Evening settled quietly over the Rathore residence, the last traces of sunlight slipping through the curtains of Advait Rathore's study. The room, usually a sanctuary of discipline and precision, echoed faintly with the scraping of a pen and the rhythmic clicking of a laptop keyboard.

Advait sat on the long leather couch, posture straight, eyes fixed on the screen as he typed with sharp, deliberate movements. Beside him, perched at the very edge of the same couch, was Navya—her notebook open, her fingers trembling around her pen.

He had given her a single question to solve. A simple one. One she would normally answer with ease.
But nothing felt simple under the shadow of his presence.

She knew the answer. She knew her concepts. But the moment he handed her the question, the moment she heard his cold, steady voice, her mind had turned blank—completely white, wiped clean by fear. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't focus.

Her pen stilled.

The typing beside her stopped.

A chill crawled up her spine as a familiar dread twisted inside her. She didn't need to look up to know it.
His eyes were on her.
Those cold, emotionless, terrifyingly ruthless eyes.

I'm dead... I'm absolutely dead, she thought, swallowing hard.

And worse—Aditi was out of the house, stuck in a late-night meeting. No one was coming to save her from the storm she could feel gathering in the air.

"Done?"

His voice—quiet, controlled, cold as steel—made her flinch. She nodded quickly, head bowed, and passed her notebook to him with trembling hands. Advait took it without a word.

Her chest tightened as she watched him scan her work. His jaw clenched, and he inhaled sharply through his nose. Then—

His eyes closed.

Advait Rathore was a man who demanded perfection—from his company, from his employees, from the world around him. On any other day, if someone had presented him with a mistake this basic, he would have buried them—professionally or metaphorically—alive without hesitation.

For a moment, anger surged through him, hot and violent.

But then the doctor's warning echoed in his mind:

Don't give her stress.

He forced a slow breath in... and then out. His fingers curled into a tight fist on his knee, knuckles whitening as he battled against the heat of his temper.

At last, he managed to steady himself.

But the room, and Navya's pounding heart, felt the storm he was holding back.

A soft knock interrupted the thick silence before he could speak. Advait's eyes lifted from the notebook.

"Come in."
The command was clipped, cold, unmistakably his.

A maid stepped inside, head bowed respectfully.
"Sir, madam is not home yet. Please tell us the dinner orders."

Advait set the laptop aside and rubbed his forehead for a brief second, thinking.
"For me and Aditi, make chicken fried rice," he said. Then his gaze flicked toward Navya—even that fleeting glance making her spine straighten. "For her—daal, roti, and salad. Add more fruits and vegetables. Less oil. And stir-fried paneer with minimum spices."

"Yes, sir."
The maid bowed again and hurried out, closing the door behind her.

Silence draped the room once more.

Advait exhaled slowly, the remnants of frustration still simmering beneath his calm exterior. He looked back at the notebook, then at the girl sitting far away on the edge of the couch as if proximity itself might be dangerous.

"First of all," he began, voice low but firm, "I won't bite."

Navya's heart skittered, but she didn't move.

"So," he continued, patience thinning, "sit closer. I'm certain you can't see a single word from that distance."

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Hesitantly—almost painfully slowly—she rose and shifted closer, though she still left a respectful gap between them, like a silent protective barrier she didn't dare cross.

Advait glanced at the space she maintained but chose not to comment.
"Secondly," he added, tone sharpening, "this is the last time I'm explaining this. Understand it properly."

Navya nodded quickly, eyes fixed on the notebook as he began breaking down the solution again.
This time, with the fear slightly eased and the distance narrowed, the words finally began to make sense to her.

__________

Aditi hadn't meant to return early.

The meeting had wrapped up much faster than expected, and she stepped quietly into the house, loosening the scarf around her neck as she made her way toward Advait's study. She stopped at the doorway, just out of sight, when she noticed the lights on inside.

Her eyes fell on the scene before her.

Advait, leaning slightly toward Navya, voice low, explaining something with his usual sharp precision.
And Navya, sitting closer than before, notebook open, listening with tense concentration.

Neither of them noticed her.

Aditi stood frozen, fingers tightening around the strap of her handbag. She wasn't sure what exactly she felt—only that her chest suddenly felt heavier, as if something had quietly settled there without warning.

Why?
Why did it feel like that?

She took a slow breath, pushing the feeling down. This was nothing. Absolutely nothing. She reminded herself of that firmly.

After all, she had been the one to suggest that Navya study under Advait.
And both of them—Advait and Navya—were bound by a contract, nothing more. Neither of them would ever cross a line. They weren't even the type to attempt it.

Still... watching them like this—his voice calmer than usual, her posture attentive—something inside her twisted in a way she didn't want to examine too closely.

Aditi forced her gaze away, straightened her shoulders, and quietly stepped back from the doorway.

Without another glance toward the study, she walked upstairs to change, leaving her unspoken heaviness behind... or trying to.

A month slipped by in a blur of textbooks, medical appointments, and relentless exam preparation. Navya's days were now a cycle of practicals, vivas, and revision, all under the close supervision of the medical team assigned to her.

Not for her comfort—no.
For the baby.

Just yesterday, the doctors had confirmed it beyond doubt:
She was carrying the heir of both the Rathore and Malhotra families.

The words had echoed through the mansion like a verdict.

Only two months remained before her finals would begin. She had even requested a temporary hold on her internship at Aditi's company—something she would never have dared before—yet Aditi approved it without hesitation. Everyone pretended it was for "health reasons," but Navya knew very well it was because the baby now dictated every decision around her.

Aditi had expected herself to be ecstatic when the confirmation came.
And she was—happy, relieved even.
Yet beneath that joy, a quiet restlessness gnawed at her stomach, something she couldn't fully explain. Something she pretended not to notice.

Advait, on the other hand, had shown no expression at all. He listened to the doctor, looked at the reports, and simply turned to Navya with eyes as sharp as ice.

"If anything happens to this baby now, I will make sure you pay for it. Understand?"

His voice had been soft.
Too soft.
The kind that chilled her more than shouting ever could.

A shiver had run through her, but she nodded. She had no intention of letting anything go wrong. For the first time, her own future depended on the tiny heartbeat she carried.

But studying had become harder. Morning sickness crept into her routine—mild, not severe, but enough to break her concentration. Enough to force her to pause and breathe through waves of nausea just when she needed to focus the most.

Every aspect of her day—from her diet, her sleep, her hydration, even her study schedule—was monitored meticulously. Nutritionists, doctors, counsellors—everyone hovered around her like she was made of glass.

And why wouldn't they?

This was the heir of two of the wealthiest, most powerful families in the country.
For them, there was no limit to what money could secure, no hesitation in spending whatever it took to ensure everything remained perfect.

Inside all this perfection, Navya felt the pressure quietly tightening around her... even as life outside continued as if nothing had changed.

____________________

Time moved strangely in the Rathore mansion. Days blurred into nights, and nights dissolved into long appointments, medications, and whispered instructions from specialists. 

Before anyone realized it, three months had slipped by, and Navya had quietly stepped into her fourth month of pregnancy.

Her exams—those looming mountains she had feared for so long—had finally come and gone.
And they had taken more from her than she ever thought possible.

Writing papers had felt like a battle against her own body.

Her hormones shifted unpredictably, clouding her thoughts at the worst moments. 

The medications meant to stabilize her often left her drowsy, unfocused, or simply exhausted. 

Her sleep schedule had collapsed entirely; some nights she lay awake for hours, unable to rest, while others she found herself slipping into sudden, short bursts of sleep she couldn't control.

Her back ached.
Her legs tired quickly.
Her body rebelled in ways she couldn't explain.

Her hunger came in waves—sometimes overwhelming, sometimes absent altogether—and her strict diet only added to her restlessness. 

Every bite she took was monitored, every nutrient calculated, every meal timed perfectly.

And yet, somehow... she finished.

Somehow, she pushed through sleepless nights, through nausea and dizziness, through that constant, quiet fear that she might fail. 

When the results finally came, they declared what she could hardly believe:

8.4 CGPA.

A decent score for many.
But for Navya—who had always considered herself below average—it felt monumental.
It felt like triumph.

Of course, she hadn't done it alone.

Advait, in his sharp, unyielding way, had made sure she had everything she needed—notes, tutors, study hours adjusted around her symptoms. 

He never praised her, never coddled her, but his presence was constant, his involvement unmistakable.

Aditi, on the other hand, provided gentleness where Advait offered structure.

She arranged study breaks, ensured she rested, and often reminded her that passing was more than enough—that no exam was worth risking her health.

For both of them, only one thing mattered:
The child must remain safe.
And for that, the mother had to remain stress-free. No exceptions.

But stress had found her anyway.

The day of her results—yesterday—it had all become too much. Her anxiety had spiked so suddenly, so violently, that the moment she saw her marks, her vision blurred and she collapsed.

When she opened her eyes, a drip was attached to her arm, a nurse was checking her pulse and blood pressure, and Aditi was holding her shoulders, trying to soothe her trembling breaths.

The room smelled of antiseptic and fear.

But beneath it all...
Navya felt pride.

Real, unshakable pride.

For someone like her—someone who had never believed she could excel—this result was more than a number. 

It was proof that she could still fight, still stand, still move forward even when everything around her felt impossibly heavy.

And now, at last, the path ahead was clear.

Exams were over. The results were out.
There were no more deadlines, no more pressure from academics, no more nights spent hunched over textbooks.

The instructions from the family, from the doctors, from everyone were the same:

From this moment forward,
Navya's only duty was to take care of her health and the child she carried.
Everything else could wait.

Everything else would wait.

Despite everything she had endured—exams, sickness, anxiety—Navya could not deny the truth she carried quietly in her heart: she was grateful to Advait.

She would never dare say it aloud.
She could barely even raise her eyes in front of him, let alone thank him. 

His presence alone was enough to turn her thoughts into silence, her voice into nothing. But inwardly, she acknowledged it.

There were days when he had skipped meetings, postponed important deals, or rearranged his tight schedule just to ensure she understood her concepts properly. 

He had sat with her for hours—silent, strict, intimidating—but present. 

He ensured she had the material she needed, that the environment remained quiet, and that no one disturbed her during crucial study hours.

But their understanding—whatever it was—had always been rooted firmly in professionalism.

Navya never forgot her place.
Advait never forgot his.

They behaved exactly like a boss and employee, bound together only by a contract and the life she carried. 

Neither of them had ever considered crossing those lines.

 Neither had ever seen the other as anything more than what they were in this carefully constructed arrangement.

And yet...
Aditi could never shake the uneasiness that crept into her heart whenever she saw the two of them together.

It wasn't jealousy—not the kind she understood. It wasn't suspicion, either. She trusted Advait more than she trusted herself. 

She trusted their love, their years together, the promises he whispered into her skin every night.

He kissed her with a sincerity that melted her doubts.
He held her as if she were irreplaceable.
He told her she was the only woman he could ever belong to—body, heart, soul.

And Aditi believed him.
Deeply.

His words were never empty; his affection was never forced. 

And every time she reminded herself of this, the tightness around her heart eased. 

The quiet fear retreated. 

She convinced herself that what she felt when she saw Navya near him was nothing more than the anxiety of impending parenthood—the fear of losing something she had waited for too long.

Because for Aditi, Navya was not a threat.
She was family in a strange, delicate way.

A younger sister.
A companion.
Someone who trusted her enough to share her worries, her cravings, her small victories and fears.

Their bond had grown unexpectedly strong. Navya had no one else to confide in—not emotionally, not personally. 

And Aditi found comfort in being that anchor for her. 

It made her feel involved in the journey she herself could not physically take.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Advait remained completely untouched by these emotional waters.

For nearly two months—ever since Navya finished her exams—he hadn't registered anything about her except what the doctors reported. 

Not her cravings, not her moods, not her discomfort, not the subtle swelling in her feet.

 He barely acknowledged her existence outside of her scheduled medical check-ups.

"How are the reports?"
"Is the blood pressure normal?"
"Any complications?"

These were the only questions he ever asked.

Not out of care—never that.
But out of a businessman's instinct.

For him, this was not surrogacy.
It was an investment.

An exchange.

In return for nine months of stability, discipline, and absolute control, he would secure the one thing Aditi wanted more than anything—a child. A family.

 A future she had silently, desperately, painfully yearned for.

A future that Navya, unknowingly, was creating for them.

So Advait monitored the pregnancy with the same precision he applied to deals worth billions—cold, calculated, emotionless.

Navya was simply the vessel carrying what he needed.

Aditi was the one he loved.
The one he lived for.
The one he would do anything—everything—for.

And in the quiet hallways of the mansion, where three very different hearts beat under the same roof, a fragile equilibrium formed—one built on trust, fear, duty, and the unspoken hope that none of the lines between them would ever blur.