His Biggest Mistaken

Prologue

Rain lashed against the floor‑to‑ceiling windows of the penthouse, turning the glittering city beyond into a blur of lights and shadows. The storm had arrived suddenly that evening, but somehow it felt fitting. For the first time in three years of marriage, the home that had once been filled with laughter and warmth felt unbearably cold.

Aadhya stood near the window, staring out at the rain‑soaked skyline. She wasn't really looking at anything. Her eyes were fixed on the reflection staring back at her-a woman she barely recognized anymore.

There had been a time when she used to wait for Aarav by this very window. She would watch for his car, smile the moment she saw it enter the driveway, and rush to the door before he could even ring the bell. He would complain that she never gave him the chance to make a proper entrance, and she would laugh before throwing herself into his arms.

The memory hurt now. It hurt because she didn't know when they had become strangers.

Behind her, Aarav stood beside the fireplace with a glass of untouched whiskey in his hand. The amber liquid reflected the flickering flames, but there was no warmth in his expression.

For weeks, an invisible wall had existed between them. At first, Aadhya had tried to break it. She had tried talking to him, explaining herself, reasoning with him. She had cried, argued, pleaded, and exhausted every ounce of strength she possessed. But nothing she said had reached him.

The man who once listened to her heartbeat just to fall asleep no longer listened to her words.

The silence stretched painfully between them until Aarav set the glass down on the mantel with more force than necessary. The sharp sound echoed through the room.

"Are you going to say anything?" His voice was calm, but the anger beneath it was impossible to miss.

Aadhya closed her eyes briefly. She had spent weeks searching for the right words. Tonight, she had none left.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked softly.

A bitter laugh escaped him. "That is the problem, isn't it? Every time I ask a question, you suddenly don't have an answer."

Aadhya turned slowly to face him. The sight of him made her chest tighten. He looked exhausted. Dark shadows lingered beneath his eyes, and the strain in his face made him appear older than his thirty‑two years.

This wasn't easy for him either. That realization somehow made everything worse. Because if he still cared, why wouldn't he believe her?

"Aarav," she said quietly, "I have told you the truth."

His jaw clenched. "You call that the truth? You expect me to believe it after everything I have seen?"

"You saw what someone wanted you to see." The words escaped before she could stop them.

For a moment, something flickered across his face-doubt, uncertainty-but it vanished almost instantly.

"You always have an explanation."

"Because there is an explanation for everything."

"That is enough, Aadhya." His voice rose for the first time that night.

The sudden anger made her flinch. Aarav noticed. For a second, regret crossed his features. Then the hurt returned, stronger than before.

He ran a hand through his hair and turned away from her. The gesture was painfully familiar. He always did that when he was frustrated. How many times had she walked over and wrapped her arms around him when he did that? How many times had he pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers?

Tonight, the distance between them felt impossible to cross.

"I trusted you," he said quietly. The anger was gone now. Only pain remained. Raw and unguarded.

Aadhya felt tears sting her eyes. Because she knew that was the real problem. Not the accusations. Not the misunderstanding. Not even the people who had come between them. The real problem was that trust, once broken, was difficult to rebuild.

"I trusted you more than anyone in my life," Aarav continued, staring into the fire. "More than my friends. More than my family. More than myself. When everyone else doubted you, I stood by your side. And now I don't even know who you are anymore."

Aadhya lowered her gaze. The tears she had been fighting finally slipped free. Not because of the accusation, but because she could hear how deeply he was hurting. The man she loved was suffering, and she couldn't fix it. No matter how much she wanted to. No matter how innocent she was. No matter how desperately she wished he would simply believe her.

"I never wanted to hurt you," she whispered.

Aarav laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "That is what makes this so cruel."

For several moments, neither spoke. Outside, thunder rolled across the sky. Inside, the silence felt suffocating.

Then Aarav finally looked at her. The pain in his eyes nearly broke her.

"I used to think you were the best thing that ever happened to me."

Aadhya's heart shattered. Because she knew what was coming before he said it.

His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "But now, whenever I look at you, all I see is the biggest mistake of my life."

The words pierced through her like a blade.

Aadhya stood perfectly still. She didn't argue. She didn't defend herself. She didn't beg him to reconsider. Something inside her had finally given up.

Slowly, she placed her hand over her stomach. The movement was small enough that Aarav never noticed. A fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. Not for herself. For the tiny life growing inside her. For the child who would never know the love story that once existed between its parents.

Aarav turned away and walked toward the window. His shoulders were rigid. His posture screamed exhaustion.

"Just leave, Aadhya." The words were spoken quietly, yet they carried enough weight to destroy everything that remained between them.

Aadhya stared at his back for a long moment. Part of her wanted to stay. Part of her wanted to scream the truth at him. Part of her wanted to tell him about the child. But she already knew it would not matter. Not tonight. Not when anger had blinded him. Not when someone had already poisoned his faith in her.

She picked up her handbag from the sofa. Aarav never turned around. Never stopped her. Never called her name.

With trembling fingers, she opened the bedroom door. Before stepping outside, she looked back one final time. The man she loved stood motionless by the window-close enough to touch, yet farther away than he had ever been.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. Then she walked away.

The next morning, Aarav woke to an empty house. The wardrobe was half vacant. The photographs were gone. The sound of her laughter no longer lingered in the hallways. Only silence remained.

At first, he told himself it did not matter. That she had made her choice. That he was better off without her.

It would take him two and a half years to realize how wrong he was.

By then, Aadhya had built a new life. And the secret she carried away that rainy night had grown into a little girl with his eyes, his smile, and a place in his heart that had always belonged to her.

Unfortunately for Aarav Rajvansh, some mistakes reveal their true cost far too late.

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