INNOCENT BILLIONAIRE

Tangled Hearts

The iSUSHI Restaurant stood as a serene oasis amidst the city’s frenetic pulse, its single-story structure crafted entirely from honeyed cedar, each plank polished to a warm, golden sheen that seemed to hum with the spirit of ancient forests. Nestled within the urban sprawl, it was a haven of tranquility, its exterior framed by neatly trimmed shrubs and vibrant wildflowers that swayed gently in the autumn breeze. Seashell pathways wound through the grounds, leading to hand-carved benches where diners waited patiently, their murmurs softened by the restaurant’s rustic charm. Inside, the air was a heady blend of vinegar, freshly shaved ginger, and the earthy notes of sandalwood, the wooden walls, chairs, and delicate light fixtures weaving an ode to nature’s embrace. Soft golden lamps hung in gentle arcs from the ceiling, casting an amber aura that bathed the space in a warm, intimate glow, as if the restaurant itself absorbed the city’s chaos and distilled it into quiet elegance.

Shikha sat alone at a table carved from rich teak, its intricate filigree grain gleaming under her polished nails as she traced its patterns absentmindedly. Her charcoal-grey blouse, adorned with intricate silver embroidery, shimmered with every subtle movement, the delicate threads catching the lamplight like stars against a twilight sky. Paired with tailored black trousers that hugged her slender frame, her outfit exuded a quiet sophistication, tempered by the understated elegance of black ballet flats peeking from beneath the crisp hem. Her glossy raven hair, styled in soft waves, cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face of sharp beauty—high cheekbones, a composed jawline, and emerald eyes that gleamed with wary intelligence. As she skimmed the glossy menu, her delicate features betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, defiance simmering beneath her poised exterior.

Her mind churned with the remnants of the afternoon’s meeting at D&M Co., a negotiation that had closed successfully but left her puzzled. The contract, tied to her father’s business and some enigmatic animals, felt superfluous, a riddle wrapped in bureaucracy. She wondered why Arjun, her ever-vigilant brother, had insisted she attend in his place, his absence a nagging question that lingered like the faint scent of ginger in the air. His message replayed in her mind, its warmth laced with his signature emotional nudge:

“You’d head home without eating, so I booked you a table. Indulge a little, doll—it’s on me. Money’s meant to be spent.” A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, her amusement tempered by exasperation. Hunger was the furthest thing from her mind, but defying Arjun’s gentle meddling felt more draining than simply complying.

She had parked her sleek black sedan beneath a towering willow tree outside, its drooping branches brushing the car’s roof like a whispered invitation. The restaurant’s rustic charm had drawn her in, its wooden facade a stark contrast to the city’s glass and steel. Inside, the hum of conversation mingled with occasional bursts of laughter, yet the sounds were muted, as if the cedar walls absorbed not just noise but the weight of secrets. The manager, a picture of polished courtesy in a smart black suit with emerald cufflinks that glinted like leaves, had confirmed her reservation with a warm smile. With graceful efficiency, he led her up a gently curving staircase, each step yielding softly underfoot, to a private alcove on the upper level. The cabin was an intimate sanctuary, its light filtered through wooden slats, casting soothing patterns across the teak table.

Nestled in her alcove, Shikha opened the menu, its glossy pages a canvas of culinary artistry. She ordered a delicate vegetarian sushi roll, a steaming bowl of miso soup, and a fragrant green tea, the dishes arriving like edible masterpieces—vibrant greens, soft pinks, and creamy whites arranged with meticulous care. She savored the first bite, the flavors a fleeting distraction from the questions swirling in her mind. But the sanctuary’s calm was shattered by the sudden scrape of a chair, a jarring note that sliced through the gentle ambiance. Her fingers froze mid-bite, chopsticks hovering as her emerald eyes snapped upward to meet the last person she wanted to see: Haider.

He stood before her, a striking figure in a navy blue suit that hugged his athletic frame, its sharp cut exuding regal authority. An ice-grey shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, revealed a glimpse of tanned skin, lending him a roguish charm. His thick, unruly hair was tamed just enough to accentuate his deeply set eyes, their dark depths shimmering with an emotion Shikha refused to acknowledge. His presence filled the alcove, the air thickening with the weight of their shared past, the wooden walls seeming to close in around them.

“What are you doing here, Haider?” Shikha demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the cedar-scented air, her irritation barely veiled as she set her chopsticks down with deliberate precision.

Haider’s lips curved into a roguish smile, as if her sharpness was a challenge he relished.

“Well, hello to you too, beautiful,” he said, his tone smooth and unfazed, as if he’d been invited to her table all along.

She rolled her eyes, her hand slipping beneath the table to hide a faint tremble.

“Save the charm, Haider. What do you want?” Her sarcasm was a polished blade, honed by years of guarding her heart.

He leaned back in his chair, his navy suit catching the lamplight, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You,” he said simply, the single word landing like a spark in dry tinder.

Shikha’s lips quirked in a sardonic smile, her eyes glinting with defiance.

“And I want to own the Eiffel Tower,” she drawled, her voice cool as a mountain stream, unyielding in its clarity.

The waiter glided in, a silent figure in a crisp black uniform, setting her order between them with practiced grace. Shikha ignored Haider, her chopsticks diving into the vibrant sushi roll, each bite a deliberate act of dismissal.

Haider leaned forward, his bravado softening into an earnestness that caught her off guard.

“I’m serious, Shikha,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “I want you back in my life.”

She didn’t look up, her chopsticks pausing only briefly.

“I want the Eiffel Tower too,” she snapped, her tone sharper now,

“but some things are just out of reach.”

His determination only seemed to grow, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made the alcove feel smaller.

“I love you, Shikha. Why do you keep pushing me away?” His voice, gentle and almost pleading, carried a weight that might once have swayed her.

She met his gaze, her emerald eyes cold as jade.

“Look in the mirror, Haider,” she said, her words clipped and unyielding.

“You’ll find your answer there.”

Confusion flickered across his face, his brow furrowing as he leaned closer.

“I don’t understand, Shikha. Just tell me what I did wrong. Why are you shutting me out like this?”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table, her nails digging into the teak.

“I’m not falling for your act again, Haider,” she said, her voice steady but laced with steel.

“Stop messaging me. Leave me alone.”

Desperation cracked his polished composure, his eyes glistening with what might have been unshed tears or the reflection of the lamplight.

“I won’t stop,” he said, his voice raw with conviction.

“Not until you tell me the truth. I’m not giving up on you.”

Shikha’s resolve wavered for a fleeting moment, her heart betraying her with a pang of memory. She summoned the waiter with a clear, forceful tone, requesting the bill, only to learn—to her quiet shock—that Arjun had already settled it. A twinge of suspicion flared, the pieces of her brother’s involvement clicking into place, but she had no time to dwell on it.

Rising from her seat, she fixed Haider with a cool, final look, her posture regal, her emerald eyes unyielding.

“Goodbye, Haider,” she said, her voice a quiet thunder.

“Do whatever you want, but I’m done looking back.”

He reached for her wrist as she passed, his touch a fleeting anchor, a last desperate plea.

“Why, Shikha?” he implored, his voice cracking like thin ice.

“Just tell me why.”

She jerked free, her waves of hair swaying as she straightened, her gaze proud and unyielding.

“I won’t keep repeating the same mistakes,” she said, each word a stone laid in the wall between them.

She swept from the alcove, her charcoal blouse shimmering like a fading star, her silhouette a blend of resolve and regret framed against the warm wooden glow. Haider remained, caught between longing and resignation, the cedar-scented air heavy with the echoes of their fractured past. The door closed soundlessly behind her, leaving only the faint scent of sandalwood and the bitter aftertaste of a love that might never be reclaimed.