The illegitimate daughter of a powerful businessman, she was sent to live with her six half-brothers after her father's sudden death.
The boys were born from privilege, pride, and perfectly manicured bloodlines. No one welcomed her. No one cared.
De...
To unlock the new chapter, complete the target: ⭐️ 600 votes 💬 120 comments
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
If anyone asked, I was being held hostage. Not metaphorically—literally.
Trapped in Veeransh Rai Singh's overly fancy hotel suite like a criminal of luxury, while he sat across from me dipping strawberries in chocolate as if we were on some sick Valentine's Day date.
My hands were stretched out in front of me like I was begging the universe to dry them faster.
I was bored, annoyed, and hungry.
"Let's try this again," he said, popping another chocolate-dipped strawberry into his mouth with criminal elegance.
"You were eavesdropping on Dilawar. What's going on?"
My stare could have boiled the chocolate he was dipping into.
I didn't answer. Because honestly? No. Not after what he just did.
The man hadn't even asked if I wanted to eat.
Not once.
Okay, maybe he did. Like... five times.
But the point is—he should've tried harder. Like a real gentleman. Or a well-trained hostage-taker.
"Still nothing?" He asked, holding up another strawberry like he was offering a truce.
His brows raised just slightly, like he was amused by how long I could keep up the silent rebellion.
He offered a strawberry and placed it near my lips.
That made it six.
I turned my face away with the grace of a Shakespearean widow.
He sighed, leaning forward just a bit. "I'm serious. If there's something going on, I can help. I don't mind going against him."
I blinked, eyes narrowing. "Why would I need your help?"
"Because," he said smoothly, "you're two steps from burning down everything and one wrong move away from getting caught."
Tch. Fair enough.
His tone softened, quiet and firm. "Maheer. Whatever it is, tell me. I'm not your enemy."
There was a pause. My stomach betrayed me with a faint growl—traitor—and I sighed.
Fine. He asked six times. And the strawberry did look good.
So when he extended it again, I leaned in and took a slow bite, not breaking eye contact. His smirk was unbearable.
But this time, I didn't fight it.
"I overheard something," I said after chewing.
And with that I told him everything except the name of my mother's NGO.
