It had been a week since Mrs. Mehra came out of her coma...
and a week since Ishaan had confessed everything — the accident, the truth, the pain he had buried for years.

During these seven days, something shifted quietly between Ishaan and Aanya.

They still didn't talk openly in front of the family...
but inside their room, something had softened.
The hesitation that once stood like a wall between them... was slowly crumbling.

Ishaan still slept on the floor — and he had no intentions of shifting to the bed anytime soon.
Not because he loved the floor...
but because the bed truly didn't have space for him.

"she needs the whole bed for herself... where am I supposed to fit?  he always thought.

But one morning, when he woke up and saw her sleeping peacefully at the edge of the bed, spread like starfish, he sighed and muttered to himself.

I can't sleep on the floor my whole life... one day I'll have to sleep on the bed too.
Maybe I should just get a single bed made for myself and keep it in this room... because this king-size bed already has one queen dead log sleeping on it."

He shook his head at his own joke... but the truth was, things were getting better between them.

Except one thing.

something was wrong inside ishaan.
Whenever Aanya smiled...
 whenever she talked to him.
 whenever she came even a little close...
He felt something unfamiliar tightening in his chest.

Not fear.
Not panic.
Something else.
Something he couldn't name...
and that scared him more.

Why did his heartbeat go wild when she looked at him?
Why did his breath catch when she stood close?
Why did he notice her more than he should?

He didn't understand it — and that made him restless.

But even this wasn't the only thing bothering him

Mrs. Mehra had turned into a machine reapeting one word: bella

"Did you talk to Bella today?"
"Ishaan, when will Bella come?"
"Why isn't she answering my calls? Tell her to talk to me!"

Every day.

And each time... Ishaan noticed Aanya's face fall.

She pretended not to care...
but her silence betrayed her.

Whenever she started ignoring him, he teased her. 
Whenever she became quiet, he poked her.

And tonight... everything came out.
___

Aanya was folding clothes inside the closet.
Ishaan walked in and stood directly behind her.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Ishaan asked quietly.

"I'm not," Aanya replied while adjusting a dress in the closet.

"You are. You're not even talking to me properly."

"There's nothing like that, Ishaan."

"There is."
He stepped closer to her, voice low.
"Are you feeling jealous, Aanya?"

She froze.
He had sensed it.
She couldn't completely deny it.

"J-Jealous? Why would I be jealous? And of whom?"

"Bella," he said simply.

"What the hell—no! I'm not jealous of anyone, okay?"

"Then why are you ignoring me? Why aren't you talking to me properly?"

Aanya turned sharply and looked at him.

"Since when does it matter to you whether I talk to you or ignore you, Ishaan?"

"From now on," he whispered.

He stepped closer... close enough that she felt his breath on her shoulder.

She stopped breathing for a second.
"Why are you coming closer?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are... and it's not right."

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Because... I'm not your girlfriend. Nor your lover."

"You're right," he said, voice deepening.
"You're not my girlfriend... because you're my wife."

Her eyes hardened.

"Forced wife."

The words hit him brutally.
His eyes closed, guilt crashing into him.

Before he could speak, she continued, voice trembling:

"I'm your wife in name only, with whom  you married forcedfully Mr Mehra. Yes, you accept me in front of the family... but inside this room, I mean nothing to you."

"Aanya, it's not like that—"

"It is like that, Ishaan."

He swallowed.
Then asked quietly:

"You really think so?"

"Yes," she answered firmly.

The silence felt heavy.
Painful.

Then Ishaan lifted his head and said something she never expected.

"Then let's give this marriage a chance."

Aanya froze.
She turned slowly to face him.

"W-What... what did you just say?"

"Let's give this marriage a real chance," he said clearly.
"You... as my wife. Me... as your husband. Not forced. Not pretend. Real."

She stared at him, stunned.

"I want this to work. Truly. I want to give you everything you deserve from your husband. I know I forced you into this. I know I hurt you. But now... I want to fix it."

Her voice shook.
"Oh, so suddenly you accept me as your wife? After forcing me into this marriage? What if... I don't want this?"

"Then I'll earn it," he said instantly.
"I'll earn your forgiveness."

His voice cracked.

"I know I ruined your life. I dragged you into my mess. I wasn't in my right mind, Aanya. I know I hurt you. And I'm sorry. Please... please forgive me for everything I did."

Her eyes softened, but her wounds weren't healed.

"How can I trust that you won't hurt me again?"

He sighed — deeply, painfully.

"You're right. Trust is not easy. After everything I did... you have every right to doubt me."

He took a breath. 
Then said.

"Okay. If I ever hurt you again... or break your trust... then you're free.
You can leave this mansion. Go back to your home.
You can give me any punishment you want — and I'll accept it."

Aanya blinked, stunned. she didnt expect this answer.

"And what about Bella? What if she comes back?"

"She's my past," he replied without a single pause.
"She left on her own. She made her choice. I don't care anymore whether she comes back or not. She means nothing now."

He looked straight into Aanya's eyes.

"You are my wife.
Forced or not — you are.
And I want this marriage to work. I want to fix what I've broken."

Then he stepped back... just enough to offer her space... and slowly extended his hand toward her.

"Will you give me one chance, Mrs. Mehra?"

Aanya looked at his hand.

Her heart wanted to trust him...
but her mind reminded her of the pain.

"No," she said.

His face fell.

But she continued softly:

"I will give you a chance to fix your mistakes. To earn my trust. To earn my forgiveness. And after that... I will decide if this marriage deserves a real chance." or not."

Ishaan nodded instantly.
"Okay. I will. I'll earn it. Every bit of it. I deserve this punishment."

He took a deep breath.

"And don't worry. Once Mom fully recovers... I'll tell her everything. About us. About Bella. About the truth."

Aanya nodded.

"Okay."

He smiled — small, relieved.

"Deal?"

"Deal."

They shook hands... slowly... awkwardly... but something warm passed between their palms.

"Now," Ishaan said, glancing at the door,
"Let's go downstairs before Mom comes out from her room." 
Afterall we shouldn't want mom find out yet that you're staying with me.. in my room. should we.?

Aanya immediately shook her head no.

They both stepped out of the room together.

Ishaan walked toward his home office.
It was Sunday — he wasn't going to the office today.
He was working from home, at Mrs. Mehra's request, because everyone was home today: Jay, Jiya, Sikha, Dinesh... everyone.

And Mrs. Mehra had also said that someone was coming today, and she wanted the whole family to be together.

Meanwhile, Aanya walked toward Mrs. Mehra's room.

____

Ishaan sat in his home office, the curtains half-drawn, letting in only a muted gray light. His laptop screen glowed in the dim room, endless documents and reports open in front of him. He rubbed his temples, exhaustion pressing on him, but he kept working — he didn't have the luxury of slowing down.

Just then, his phone buzzed.

A call from one of his men.
The one he had instructed to keep an eye on the maid — the same maid who had placed that mysterious note in his room for Aanya.

Ishaan answered immediately.

"Boss..." the man spoke in a low voice.
"I kept watch on that maid like you said. Last night, she left the mansion and took a taxi. I followed her. She stopped outside Divalo's cottage. Then a man came and took her inside. Boss... she works for Divalo."

Ishaan's jaw tightened.
"Keep watching her. Track where she goes, what she does."

There was a short silence.

"Boss... she has been missing ever since. It's like she vanished. I waited outside for hours. She never came out. I checked the mansion too — she isn't anywhere. I think... Corvo find out that she was being followed. That's why he made her disappear."

Ishaan exhaled slowly and cut the call.

Another one.
Another person under his roof working for Divalo.

First that maid who exchange the file.
And then that man who spread  news about him.
And now the maid who left a warning note for Aanya.

All connected to Corvo.

"Why?" he whispered to himself.

If Corvo wanted revenge for the ruined drug shipment, he should have gone after Black Crown or Dante... not Ishaan Mehra.

Unless...

"He know who I really am?" Ishaan muttered, his chest tightening.

Because Corvo clearly knew too much.
About his life.
About his company.
About his hidden identity.

And that meant one thing —
Corvo wasn't a stranger.
He was someone Ishaan already knew.

Ishaan grabbed his phone again and dialed another number.

The call connected in a single ring.

"Yes, boss," Matteo answered.

"Matteo, did you find anything about that hacker? Did you get their information?"

"It's in progress, boss," Matteo replied quickly.
"Just give me one more day. My men are on their way. They'll have something soon."

"It's been a week, Matteo," Ishaan said, frustration leaking into his voice.
"A week of searching for him... or her."

"I know, boss. We are close. Just one more day."
Matteo continued, "We traced the college from where the hacker participated in that contest. The college is closed today, but tomorrow my men will go there and pull every detail. Don't worry, boss — tomorrow we'll have our secret hacker."

Ishaan sighed and ended the call.

Yes, they were tracking the hacker too — the one who had sent him the video exposing the man behind the false news.
The wehre finding him/her through there logo mark.

That was all Matteo needed.

So Ishaan had ordered Matteo to find the contest organizers, the participants' database, the college or company through which the hacker had competed.

And that's how Matteo's team ended up in America, hunting down every trace of that mysterious hacker.

___

The Man Behind the Shadows**

The room was silent.

Too silent.

Only the soft hum of the old ceiling fan echoed in the darkness as Corvo stood near the window, staring out at the tree. His silhouette was sharp, motionless — like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

On the table beside him, a single phone kept vibrating.

Message after message.

His men were nervous.
Good.

They should be.

Because when Corvo went silent... bodies went missing.

He finally picked up the phone, glanced at the last message, and smirked.

"So... Ishaan Mehra is getting impatient."

His voice was low, calm, almost bored — but his eyes held a darkness that could swallow light.

He walked to the center of the room.
A woman was tied to a chair — trembling.

The same maid who had been spying inside the Mehra mansion.

Her eyes were swollen from crying, mouth gagged, face bruised.

Corvo crouched in front of her, expression unreadable.

"You were followed," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She flinched.

"And I hate...
when my people are careless."

His tone stayed calm. Too calm.

The maid tried to shake her head, muffled words begging for mercy behind the gag.

Corvo's jaw tightened.

"You had only one job," he continued, rising slowly.
"Keep an eye on mehra's on Aanya.

He paced around her like a wolf circling wounded prey.

"And you allowed Ishaan Mehra's men to catch your trail."
He stopped behind her.
Leaned in.
Whispered in her ear:

"Do you know what that makes you?"

Tears streamed down her face.

"A liability," Corvo finished.

A click echoed in the silent room.

Metal.

Cold.

Sharp.

The last thing she felt was the whisper of steel against her skin.

And then silence.

Corvo wiped the blade clean, unfazed, emotionless.

He dragged her body to the side, covered it without looking twice, and returned to his desk.

Spread before him were pictures.

Of Ishaan.
Of Aanya.
Of Mrs. Mehra.
Of the mansion.
Of Dante's gang.
Of the Black Crown.
Of Aransh 

His fingers tapped on Ishaan's photo.

"You're clever, ishaan," he murmured.
"Very clever. But you still don't know who I am."

He leaned back, expression shifting into a twisted smile.

"You were right, though..."
He whispered to himself.

"I know everything about you."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out something — a small, old photograph.

Two boys.
Smiling.
Standing shoulder to shoulder.

He closed the drawer.

His eyes cold.
His smile sharper than a blade.

"Your father snatched my loved one from me. You took everything I ever wanted.

And that bastard, Aransh Verma... he took the only thing that kept me sane.
All of you had to take everything I ever cared about. Everything I ever wanted."

"And now...
I will destroy everything you love."
Your wife also.

A twisted manec smile come to his lips.
__

It was early afternoon.
Everyone had finished lunch and was getting ready to return to their usual routines. But Ishaan's mood felt off—his mind was storming with thoughts, tension clear in his eyes.

He stood up to leave for his room when Mrs. Mehra called out to him.

"Ishaan... did you talk to Bella?" here she goes again.

He froze mid-step.

He didn't answer.

Everyone's attention shifted to him.

Ishaan exhaled sharply, already exhausted by the question.

"No, Mom," he said, frustration slipping through his voice.

Mrs. Mehra frowned.
"Why not? Did something happen? Did you two fight again?"

"No, Mom. Nothing like that."

"Then what is it? She's not answering my calls. And you're not telling me anything. Something happened—are you hiding something from me?"

Ishaan rubbed his forehead, trying to stay composed.
"It's not like that—"

She cut him off.

"Then talk to her, beta. I need to begin the wedding preparations."

She smiled weakly, unaware of the storm inside her son.

"I want your wedding to happen as soon as possible."

That was the breaking point.

Ishaan's jaw clenched.

His frustration boiled over.

"There is no wedding happening, Mom," he said, voice tight with restrained anger.

Mrs. Mehra stiffened.

"What do you mean, no wedding? Ishaan?"

He ran a hand through his hair, eyes burning.

"It means Bella and I are not getting married."

Her voice hardened.
"And why is that?"

A whole week she had been asking about Bella.
A whole week he had been dodging her questions.
She knew something was wrong—terribly wrong.

"Because she left."
His voice cracked with anger and pain.

"And she's never coming back."

Mrs. Mehra blinked.
The room went silent.

"W-What do you mean she left and won't come back? Ishaan, what happened? Tell me the truth. I know you're hiding something."

Ishaan shut his eyes.

And then... he let the truth fall.

"You want to know the truth? Fine. Listen."
His voice trembled.

"The day Nisha di died... after that second day Bella left me. She texted me saying she doesn't want to be with me anymore. That she doesn't want to marry me. Because I had nothing left."

Mrs mehra's eyes widened.

She went still.

Her breath hitched.
Her face turned pale.

"No... no, it can't be... she wouldn't... she wouldn't do that..."
Her voice cracked.

Her hands began trembling.

Aanya noticed immediately and rushed to her.

"Aunty... aunty, please sit—"

Mrs. Mehra shook her head frantically, her eyes filling with disbelief and heartbreak.

"No... she can't... she can't do this—she can't..."

Her words broke into gasps.

And before anyone could react—

Mrs. Mehra collapsed.

"AUNTY!"
Aanya screamed, catching her before she hit the floor.
Everyone ran toward her in panic.

Ishaan, standing halfway up the stairs, turned slowly—his face drained of color.

He saw his mother unconscious, lying in Aanya's lap.

His legs gave way for a second.

"M-Mom..." he whispered, shattered.

And then guilt crashed into him like a wave.

"No... no—what have I done?"

He ran toward her in panic, eyes wide, breath shaking.

"Mom!"

LOVE IS IN THE AIR....MR MEHRA IS FALLING FOR HIS MRS MEHRA.😉🫀☺️

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