The dinner table was unusually quiet that night. 

The only sounds were the faint clinking of silver cutlery against porcelain plates and the muffled ticking of the antique clock on the far wall.

 Normally, dinner in the Rathore mansion was anything but silent—Aditi would chatter endlessly, filling the stillness with stories from her office, playful arguments, or teasing remarks designed to draw out her husband's rare smiles. But tonight, her voice was absent.

She sat opposite Advait, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed the food on her plate, her appetite lost to the storm in her chest. 

Her mind replayed the same thought again and again, the forbidden word that had nearly destroyed their peace once before: surrogacy.

If she could not grow their child inside her body, then perhaps another woman could carry the baby for them.

 The thought had consumed her in recent days. 

Logic told her it was not wrong—countless couples who couldn't conceive had chosen the same path.

 The baby would still be theirs, still carry their blood. 

And yet, every time she so much as thought of mentioning it to Advait, the memory of his fury held her tongue.

Across the table, Advait ate in silence, his broad shoulders relaxed, his expression unreadable as he focused on his food.

 But his dark, calculating eyes kept darting toward his wife, noticing what she thought she was hiding. He knew her too well. 

The stillness in her was unnatural, dangerous even.

Finally, his deep voice cut through the silence, low and commanding.
"Spit it out."

The suddenness of it made Aditi flinch. 

She blinked, lifting her gaze in feigned confusion.

 "Huh?"

His fork clinked softly as he set it down, his eyes pinning her in place. 

"I know you want to say something. So spit it out."

Her breath hitched, nerves tangling in her chest. 

She hesitated, twisting her fingers under the table, unsure if she had the courage to raise the subject again. 

But then she felt his hand slide across the table and rest gently over hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles. 

His voice softened, tender in a way few ever heard from the ruthless Advait Rathore.

"Hey... come on. Say it."

The warmth of his touch emboldened her, though her heart still pounded against her ribs. She searched his face for assurance. 

"You won't get angry, right?" she asked in a small voice, almost like a child asking for permission.

Advait gave the slightest nod. "Go ahead."

Aditi inhaled deeply, gathering every ounce of courage she had, and whispered, "I was thinking about hiring a surrogate."

For a moment, Advait's eyes did not betray anything. 

He simply stared at her, expressionless, as though he had not quite heard her. 

"Come again," he said slowly, his voice colder this time. "And this time louder."

Her throat constricted, but she forced herself to repeat it, louder, clearer, closing her eyes as the words escaped. "I want to hire a surrogate for us."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Advait lowered his gaze, picked up his spoon again, and resumed eating as though nothing had been said. 

His indifference felt sharper than any scream, his silence a rejection that cut her deeper than anger ever could.

Aditi's eyes burned. 

She leaned forward, desperation lacing her voice. 

"Please... I've thought a lot about it. If it's her womb, it will still be our child, Advait. Our blood, our heir, our baby. It won't matter who carries it if the child is ours. Don't you see—"

Her words were cut short by the sharp crack of metal slamming against wood. 

Advait had thrown his spoon onto the table with such force that it rattled against the plate, echoing in the vast dining hall.

 His jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with warning.

"No more words," he said, voice low but dripping with restrained fury. "Please. I request."

But Aditi couldn't stop now.

 The dam of emotions she had been holding back for so long broke, her desperation spilling out with trembling words. 

"But Advait, everyone does it! I just want to hold our baby, to see a part of you in my arms. I want—"

"Enough!" His voice thundered, cutting through her plea like a blade. 

His palm slammed against the table, making her flinch. The rage in his eyes was unmistakable, dangerous.

 "I said no! I don't want any fucking kid through this cheap arrangement. And that's it. No more discussion on this topic."

Her lips trembled, tears brimming in her eyes. His words struck her like physical blows, leaving her breathless, shattered. 

For a moment she sat frozen, staring at him through her tears, and then the dam broke entirely.

"I thought having a child was a mutual decision, Advait!" Her voice shook, every syllable dripping with pain. 

"Since when did it become solely your decision? You don't want surrogacy, fine—but what about me? Did you even ask what I wanted? Did you stop to think about the emptiness I live with every day?"

Her voice cracked, tears streaming freely now as her chest heaved. 

"Do you know how much it hurts? To know I can't even bring your blood, your heir, into this world? To know I can't carry the symbol of our love? Every day I wake up with that ache. And you—" she broke down into sobs, covering her face with her hands—"you won't even let me dream of holding our baby."

Her body shook as the weight of her confession crashed over her. T

he strong, confident CEO mask had crumbled, and in its place was a broken woman, drowning in grief.

Across the table, Advait's fists clenched, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

 His anger was still simmering, but beneath it, something else flickered in his eyes—pain, guilt, and a vulnerability he would never admit aloud.

Yet his silence only deepened her heartbreak. 

For Aditi, it wasn't just about a baby anymore. It was about being seen, being heard, being understood by the man she loved more than life itself.

And at that table, with their untouched dinner between them, the distance had never felt wider.

No matter how stubborn a man may be, no matter how cold his exterior, watching the woman he loves dissolve into tears is something he can never truly endure.

 Advait sat there, silent and rigid, as Aditi's broken sobs filled the cavernous dining hall. 

His jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists, but the sight of her trembling shoulders finally tore through the wall he had built around himself.

He sighed heavily and pressed his palm against his forehead, shutting his eyes. 

In his anger, he had forgotten one crucial truth—this wasn't just his decision. 

She was part of this journey too. She had dreams, emotions, hopes that deserved to be heard.

 And here he was, shutting her out, dismissing her pain as though it didn't exist.

A heaviness settled on his chest as guilt pricked at him. 

He didn't have the energy left to argue anymore.

 Slowly, he pushed his chair back, rose to his feet, and without another word, walked away, leaving her to weep quietly at the table.

Time skip

That night, the silence between them spoke louder than words. 

Aditi lay curled against his bicep, her cheek resting on the familiar strength of his arm. 

They faced each other on the bed, eyes locked yet distant, the air thick with everything unsaid.

For a long while, neither spoke. 

Advait's eyes were closed, but his breaths were shallow, restless. 

Aditi, however, could not bear the weight of his silence any longer. 

Her voice, soft and pleading, finally broke the stillness.

"Advait... please. At least for once, think about it. Not for anyone else, not even for yourself—just for me. I'm not asking much, I'm only asking you to consider it. Please, Advait. I request you."

Her words lingered in the dark like a fragile prayer. 

She held her breath, waiting. Then at last, she heard it—a long, weary sigh. 

His chest rose and fell, and when he opened his eyes, the deep baritone of his voice carried resignation more than agreement.

"Fine," he said, his tone clipped, reluctant.

 "Then who is she? I know you, Aditi. You wouldn't bring this up unless you already had someone in mind."

Aditi blinked, caught off guard. He knew her too well. 

She never proposed anything unless she had carefully thought it through. 

Gathering courage, she told him about Navya—her background, her desperate situation, the potential she saw in her, and why she thought Navya might be the right person to approach.

Advait listened in silence, his expression unreadable, his hand absently stroking his jaw as she spoke.

 When she finished, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Alright," he said at last, voice low and firm.

 "I'll first discuss this with our parents. If they agree, then—and only then—I'll consider it. But remember this, Aditi..." His gaze hardened as his words grew sharper.

 "I am not with this idea. Not now, not ever. I'm doing this only because of you. So if anything goes wrong—if there are complications, problems, or regrets—don't you dare put the blame on me."

Tears welled up in Aditi's eyes again, but this time, they weren't born of despair. 

There was relief in them—he wasn't shutting her out anymore. He had at least agreed to consider.

 That was more than she could have hoped for yesterday.

 Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, whispering a gentle "thank you." 

Advait's stern façade softened ever so slightly. 

He sighed again, pulled her closer into his arms, and closed his eyes, silently praying he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life.

The Next Day

The Rathore mansion's grand living room was filled with an unusual tension. 

Advait's mother, Sumitra, sat with her hands tightly clasped, her sharp eyes darting between her son and daughter-in-law. 

Beside her, Aditi's father, Mr. Malhotra, sat stiffly, his face etched with quiet worry.

 Opposite them, Advait's father, Pratap Rathore, the seasoned business tycoon, leaned back in his chair, his gaze calculating, his fingers tapping the armrest in thought.

When Advait explained everything, the room fell into stunned silence. The air seemed to grow heavier, every heartbeat echoing like thunder.

It was Sumitra who moved first. Rising from her seat, she walked over to Aditi and pulled her into a tight embrace.

 "Oh, my poor child," she whispered, stroking her hair, her own eyes moist. 

"I can only imagine the pain you've been carrying alone. You should have told me sooner."

 Her voice cracked with empathy—the compassion of a mother who understood exactly how Aditi must have been suffering.

Meanwhile, the men in the room remained stone-faced. 

Mr. Malhotra exhaled slowly, troubled. Pratap's sharp gaze moved to his son.

"So," he said finally, his deep voice breaking the silence, "you are going to make this child your heir."

Advait's expression was blank, his voice devoid of emotion when he answered.

 "Yes. If it happens, he or she will be ours."

Pratap's eyes narrowed.

 "And the child will be formed from the surrogate's egg?"

At that, Aditi froze.

 Her throat tightened, her heart hammering in her chest. 

Slowly, her gaze fell to her lap, unable to meet anyone's eyes. 

Her lips trembled as she whispered, barely audible, "Yes."

Tears threatened to spill again, but she blinked them back, swallowing the lump in her throat.

 She couldn't let them see her fall apart—not here, not in front of them.

Her silence said everything.

And though no one spoke immediately, the weight of her words lingered in the air, casting shadows over every corner of the room.

Advait's father exhaled deeply, the sound heavy with both weariness and finality.

 His sharp eyes swept across the room, landing first on his son and then on Aditi.

"You clearly know," Pratap Rathore began, his voice resonant with the authority of a man who had built an empire from dust, "that the heir—the true heir—must come from your wife. This isn't merely about family sentiment. The board, the investors, every eye in this empire will demand assurance that the bloodline continues through you both. They will make certain the successor is unquestionable—your only, your legitimate child."

The words cut through the air like a blade.

Advait sat in silence, shoulders squared but expression unreadable. He had been expecting this.

 He knew his father's obsession with legacy, with safeguarding the empire he had built brick by brick, deal by deal, for decades.

 Still, hearing it aloud, framed so coldly as though children were no more than pawns in a game of power, twisted something in his chest.

Aditi, however, was stunned. Her lips parted, eyes wide, as though the ground beneath her had shifted.

 She looked at her husband with a mixture of shock and betrayal.

 "Why... why didn't you tell me about this before, Advait?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Advait turned to her, his expression softening for a brief moment, though his voice was heavy with exhaustion. 

"Because, Aditi... this is why I wasn't ready for any of these decisions. I knew this would come up. I knew my father—and the board—would never allow it without consequences. That's why I resisted, why I... shut you out."

His words made her chest tighten, guilt and hurt intertwining.

 She wanted to scream at him, to say she deserved to know, but she also understood—he had been trying, in his own flawed way, to shield her from this ruthless truth.

Pratap leaned back in his chair, his gaze steely.

Though he loved his son, and in his own way cherished Aditi, his love for the empire outweighed everything. 

He had bled for the company, sacrificed for it, and the thought of leaving it vulnerable—without an unquestionable heir—was unbearable.

Advait's mother, Sumitra, looked between them all, her heart aching for Aditi.

 But she remained quiet, her hand resting gently on her daughter-in-law's trembling fingers, offering silent comfort.

The conversation ended not with a resolution but with a suffocating silence. No agreement was reached, no plan was set. Only sadness lingered, a heavy fog that clung to each of them as they eventually parted ways.

Later That Night

Back at the Rathore mansion, the atmosphere was no lighter.

Advait sat on the bed, laptop open, his face illuminated by the cold glow of spreadsheets and reports. He typed swiftly, his focus seemingly on work, though Aditi knew his mind was just as restless as hers. The quiet clack of the keyboard echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Across from him, Aditi sat at the study table, papers spread before her, pen in hand. She signed documents mechanically, though her eyes kept drifting toward her husband. 

Each flick of her gaze carried the weight of unspoken thoughts, questions, fears.

Her mind, however, was not on the contracts. It was consumed by one relentless, gnawing desire—the need to cradle their child, to hold a living, breathing symbol of their love in her arms. 

The board, the legacy, the empire—all of it paled before this yearning.

As she shuffled another page aside, an idea sparked in her mind. Reckless. Dangerous. But powerful enough to take root instantly. Her pulse quickened, fear and temptation colliding within her.

Her eyes flickered to Advait, still immersed in his work, his sharp profile framed by the faint silver light of the laptop. She bit her lower lip, torn between reason and longing. 

If he knew what I was thinking... he would be furious. He would roar at me the way he did at dinner. He would never forgive me.

But the thought persisted. She had already seen what his father's expectations meant, what the board would demand.

 If she didn't act, if she didn't find a way... their dream of a child could be lost forever, crushed beneath the weight of business politics.

Her fingers trembled as she set her pen down, staring blankly at the papers before her. 

Maybe... maybe I will do it anyway. Even if it angers him. Even if he lashes out. Because this isn't about the company, or the board, or even his father. This is about us. About our love. And about the child that love deserves.

The greed for motherhood—pure, aching, overwhelming—gnawed at her heart. Aditi closed her eyes, whispering a silent prayer. 

She knew what she was considering might shatter everything. But her longing had grown too strong, her heart too restless.

And as the night wore on, she realized with a chilling clarity: she might be willing to risk his anger, his wrath, even his trust... just for the chance to bring their baby into the world.