The week after the chai incident changed something.
Divya stopped saying "two years." She stopped calling it a contract. The wordtemporaryquietly disappeared from her vocabulary.
She didn't pull away when Vikram touched her in public anymore. She didn't measure every gesture for duty or guilt. The walls she had built around herself began to crack in small moments she hadn't planned for.
Five days later, Kavita announced at dinner that the annual Khanna Consolidated charity gala would be held that weekend.
Divya's stomach had dropped. There wasn't enough time to prepare her to become the host of such a high profile event.
But now, standing in the glittering ballroom of the Taj, surrounded by Mumbai's elite, business magnates, Bollywood royalty, politicians, she felt steadier than expected.
Vikram stood close behind her. Anchoring her.
The Khanna family had arrived together. Harshit and Kavita commanded the room with effortless grace, Raghav and Ishani worked the crowd with practiced charm. This was Raghav's domain. Khanna Consolidated. The business empire he'd been groomed to lead since childhood.
Vikram was here as family. As support. The famous twin who drew cameras but left the business to those who understood it.
"Mr. Khanna!" A business associate approached, all polished charm. "And this must be your lovely wife. We've heard so much."
"Divya," Vikram said, and there was unmistakable pride in his voice. "This is Rajesh Mehta, one of our oldest investors."
She shook hands, made polite conversation, played the role she'd been terrified she couldn't fill. But Vikram never left her side. His presence remained steady beside her. When conversations turned technical or boring, he'd lean close and whisper commentary that made her bite back laughter.
"See that man by the bar?" he murmured during one particularly dull exchange about market projections. "That's Bisht. Made his fortune in textiles. Also collects vintage cars and won't shut up about them. If he corners you, pretend your phone is ringing."
She had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.
Across the room, she caught Ishani's eye. Ishani was holding court with investors' spouses, looking effortlessly at ease. She caught Divya's gaze and winked. A small gesture that saidyou're doing fine.
Kavita glided past, pausing just long enough to squeeze Divya's hand. "Breathe, beta. You're doing wonderfully."
Then she was gone, moving to greet a minister with effortless grace.
Halfway through the evening, Harshit called Raghav away to meet with a potential investor. Kavita was engaged in animated conversation with a philanthropist. Ishani had been pulled into a discussion about the foundation's new projects.
And Vikram excused himself when a group of producers cornered him near the entrance.
"Go," Divya said before he could protest. "I'll be fine."
He hesitated, clearly torn. "Two minutes."
"Take your time."
She watched him go, weaving through the crowd. Then she stood there, glass in hand, surrounded by hundreds of people.
The noise felt suddenly overwhelming. Conversation and laughter and clinking glasses creating a wall of sound. She wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just... aware of the space beside her. The absence of his solid presence.
Her eyes found him in the crowd. Twenty feet away, maybe less. He was nodding at something a producer was saying, his expression polite but distracted.
The tightness in her chest was absurd. He was right there. Visible. Close enough to reach in seconds. But her fingers gripped the glass tighter anyway. Her breathing felt slightly off. The crowd seemed to press closer.
When had this happened? When had Vikram Khanna become the person she looked for in crowded rooms? The person whose proximity she measured like temperature or air pressure. Essential, necessary, the thing that made everything else bearable?
As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met across the ballroom.
His expression softened immediately. Changed from polite interest to something warmer, more focused. He said something brief to the producers, gestured in apology, then excused himself mid-sentence.
He crossed back to her with a single-minded purpose.