Wealthy, powerful, and handsome, Gautam Kapoor is the best of the best in the country. Every guy wants to be him, and every girl wants to be with him.
His life seems perfect, except for a few catches. One, he is in a secret marriage of convenience...
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The past months had been a whirlwind of change and quiet joy.
After everything-the rebellion and the breaking of traditions, Megha and Gautam had finally found their peace.
Their marriage had been a declaration, not just of love but of defiance, of choosing each other despite the world's expectations.
Now, Megha was in the final stages of pregnancy.
her belly was round with the promise of a new beginning.
Their home had never felt warmer.
Tonight was one such moment.
The evening air was cool, and Megha layed on the couch and her feet propped up on Gautam's lap as he absentmindedly traced circles on her ankle.
They were talking about nothing and everything.
Megha chuckled. "You still think it's going to be a girl?"
Gautam smirked, "I just know."
Megha smiled.
But just as she closed her eyes, a sharp ring pierced the silence.
Gautam glanced at his phone, his jaw tightening the moment he saw the number.
Gautam tensed, his relaxed demeanor vanishing.
He already knew what this was about.
Still, he picked it up, though his tone lacked warmth.
Ronit's voice came through, urgent and uneasy. "Sir, things are getting chaotic in the office."
Gautam sighed, running a hand through his hair. The same struggle, the same fight.
"Alright, I'll handle it." His voice was calm, but there was a storm beneath the surface.
Meanwhile, across the grand estate, Megha was approached by a servant who hesitated before speaking.
"Madam... Bade Saheb wants to see you."
Megha looked up, surprised. "Bade Saheb?"
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Dadaji.
She hadn't seen him in so long.
She frowned slightly. "Why is Dadaji asking for me?"
"I don't know, madam... but you'll find out when you meet him."
Megha didn't waste any more energy questioning it. She would know soon enough.
Inside the antique room, the scent of aged wood and old books filled the air. The dim glow of a chandelier cast soft shadows across the walls.
There, sitting in his wheelchair, was Abhijeet ji-a man who had once commanded every room he entered. Now, he sipped his tea with slow, deliberate motions, his sharp eyes resting on her.
