had led her to the room, sensing her exhaustion. He hadn't said much, just a gentle suggestion for her to retire to bed, but when he saw the discomfort in her eyes, he had stayed. They had both climbed into bed—each on their own side, like two halves of the same whole, yet never quite meeting in the middle.
She had hoped, just once, that he might close the distance between them, maybe wrap his arms around her and let her melt into him. How many nights had she wished for him to be the kind of man who would pull her close, hold her through the night, and let her drift off in his embrace?
But Devraj wasn't a cuddler. Tarini sighed, a small pout forming on her lips at the thought. No matter how many times she silently wished for it, he always stayed to his side, respecting the space between them. It was infuriating in a way, but also so very Devraj — aloof, guarded, as though even in sleep, he refused to let anyone in too close.
She glanced at him again, wondering what it would feel like if he just— once —reached out for her in the night. Her fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, imagining the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. She blushed again at the thought, quickly pushing it aside.
But despite the distance between them, she felt the weight of his presence, grounding her. Even if he wasn't the man who pulled her close in his sleep, he was the man who stayed. The man who gave her his shirt. And somehow, that small act felt like something more, something deeper than words could ever express.
With a soft sigh, Tarini let herself relax, her eyes closing again, savoring the quiet moment before the world would inevitably wake. Even if they were still separated by a space between them, she knew that in his own way, Devraj was there with her—steadfast, steady, and undeniably hers.
Tarini sat in the plush leather seat of yet another luxurious car, her eyes staring out at the passing scenery, though her mind was far from the world outside. The driver's seat was occupied by Vansh this time, and she barely registered the quiet hum of the engine or the soft murmur of the radio playing in the background.
Earlier that morning, Dad, Abhay, and Devraj had left in a rush, with Abhay briefly mentioning a meeting with the Union minister. Tarini had barely opened her mouth to ask the unspoken question on her mind when Devraj, always one step ahead, had assured her that her father would be released by 1 o'clock. And with that, they had all vanished, leaving her alone in the sprawling villa.
But now As the car smoothly glided down the road, her thoughts began to spiral inward once again to the morning, that had given her too much time to think, and as she sat in the silence, it hit her like an arrow straight to the heart. She was pregnant.
Her breath caught in her throat as her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, gently pressing against the soft fabric of her dress. Her little one. The realization struck her with such force that she almost gasped out loud. How could she not have known? She was nearly three months along—three months—and yet, the signs had gone unnoticed, buried beneath the chaos of everything that had unfolded in the past few weeks.
Tarini's mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of how she had missed such an important fact. She had read once that some women could recognize pregnancy within just a few weeks and even days, the subtle changes in their bodies alerting them to the new life growing inside. But for her, it had taken this long. How had she been so distracted, so consumed by everything else that she had missed it?
A wave of sadness washed over her, deep and unsettling. Guilt gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, and she couldn't help but feel like a failure. I'm already being a bad mother, she thought, her heart heavy with self-reproach. She hadn't even realized the precious life growing inside her until now, and the weight of that realization felt unbearable. She should have known. She should have been more attuned, more aware of the subtle signals her body had been sending her.
As her fingers traced the slight curve of her stomach, Tarini made a silent vow to herself. Once her father was released and back for, she would tell everyone. Devraj, their family—everyone. She couldn't keep it a secret any longer, couldn't let this miracle, this fragile new life, be overshadowed by the chaos around her. Her baby deserved more than that.
As the car rolled smoothly into the compound of the guest house, Tarini's heart pounded in her chest. Vansh had brought her here, following Devraj's orders. The moment they had arrived, a sea of chaos greeted them outside—the press, party workers, and fervent supporters all gathered like a buzzing hive. The media's cameras flashed relentlessly, while the police force struggled to maintain control, corralling the crowd as best they could. But the car, carrying its precious passenger, glided through the crowd without interruption, the weight of her father's name parting the masses as if by command.
When the car came to a halt, the door swung open swiftly—one of her father's trusted men stood there, his face solemn, offering her a respectful nod. Tarini wasted no time, stepping out briskly and into the warm, tense air of the compound. The man didn't engage her in pleasantries, as if sensing her urgency. He led her through the grand entrance, past the quiet corners of the guest house, until finally, they reached the room where her father was present.
The moment she stepped inside, her gaze locked on the familiar figure surrounded by a small circle of his most trusted party members. Men who had stood by him through every phase of his career, through every decision and political maneuver. And there, at the center of it all, was Bharat Malik—her father.
He looked up the instant she softly called out, "Papa."
At first glance, Bharat Malik was nothing like the typical politician. In his late fifties, his sharp, intelligent eyes still carried the fire of a man half his age. His posture was rigid, shoulders squared, the stance of someone who had spent decades navigating power structures, but who had never allowed himself to slip into complacency.
He wasn't wearing the expected kurta-pyjama uniform that had become almost synonymous with the political world. No, Bharat Malik was always formal, impeccably dressed in crisp, tailored trousers and a shirt, as though the echoes of his past as a bureaucrat still clung to him.
His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed back, and his face bore the lines of a man who had spent years in public service, but those lines only added to the sense of gravitas he carried. His eyes, the same deep brown as Tarini's, held a world of experience—hard-fought battles, personal sacrifices, and the burden of leading people who looked to him for answers.
For a moment, the room stilled as Bharat's gaze met Tarini's. His expression softened ever so slightly, the briefest flicker of warmth breaking through the mask of authority he wore so well. It was a look that said a thousand things without a word—concern & relief.
Tarini swallowed, emotions bubbling up inside her. And yet, despite everything, here was her father, standing tall and resolute, the same man who had given up his prestigious bureaucratic career to pursue politics—a decision he had made not for power, but for the hope that he could do more, serve more effectively, and create real change for the people.
The room around them buzzed quietly with murmurs from the other party members, but it felt as though a bubble had formed around Tarini and her father. She stepped closer, her voice breaking the tension.
"Papa…"
Bharat's expression softened further, Without saying a word, he extended his hand toward her, the gesture more powerful than any words could have been. It was both an acknowledgment and a reassurance that, despite the chaos swirling around them, he was still here.
Tarini sat down briskly beside her father, her movements hesitant yet purposeful. The room, filled with the weight of unsaid words, felt almost suffocating. She didn't reach out to hug him—she couldn't. That kind of closeness had faded between them long ago, a distance that seemed insurmountable now. She knew the blame rested on her shoulders. Ever since she had left for Los Angeles, something had shifted. Her father had never crossed that line again, never pushed her for more than what she was willing to give since that fateful day.
She glanced at him, as he turned to her, there was a brief flicker of something softer in his eyes, a reminder of the connection they once shared.
"It's just a political stunt," Bharat Malik assured her, his voice low and steady, though there was an undercurrent of frustration that only someone close to him would catch. "The ruling party at the Centre wants to stir up trouble before the Haryana elections. They want to weaken the opposition, show the people that we're vulnerable."
He leaned back, exhaling slowly, as if explaining this to her wasn't just about politics—it was about him letting her in, even just a little. "Your father getting arrested... it's a message, nothing more. They think they can influence the outcome by dragging my name through the mud. But I'm not going down that easily."
Tarini listened, but her thoughts drifted back to their strained relationship, to how much they had lost over the years. She wanted to say something—something to bridge the gap between them. But the words stuck in her throat, weighed down by years of unresolved tension.
She nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of the situation but feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. Her father was a man of principle, a man who had given up a prestigious bureaucratic career to enter the chaotic world of politics, all for the betterment of the people. And here she was, his daughter, so far removed from his world that she barely knew how to comfort him, how to stand by him in this moment.