SHATTERED HER HEART

CHAPTER 02

Samira’s POV

Nainital is beautiful — painfully so. The lake lies like a mirror, reflecting the snow-dusted peaks that guard this valley. The air is crisp, scented faintly of pine and wet earth, the kind of freshness that makes tourists sigh in delight. The resort itself is perched elegantly near the water, its glass walls catching the sunlight, its balconies opening to views that could make poets weep.

But for me?

Every corner here whispers of wounds I’d rather forget. Well… at least some fragments I recall, and the rest are what my parents told me. The Snow View Point, the winding Mall Road, the lake itself — they’re etched into my memory, not with nostalgia, but with scars. This place was suffocating me — so beautiful yet making me anxious, bringing unpleasant thoughts that felt like deja vu.

The lake glitters outside the window, serene and beautiful.

To tourists, it’s a postcard.

To me, it’s a battlefield.

And now, I’m forced to fight on it again.

My parents believe it’s therapeutic for me to return here, now that I stand in a much stronger place, holding all the cards. They think revisiting the site of my pain will help me overcome the trauma that once defined me.

And perhaps, in a way, they’re right.

Psychologists call it exposure therapy — the idea that facing the places or triggers tied to trauma, in a safe and controlled way, can help strip them of their power.

When you revisit the scene of your pain not as a victim but as someone stronger, someone in control, the brain begins to rewrite the association.

What was once fear becomes resilience.

What was once a weakness becomes proof of survival.

Not my words, but my therapists.

My parents see me as their pampered princess, and I know they would never willingly put me in harm’s way. To them, bringing me back here is a way of saying:

Look, you’ve won. This place no longer owns you.

But for me, the scars still hum beneath the surface. I may be strong, independent, unyielding when they’re not around — but here, in Nainital, I feel the clash of two selves. The daughter who cannot disobey her parents, and the woman who refuses to bend to anyone’s demand.

If it weren’t for my father, I wouldn’t have survived what this place once did to me.

Mystery clings to Nainital like mist. Tourists see romance; I see ghosts.

“Samira Christian Gilbert”

“Daughter of Christian Elias Gilbert and Inara Christian Gilbert. The youngest business diva. The prodigy CEO of Infinity Group.” Titles I wore like armor, shields against the world.

But nothing made me prouder than being called Christian Gilbert’s daughter. My father — the man, the legend, the empire. He made me strong, trained me in jujutsu and self-defense, drilled resilience into my bones. I hated every second of it, but I loved him too much to refuse.

And now, here I am, his perfectly groomed heir, standing in the very place I swore I’d never return to. Ready to reject the deal he clearly wants me to embrace.

A part of me denies it, hates to admit it, but I know it’s not just the shadow of my past or the broken fragments of memory my parents tried to stitch together for me. There’s more to it.

Vivaan Malhotra. The prodigal son.

The one who abandoned his luxury, party-filled, sophisticated British life to play dutiful grandson in India. He even dipped his toes into politics with his grandfather before deciding business was his true calling. They say he built his empire from the ground up, without anyone’s help. But I doubt that.

Grandfather as the country’s Home Minister. Uncle as the state’s Chief Minister. Father — a business magnate. Mother was once a top French model. His extended paternal family — highly influential and spread across the globe.

Tell me — would a man from such a background ever need to lift a finger?

Privilege drips from his name like honey, and yet the world calls him self-made. Spoilt brat is more like it.

And such a man forced me to come here. To India. To Nainital. He refused an online meeting, denied coming to London, and convinced my father to send me here against my will. That alone makes me furious.

I hate this deal, this place, this moment — everything about it. All just to satisfy his ego and pride. He made me travel across continents, and now he makes me wait, God knows how many hours, at his resort.

Who does he think he is?

I wanted to yell at him, at everyone here. But I was forced to maintain decorum, because I wasn’t just Samira Gilbert — I was representing Christian Gilbert and Infinity Group.

And beneath all this, I know there’s another reason for this meeting. My parents. Their plan is obvious.

Matchmaking.

Dad’s old best friend’s son and his daughter — the perfect dreamy couple. They’ve always worried about my social life, about the fact that I never had friends or boyfriends. My whole existence has been studies, extra credits, extracurriculars for more credits, and work. My career was my only companion.

They’ve tried to set me up before, sending me on dates that never worked. But this time, they think they’ve found someone who can tame me, someone who can stand up to me. And I have a feeling Vivaan Malhotra is hell-bent on proving them right.

But I am Samira Gilbert.

If Dad thinks Vivaan Malhotra is the answer, I’m determined to prove he’s the wrong question.

Irene’s voice broke my thoughts. “Sam, your phone.”

Caller ID: Dad.

My lips curved into a smile before I even answered.

“Hey Dad, I’m fine. At Mr. Malhotra’s resort. Been here for more than half an hour. Expecting him in fifteen.”

His sigh was audible, Mom’s giggle faint in the background. I knew exactly why.

“Samira, you can just call him Vivaan,” Dad said, voice firm, almost commanding.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes though he couldn’t see me. “Well, I’m here for business, Dad. Formality suits the occasion.”

Dad chuckled, but there was warmth in his tone.

“You know, Mira, Vivaan isn’t just some businessman. His father and I were college buddies back in Cambridge. We lost contact when life pulled us in different directions, but when this deal came across my desk, I realized it was his family. Imagine my surprise, finding my long-lost friend through business papers. It feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

I stiffened, irritation bubbling.

“Fate? Dad, please. Don’t romanticise this. It’s business. And I don’t care if you two shared crayons in kindergarten. I’m not here to rekindle your bromance.”

Mom’s voice chimed in, gentle but teasing.

“Oh, Samy girl, don’t be so harsh. Vivaan was born and raised in Liverpool, just like you spent your childhood in London. He understands the world you come from. He only moved back to India few years back to honor his grandfather’s wish. His grandfather wanted Vivaan beside him and that boy left UK and went back to India. Doesn’t that sound noble?”

I groaned audibly.

“Noble? Or foolish? Who leaves UK for this place? Honestly, Mom, you’re making him sound like some hero. He’s just another businessman trying to play the dutiful grandson card.”

Dad’s voice grew firmer, though still affectionate.

“He’s more than that, Mira. He’s intelligent, ambitious, and respected. People admire him. And I think you’ll admire him too, once you stop being so stubborn and keep an open mind when you meet him.” I scoffed again, sarcasm dripping.

“Admire him? Sure, Dad. I’ll add him to my list of people I pretend to admire while secretly plotting my escape.”

Mom laughed softly, though I could hear the worry beneath it.

“You’ll see, baby. Sometimes the people we least want to meet turn out to be the ones who change everything.”

I bit my lip hearing her talk so dreamily, but frustration clawed at me.

“Mom, Dad, I don’t want change. I want to finish this meeting, reject the deal, and go home. That’s it.”

Dad sighed, but there was a note of excitement he couldn’t hide.

“Just give him a chance, Mira. For me. For the friendship I lost and found again. You might be surprised.” I sighed and ended the call.

Quarter to four.

Time to meet Mr. Vivaan Malhotra.

I checked myself in the full-length mirror — sharp suit, sharper eyes. The reflection stared back, equal parts diva and daughter, equal parts steel and scars.

Irene hovered nervously, her hands twisting together as though she was trying to wring the tension out of her own body.

“Sam, are you sure you don’t want me to stay during the meeting?” she asked, her voice hesitant, almost pleading, as if she feared leaving me alone with the man whose name had been haunting every conversation for weeks.

I smirked, tilting my head, sarcasm rising like a shield.

“What? You think I’ll punch him in the face? Relax. I’ll be civil. Sarcastic maybe, but civil. I promise not to throw him into the lake, though the thought is tempting.”

Irene laughed nervously, the sound brittle, but her eyes betrayed her concern.

“I just… I know how much you hate this place, and I know how much you hate being forced into things. I don’t want you to feel cornered.”

“I don’t hate the place,” I corrected, adjusting my blazer with deliberate precision, my reflection staring back at me with cold defiance.

“I hate that I was forced to come here just for Vivaan Malhotra's convenience. This lake, these hills, they’re beautiful, but beauty doesn’t erase the frustration when someone you never met or heard of tries to put you down. And Vivaan Malhotra choosing this place for our meeting and making us wait feels like salt rubbed into wounds.”

Irene hesitated, then said softly,

“Maybe he didn’t think it that way. Maybe he just wanted to show you something he loves.”

I scoffed, my tone sharp. “Oh, how considerate. Dragging me to the place I loathe, just to show off his resort. If that’s his idea of charm, I’m already unimpressed.”

The phone call with my parents replayed in my mind, their voices echoing with excitement I couldn’t share. Dad’s tone had been firm, almost commanding, but beneath it was a boyish enthusiasm I hadn’t heard in years. Mom’s laughter carried hope, the kind of hope I couldn’t bear to crush.

I am their pampered princess, their pride, their joy. And I would never hurt them by disobeying outright. But I am also an independent, unyielding woman who makes her own choices, even if those choices defy the path they dream for me.

Five to four.

Showtime.

The infamous Vivaan Malhotra awaited.

And me?

I was ready to end this charade and walk away.

Or so I thought.

More like I hoped and was looking forward to.