Meera
I was halfway through drafting an internal statement on the hospital's new outreach initiative when I heard it—Yuri's voice, breathless and sharp, slicing across the operations floor.
"Meera!"
I looked up.
She was weaving through cubicles like a woman on fire, heels clacking, phone clenched in one hand, panic written across every line of her face.
I stood slowly, heart thudding in that awful, anticipatory way. "What's going on?"
Yuri reached me, chest heaving. "It's bad."
My stomach dropped. "Define bad."
"Scandal bad. Viral bad." She shoved her phone into my hands.
And there it was.
A headline screaming across a news site notorious for its shady intel and delicious accuracy:
"Political Heiress or PR Puppet? Meera Sharma Spotted with Dev Khanna on Private Balcony — Secret Meeting or Strategic Romance?"
Below it: a still frame.Me.Dev.Aarav's balcony.Lit by dusk.It looked like—God—it looked like we were kissing.
I swore under my breath, scrolling further.
The article wasn't long, but it didn't need to be. A few well-placed words, some snide commentary about New York's rising medical elite mixing with India's political royalty, and that damn photo.
Yuri hovered close. "They're saying you're back-channeling deals through your 'connections.' That you're here to spin narratives. That Dev is your handler."
"I'm not even involved in—" I ran a hand through my hair, furious and humiliated. "That's not even what was happening."
"I know. But you've kept your family a secret for so long, Meera. This?" She gestured to the phone. "This just blew it wide open."
I felt it—the echoing crack of something internal. Something delicate.
Because they weren't just exposing a false narrative.They were exposing me.
My lineage.My family.Everything I had locked behind careful smiles and strict boundaries.
And worse—Aarav.
The image had been taken from his penthouse balcony. That wasn't just an invasion. That was personal.
"What do I do?" I whispered, the weight of it finally crashing down.
Yuri put a hand on my arm. "You fix this. You take control of the narrative. You explain to Aarav before someone else does. Because that photo? That headline? It's going to reach him—if it hasn't already."
I blinked. The room around me blurred, like I was underwater.
Of course it would reach him.He hated the spotlight.He hated anything remotely close to political drama.
And now, thanks to some opportunistic drone shot and a world desperate for scandal, I was both.
he rest of the day passed in a blur of adrenaline and rising nausea.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
The photo had been shared, reposted, dissected, memed. Everyone had a theory. Everyone had an angle. Political forums were already weaponizing it. Media outlets in both New York and Delhi were circling like vultures, crafting entire stories around an image born from shadows and terrible timing.
And all I could think was—
Aarav.
He wasn't answering my texts.
Not even the "I need to talk to you. Please."
I didn't blame him. Not really. I had hidden the truth. Not the core of who I was—but the context. The weight of it. The power that came with my last name. The dynasty.
And now? Now it had found its way into his life without permission.
I grabbed my coat and bolted out of admin without a word to anyone. The car ride was a haze, my knee bouncing the entire way.
By the time I reached Westbridge Medical, my throat was dry and my heart was racing like I'd sprinted the whole way there.
I didn't wait for the elevator.
I took the stairs—two at a time—until I hit the upper floor where the executive offices sat behind frosted glass and quiet hallways.
His office door was ajar.
And I froze when I saw him.
Aarav didn't move.
He just stood there, his arms crossed so tightly I could see the strain in his forearms, the tension in his jaw. That control—so precise, so surgical—was cracking.
"I'm still me," I said quietly.
He let out a bitter breath. "Are you?"
That hurt more than I expected.
"I didn't tell you because—"
"Because what?" His voice rose, low and sharp. "Because you thought I couldn't handle it? Because you assumed I'd treat you differently if I knew who your parents were? That I'd think you were some entitled legacy baby playing hospital administrator for fun?"
I flinched. "That's not fair."
"No, what's not fair is finding out from a drone shot and a political tabloid that the woman I've been sleeping next to has a fucking campaign machine behind her." He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "You didn't even give me the chance to prove I wouldn't care."
I stepped toward him. "I was going to tell you. I just didn't know how. And I didn't want this," I motioned to the tablet still glowing on the desk, "to define what we were becoming."
"Jesus, Meera," he snapped, finally facing me fully. "Do you think I care about some stupid title? That I'd walk away because of your last name?"
"No," I said softly, "I thought you'd walk away because of the noise that comes with it. Because that noise can ruin everything."
He stared at me, eyes burning.
"And you didn't trust me enough to share the volume before it hit."
Silence cracked between us like thunder.
I tried again, quieter now. "I didn't tell you because for once, I wanted something to be real before the rest of the world tried to own it."
He exhaled through his nose, jaw still clenched.
"So you let me fall in love with a version of you edited for comfort."
That word—love—hung between us, unacknowledged, burning.
I swallowed, hard. "I didn't edit anything. I just… didn't open the last chapter."
His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them. "You don't get to protect me from your truth, Meera. You either trust me with all of it, or you don't trust me at all."
He turned toward the window again, shoulders rising and falling with each shallow breath.
I felt my heart shatter just a little more.
"I know this makes me look like a coward," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "But I've spent my entire life being a story. A headline. A strategy. You were the first thing that wasn't political. You were just… mine."
A long pause.
He didn't look at me.
But his voice softened.
"And now I'm theirs too."