The Billionaire's Bride [ Rewritten]

Part 13 | Scars of his Past

" Who's Nisha? "

I felt him pause beside me. His body went rigid, like I had unknowingly stepped on something fragile.

“My twin sister.”

His voice was flat, almost too controlled, yet something stirred beneath it—something I couldn’t quite name.

Relief quietly settled in me at the fact that this wasn't about his ex-lovers.

Without another word, he stood and walked away, his back to me as he disappeared into the villa.

Had I pushed too far?

“Kartik,” I called, pulling myself out of the pool and hurrying after him.

The small room within his room was now wide open, as if he was permitting me inside the closed walls of his heart.

He stood before a portrait, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders tense.
I moved closer, slow and careful, until I stood beside him.

“Nisha is my twin sister,” he said, his voice trembling on the edge of breaking. Then, softer—almost swallowed—“was.”

My head snapped toward him.

He didn’t look at me. His gaze remained fixed on the portrait.

" I watched her grow… from a mischievous little girl to a curious teenager… and then into someone strong, independent… beautiful.” His lips curved faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“She had just finished her masters. Perfect in everything she did. No one could ever point a finger at her.”

His fingers lifted, tracing the outline of her face in the painting.

“She was our family’s princess,” he murmured.

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen… after my mother. And she—” his voice softened, “ She always carried the biggest smile. No matter what.”

I looked at the portrait. The girl in it had warm hazel eyes—just like his—and a smile that felt alive even in stillness. Without realizing it, I smiled back.

“In college, she fell in love,” he continued. “They were together for three years. Got married at twenty-four.”

The pictures I had seen suddenly made sense. They weren’t his memories—they were hers.

" She loved writing," he said, reaching for a worn book from a stack nearby. His fingers brushed over it gently, almost reverently.

“Fiction, mostly. She was… incredible. She wanted to publish a novel one day. But…” He exhaled slowly, the word fading into silence.

The air shifted.

“Everything was perfect until—” he stopped, his jaw tightening. When he spoke again, anger sharpened every syllable. “ the day I found her husband cheating on her.”